Vince walked out the door. With nobody nearby, he decided to jog a little to catch a carriage faster.
The streets around him were a mix of poor and middle class.
On his side, the houses were neatly kept, most of them two stories tall, carrying a fresh pumpkin scent in the air.
The grass was green and lively as the mountains loomed in the distance, watching over everything with houses clinging to their sides. Just over the mountains was another city near Koburn, where entire homes hung suspended from the cliffs and sky.
But on the other side of the street where Vince stood, the scene was different. The air stank, houses leaned with broken frames and crumbling walls, smoke and leaks spilling from them. Vince covered his nose as he jogged, frustration bubbling inside him.
This city is so apparently wealthy, yet it can't even fund the other damn area, Vince thought.
Clip clop. Clip clop
Finally, the sound he was waiting for. Turning around, he spotted two brown horses pulling a carriage toward him.
"Hey!" Vince shouted, waving his hand.
The driver noticed him and steered over. The man looked nervous, like this was his first time. He had a soft face, hazel eyes, and wore a brown cotton hat. His striped cotton shirt was tucked neatly into brown trousers held up with a leather belt, finished with riding boots.
The carriage itself looked like something straight out of an old fantasy book. The wooden wheels gleamed in polished brown, and the frame was carved with deep grooves filled with a darker red wood.
Vince hopped in, paid the driver twenty silver, and gave his directions.
Inside, the carriage was furnished with two cushioned red benches.
A small window offered a view of the driver's back, while another sat in the door.
Vince leaned back, frowning.
These carriages are always a rip-off.
As he brooded, the driver suddenly spoke.
"I'm assuming you're a priest! Where are you headed, if you don't mind me asking?"
Vince froze. I do mind, you idiot. Clearing his throat, he answered calmly.
"Well, you see, one of my followers has been reporting supernatural activity. I'll be conducting a spirit exorcism."
The driver's eyes lit up with curiosity.
"Are you, per se, a follower of the loyal god Oeus?"
Vince forced a grim smile and raised his voice.
"People say I am the one who truly follows the beloved god Oeus."
The words left a sour taste. Every time he mentioned that name, it felt like a dagger twisting in his chest.
The driver smiled softly, gazing up at the sky.
"I thought so. Like Oeus says, 'Follow the mountain of me, and you'll reach the peak that even the mountain could not fulfill.' Bless Oeus!"
"Right…" Vince muttered under his breath.
Two hours later, Vince stepped off the carriage with a sigh.
Always these damn Oeus followers. I had to listen to this guy praise a god I don't, and never will, follow.
This part of the city was richer. People strolled in clean clothes while the breeze carried a pleasant chill. Vince checked his watch. Night was nearly upon him.
Turning around, his heart dropped. Memories struck like a wave.
The house that had burned down still lay in ruins.
They had never rebuilt it.
Where once stood walls and windows was now only dirt and charred concrete.
Dad, what did you get yourself into?
Vince crossed the street, stopping where the front door had once been.
The past is the past.
Tears threatened to form, but he pushed them down. Something better had to come from this. Sighing, he pulled the note from his pocket.
From the door, it said, make a left.
So he walked. The directions stretched on, minutes bleeding into hours until finally, he stopped.
Keep the step until you see red.
At last, he spotted it.
A house with a front painted deep red. Two stories, a white railed yard, wide windows on both sides, and a rich brown door engraved with delicate patterns.
Vince narrowed his eyes.
What does this house have to do with my father? Are the same people still here?
His gut told him they were long gone.
Knock, knock!
He stepped up, plastering on a smile. Lips pressed thin, hands folded in mock reverence, he waited.
Creeaakk…
The door opened. A man in his fifties stood barefoot on the threshold. Short gray hair framed his lined face, amber eyes sharp with age. He wore a black cotton shirt and wool gray shorts.
With a raspy voice, he asked,
"Oh… what do you want?"