Embercrest was separated into four villages. There were four roads separating them, and a bulbous castle in the center of it all. Lining the roads, there were the merchants. And Isaiah loved to walk through the markets and maybe buy a few trinkets or two.
He was deep in conversation with a woman running the nearest book store until her daughter came running to her.
"Yes dear, what is it?" The woman asked, cupping her sobbing daughter's face in her palms.
"It's terrible Ma! It really is!" The girl yelled out. Isaiah debated leaving. "A man, a real nasty one! He was out the pub, spouting some bonkers about the Ash, and I went up straight to him - like a real hero - telling him to get his arse back to that horrid place instead of harassing us here. He didn't like that, started throwing names left and right, I ran off, but he chased, he stole my sac, Ma!" The girl rushed her explanation.
"The one with-?" Her mother asked, only to be cut off.
"Yes, Ma! The one with our book!" The girl spat out, sobbing even more at the memory. Her mother held her, tracing soothing patterns in her scalp and whispering calming words.
"It was a sac with my mama's book inside, she was an incredible poet, always stirring up new ideas in that head of hers," The woman explained to an uncomfortable and confused Isaiah.
"That book was one of a kind. Never sold, never read by anyone except her." She added, staring distantly at the sky.
"Who- oh, a royal." The daughter asked, looking up from her mother's now wet shoulder. She fixated on Isaiah, his composed and graceful posture, his elegant and dashing clothes, and the sword hanging from his belt loop.
"If you're a royal, could you arrest that man? He was speaking rubbish about the king-all-noble." The girl asked, her face scrunched up in disgust at the memory and eyes determined.
"I…" Isaiah didn't know what to say. He didn't want to waste his time chasing after an Ash, he only wanted to buy the book they were discussing before all this. But he'd look cowardly if he fled. And he doubted that this woman would ever sell to him again if he did.
In these situations, where he cannot trust his intuition, he often thought of what Caleb would do. He was the heir, after all. After he bites the bucket, Isaiah might take the throne. And all kings must think alike. Though, Caleb was awfully cheery and optimistic. He was also a martyr. And Isaiah was anything but selfless.
He sighed, coming to a conclusion. "Sure, did you know where he went?"
The girl's face lit up, and the woman smiled gratefully.
"He was running down west road and turned south, though he may be at east." The girl said.
"Did you see what he looked like?" Isaiah questioned.
"He was tall, like a sixer tall. He was wearing a hood. And his eyes were a dark pink, like lighter than purple but not light enough for pink and certainly not red. He was tan, and some black hair was peeking out the hood. A good head of hair, a shame he's so nasty." The girl talked a lot, Isaiah noticed.
Isaiah nodded in understanding and went walking. He walked all the way to the outs of the most popular bar in the south-west village. It was arguably the most popular pub in all of Embercrest. He didn't care enough to enter the pub, but he asked about the protester around the place.
"Yeah, a loud one, he was. Most are big, idiot men. But this one was more of a boy, like you!" Isaiah had scowled at that comment, and left without thanking him for his time.
Most people only repeated what he had already heard, or hadn't seen the rebel at all. Some mistaken him for Caleb. He almost stabbed those ones.
"Oh, that brute. Well, not exactly a brute. He didn't harm anyone, only scram. Ha! Scram. He had scram and then he scramed after stealing that girl's bag. What a funny word, scram." A girl that Isaiah had suspected to be completely tipped over told him.
"Wait, he didn't harm anyone?" Isaiah questioned, the confusion evident on his expressive face. Nobody had outright told him that the boy was violent, but Isaiah had assumed since most protesters weren't peaceful, especially during these times.
"Nah, just with words. He's got a mouth on 'im." The drunken woman told him.
"Do you know where he went?" Isaiah asked.
"Down west, stopped somewhere south-west ville." She said, and Isaiah didn't know if he could trust what this drunkard could say. But it was a start.
"Thank you." He said, bowing his head down.
"Anytime, Handsome. Say, you're a pretty thing… would you like-"
Isaiah basically sprinted out of there.
He went to the south-west village. He walked around, going to many surrounding pubs and asking if anybody saw a man with that description
Then - just when he was losing hope - he saw a head peeking out an alley. It was a hooded head. Isaiah ran into the alleyway, the man running out the other side. Isaiah ran out, he took a sharp left and pushed everyone else out his way.
Isaiah chased the man, making all sorts of turns and avoiding slamming into walls. He never let the back of that man's head out of his sight.
Finally, Isaiah came to an abrupt stop as the man slowed down. The thief stopped running altogether, he must've come to his senses and decided that this cat and mouse game was pointless. Isaiah walked up to him, he put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. He was met with a smirk.
The thief's hair was black with a soft undertone of blue, his smile brought out his dimples and the purple in his dark magenta eyes. The sun shined in his iris, which was very rare in a world like theirs, where everyone's eyes shone with a deep terror of what could pop out of the shadows. But this man had no fear in his eyes, it made Isaiah intrigued.
"Who are you?" Isaiah said so quietly it sounded more like a whisper, his hand still gripping the other man's shoulder.
"Not worthy, Your Royal Highness, I am not worthy." The thief responded, still smirking.
"Not worthy of what?" Isaiah asked, so curious he almost forgot why he was here, and why he spent all day trying to find this man.
He only laughed at the question. His laugh was loud and fast and manic. Isaiah truly hated it. He also hated the mocking underline in that laugh.
"Whatever, give me the sac you stole." *Isaiah tightened his grip.
The thief held the sac out, Isaiah didn't even notice that he was carrying it at all.
Isaiah snatched it, giving the thief a deathly look. He let out an amused huff at the glare.
"Noah," The thief said, it took Isaiah a fraction of a second to realize that he was introducing himself.
"I'm a Gift."