Those That Fight

Chapter Two

Ranas silently pushed open the door to the small house. Her eyes darted around the room as she entered, calculating, but there didn't seem to be anyone present. She shut the door behind herself and moved to the table in the middle of the room.

It seemed to be a kitchen. The counter-tops looked untouched for a while, a thin layer of dust covering its surface. Woven baskets sat, stacked on top of each other, in the unoccupied corner. Embedded in a brick wall was an unlit hearth, with a large pot suspended over the stacked wood. Ranas pulled out a chair to sit when a yellowed piece of parchment caught her eye. Had that been there before? She tilted her head to read it.

Wait.

Wait? Whatever for? Ranas sat down in the chair and rested her chin in her hand.

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Neriad stepped down from the carriage, setting his hat atop his head. His cane clicked on the cobblestones as he went to his driver.

"You're fired." He said bluntly. The old man sat, dumbfounded, as Neriad waltzed away. He stared over the small building, in stark contrast to what he was used to. He turned the knob pushed open the door.

Inside seemed like a kitchen, small and compact, like a memory from his childhood. The moment he turned to shut the door the cool chill of steel appeared, pressed against his jugular. He couldn't help but smirk. Neriad slowly turned around, the pressure on his neck refusing to let up.

Before him stood a girl with dark hair and eyes, along with skin of a shade that suggested Klamidoran descent, a rare find in the continent of Nethalion. She held he sword like she knew what she was doing, and had done it many times before, clad in light armor and even clothes that may be looked down upon by conservatives as masculine. Neriad moved cautiously and slowly, removing the hat from his head.

"Pardon the intrusion, my lady, but I believe I have an invitation." He reached down to produce the paper from the folds of his jacket, but the moment his fingers brushed the flap the pressure of the blade intensified.

"I don't think so." The girl pushed his hand away and pulled open his jacket.

"Oh, undressing me already?" The girl gave him a dirty look. She found her way into his pocket and pulled out the flyer. She only had to glance at it. The girl lowered her sword.

"You're just another one." She sighed.

"Come on, you're done already?"Neriad cooed. Her face twisted and she shoved the paper back into his hands.

"You're disgusting." She grumbled, slumping back down in a chair and swinging her feet up onto the table.

"Maybe you're just no fun." Neriad replied with a grin in his voice, pulling up a chair next to her. He looked around dully. "So what are we waiting for?"

"Read the note." The girl answered firmly.

"What note--oh," Neriad leaned over the table to read the single word printed in black ink on the yellowing parchment. Wait. He sighed and sat back. After only a few moments the silence began to unnerve him. The girl was only sitting there with her arms folded. She hadn't made a single movement, and she refused to look at him. When he was about to say something, the softest creak silenced him. The girl seemed to hear it too, for her head snapped in the direction of the door. They both sat in silent tension as the door ever so slowly creaked open. They flinched when a head suddenly poked in.

It was only a blond boy's head. His hair was shaggy and his narrow face was stained with dirt. He only gazed at them with cautious emerald eyes. For a moment, only an anxious tension held between them, until Neriad broke the silence.