Oberon and Titania

Chapter 2 - A Sudden Betrayal

I sighed, rubbing my head. Okay, break time was over.

Collecting a few more deep breaths, I staggered forward for a second, before breaking into a desperate sprint. My energy was lacking, even more so now that I had an injury on my hand to heal, and I briefly entertained the notion of just letting the blood drip. No—a silly idea. I knew better than most what an untreated and infected wound could do.

Dashing towards the main street with a vague direction in mind, I raced past the busy market stalls, willing my body to heal as my head started to spin. I needed energy, but I couldn't just stop! So what could I—?

—there!

A flower stall, with a host of brilliant bouquets and striking scents, lured my attention from up ahead. I pulled a few coins from my pocket, only slowing down to a stop for the briefest it pauses.

"Oh, hello, doctor!" the stallowner said, recovering from the shock of a customer practically flying into his flowers.

I recognised him as Mr. Dan, who came in for his breathing problems once. His tanned face beamed with a familiar smile. "How can I help—?"

I slammed the coins down with my left, uninjured hand, grabbing a ready-made bouquet of roses. "Have you seen a man being chased around here?"

He blinked. "Chased? Ah, yes! That way. But, docto—?"

"Thank you! Keep the change!"

Okay, no more wasting time.

I knew where Mr. Sinclair was heading, because it was the safest place in the entire city; the Central Knight's Station. Only the King's finest generals were posted there, acting as the central district's justice force. Surely Mr. Sinclair would be safe there?

But I thought back to those lightning-quick reflexes of the hunter, those merciless strikes aimed at Mr. Sinclair, and the lenience he just about showed me. If that guy was serious, really serious, I would probably have been severely beaten up.

No, the knights may have been skilled, but that hunter was inhuman.

And what about the reason Mr. Sinclair was being hunted? He apologised for something, and if his life was now at risk, he must've done something incredibly foolish, perhaps illegal.

Even if the knights could hold off the hunter, Mr. Sinclair was probably in trouble either way.

But what crime would warrant death without a trial?

I didn't stop running, tired as I was. Instead, I placed my bloody hand over the top of the lush pink roses—such a striking shade—watching as the blood from my palm stained the dead plants.

Well, they might have been dead, but there was still some life essence left in their stems, their petals.

Concentrating, keeping an eye on the street ahead, I cleared my mind and focused on the flowers, steadily draining them of whatever essence they held. The pulsating of the revived energy ebbed through my palm, and a faint warmth surged through my arm, ricocheting around my body.

The roses withered.

I was holding nothing more than a few wilted stems now; the bulbs and petals had all browned and fallen off, completely disintegrating when they hit the ground.

The wind blew the dust, never to be seen again.

But I was energised. Not only had the wound on my palm completely healed, but my stamina had been given a slight boost, slightly replenished. I was thriving off this new burst of energy like it was some delirious drug—a booster of sorts.