They say silence speaks louder than words, but not here in LIK…
"I give you three days!" the bald landlord yelled in Zavry's face, saliva landing on Zavry's cheeks. Even knowing what was happening, the man didn't care. His breath, reeking of alcohol and smoke, tingled lightly in Zavry's senses, but the boy maintained a calm expression.
"If you don't pay your rent like the others, you'll leave. I don't care if your rags aren't packed yet."
Displeasure was written all over the landlord's face as he eyed the young boy who stood silently.
"Don't think I'll pity you because you're mute," he added, restraining himself from spitting in the boy's face.
Zavry understood this man well. Of course, who wouldn't be annoyed in this modern day…how could a tenant not be able to pay their rent? It was just twenty dollars and three gold coins.
Not to mention, he was living on the underground floor—a space originally meant for junk, which made it even cheaper.
But he still couldn't understand why the landlord was shouting. It wasn't like he hadn't paid anything. He had paid part of it…he gave one gold coin. That meant he was only owing twenty dollars and two more gold coins.
"Get a fucking job!" the man barked, annoyance thick in his tone. Why was the boy's silence so irritating?
"I can see why you didn't get a voice. Foolish idiotic gut-wrenching fool," the man spat,
'Is that even a word?' Zavry wondered.
With a heavy grunt, the landlord banged the door shut in Zavry's face.
What did he expect from a world where money speaks louder than words? Here, money was power. And right now, the only difference between him and a beggar was that he had an apartment he was owing rent on.
A soft sigh escaped his lips.
KPOPOPOKPPPPK!
The hen clucked loudly outside the window. Apparently, it had turned his window into its home. What else could he expect? This place wasn't even a real home.
Just yesterday, he'd chased the fowl off several times…and cleaned the shit it had left the shit that greeted him with the wind. Honestly, it was worse than a fart.
"Don't blame me if you become meat for my soup tomorrow," he muttered in his head, his blue eyes scanning the kitchen for food.
"Just one noodle…" He exhaled loudly.
He moved to grab the instant noodle pack and began to cook as he was starving.
Here, where looks and clothing mattered, Zavry had no money to buy new clothes. And to even find a job, you needed decent clothes. Not to mention the biggest barrier—he couldn't speak..he was mute.
He inhaled deeply and stared at his tiny apartment. It was so small, it was barely a room. A room that also served as a parlor and kitchen. That explained why it was so cheap.
Of course, people had questions like, What was a nineteen-year-old boy doing living like this? At least he'd managed to shut them up. He'd written on a scrap of paper that his parents abandoned him when he was little.
He moved, gathering his long black hair and tying it up. He didn't even have money for a proper haircut.
Walking toward the kitchen drawer, he opened it. His lips twitched upward as his fingers brushed along the inside. A cockroach scurried away from a carrot lying inside. He shifted the carrot aside and reached deeper into the drawer.
Then, with a quick push upward, the drawer made a soft sound as it lifted and separated from the rest.
A slow curve lifted his lips.
Behind the false panel, the rough wall appeared. His fingers moved across it, scanning the surface until they stopped on an even rougher spot. He pressed it. A soft click followed and it began to open.
His eyes lowered. A long, nearly endless staircase appeared, lit by small candles placed in intervals.
Grabbing the half-cooked noodles from the counter, he didn't care how hot the pot was. Hunger dulled the pain.
After all, A hungry man is an angry man.
Chopsticks in hand, he began eating the noodles while heading down the stairs. He needed energy for the descent.
"Poverty is a fucking bastard," he hissed in his head.
Reaching the bottom, he bent down and gently set the pot on one of the steps.
Before him was a wooden door. His lips curled upward ever so slightly yet his lifeless eyes remained stiff.
A low creaking sound filled the space as he pushed it open. Inside, the small room was dimly lit by candlelight. His eyes scanned the room…the shelf, which consumed nearly all the space, was crammed with torn and abandoned books.
His fingers glided across the collection until they landed on a dusty book without a cover, torn in almost every section. He flipped to the middle page. The middle was blank.
He spoke in his head:
"Where will I be visiting today?"
The page remained blank for a moment.
Then, letters slowly formed.
Heer
A slow smile curled on his lips.
"That's new."
People thought he had lost his voice from birth.
But the truth was… he was cursed.
His voice was taken from him.
And now, he had to fight to get it back.
All of this—
After he killed a god.