A/N: Enjoy chap. Throw some stones!
-
The eastern side of Tent City was three streets away.
This small corner street had survived the blast more or less intact. On the corner was a bakery, with front windows cracked but not shattered. Door blown open, then re-hung. The sign above the shop still read MARIN'S BREAD in neat, old-fashioned letters.
I'd found the place on day three, wandering farther than I should have. The smell of warm bread and wisps of hot air had hooked me mid-step and dragged me like a leash.
"Closed," a voice had grumbled the first time I tried the door.
"I uh-" I'd started, stomach growling loudly enough to betray me.
The door had opened then, and an old man peered out at me. White hair. Face like creased paper. Stocky frame, forearms perpetually dusted with flour. Eyes sharp as he took in my coat, my too-thin frame, the camp tag tied around my wrist.
"Hungry?" he'd asked.
"Yes," I'd said, because lying would have been pointless.
He snorted, shoved half a loaf into my hands, and said, "You can pay me back with labour. Come back tomorrow, morning."
I had.
Now, as I pushed the door open, the little bell above it chimed weakly. The warmth gently caressed my face; it felt like a breath of fresh air.
"You are late," Marin mumbled without turning his back.
He was at the counter, arms deep in a huge bowl of dough, kneading it as it owed him money.
"I could have died of old age already."
"It is still morning," I said. "Barely."
"For a baker, morning is two hours before the sun comes up," he said. "Not when you are done running in circles like a rabid dog. Wash your hands."
He jabbed his chin toward the tiny sink in the corner.
I sighed
"Properly too. Customers won't eat the bread if it's dirty."
"What customers? Half the block is torn down." I asked, scrubbing my fingers properly this time.
"Hah." Marin grunted, "I've got a reputation. Best bread in this part of town."
"There isn't even another bakery around here." I clicked my tongue.
"Quiet!" Marin barked, kneading the dough harder this time.
I silently shook my head and patted my hands dry on a towel.
Marin turned and shoved a box of tomatoes towards me.
"Diced, small." He scoffed.
"Relax," I grunted and set the heavy box down on the counter. I picked out a dull knife from the kitchen drawers and carefully got to work. Just as I wedged the knife into the first tomato, Marin clicked his tongue again.
"Apron." He sternly reminded and continued his kneading.
I rolled my eyes, grabbed a small apron, tied it around my waist, and flicked the top over my neck. "Why do you even have one this size? It'd never fit you."
Marin went quiet. But he had a habit of going silent, so I paid it no mind.
I splashed a handful of water onto the knife and wiped its edge. With a clean stroke, I began to dice.
A few minutes passed, and I'd diced two. But as I reached for the third, Marin croaked.
"Had a grandson," he said. "Ran off to the front lines three years ago. Hasn't written. Either dead or too busy being brave to remember old men."
His voice was resigned. A little bitter.
I flinched. My eyes slowly widened as I glanced at his back.
For a second, I could swear I'd seen him stiffen. As if he'd sensed my gaze. But he didn't say a word more.
"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I didn't know."
"Bah. If he is dead, he is dead. If he is not, he is an idiot who will come back missing a few limbs and complain that stairs are too hard." Marin wiped his hands on his apron and handed me a tray.
"Put these in."
The tray was full of shaped loaves waiting for their turn in the oven. Heavier than they looked. I took them into the back as carefully as I could.
Working in the bakery was a welcome surprise, one I had never expected. In a strange turn of events, it was the one thing I looked forward to the most.
Morning runs, soup, bakery, then odd jobs back in the camp. Carrying crates. Helping set up more tents. Running messages between medics and supply points.
If I sat still too long, my thoughts wandered to places I didn't want them to go. Movement kept them pinned to the present.
[SKILL UPDATED]
Knife Work: RANK F
My lips curled into a smile as I almost chuckled.
"Stop smiling at the wall," Marin grunted again. "You look stupid."
"Thinking," I said.
"Don't strain yourself with what you can't do." He shook his head and slapped the dough down with a satisfying thump.
"So," he said, squinting at me as I slid the tray into the oven, "have you remembered where you are from yet, Noah-boy?"
"No," I admitted. I had told Marin my story at the start.
The official version was simple. Woke up at a bus stop. No memory of anything before. People were already used to strange stories. Mine was still on the tamer side.
"Mm," Marin grunted. "Maybe you got lost and hit your head. Would explain your empty stares."
"That seems unlikely." I rolled my eyes.
He shrugged. "Whatever you say, boy. But there's one thing I don't get." Marin flipped the dough over once more, slowly spreading it into a flat, thin square.
"Why try? All this running, all this work, what are you trying to do?"
I paused for just a fraction of a second.
"I've got nothing else to do. Gotta spend time somehow." I shrugged.
"Liar. I've seen how you run." He turned back to the dough. "You run like someone trying to catch a train that will not wait."
I didn't answer.
He let the silence stretch while he shaped a loaf, hands moving with practised ease.
"You listen a lot," he said after a while. "In the line. In here. Out there." He jerked his head toward the camp. "I am sure you've heard the talk about the Academy?"
It wasn't really a question.
"Yes," I said.
"What do you think?"
"I think," I said slowly, "that if I stay as I am, I will die the next time something like that breach happens."
Marin snorted. "You and half this city."
He pushed a finished loaf aside and looked at me properly.
"You are an Awakened, aren't you?" he said. "No band, but I know you are. I've got an eye for that. I discovered my own grandson's awakening before he did."
I didn't reply. I didn't feel the need to.
"Join the academy, boy. It's the best thing you'll do. You're a bit weak, but that place will help you." Marin heaved a breath.
"I know that already," I said.
I knew everything about the academy; heck, that's where the tutorial for the game was. Every player in 'Advent' started there till they finished the game's main campaign. Which is why I was sure I wasn't ready. The Academy wasn't an easy place. It had all sorts of twists and turns. All the missions I completed were difficult and required the utmost effort. Heck, there were even times I died in the academy, at least then I could restart.
But right now? I only had one shot.
"Hm." He grunted, non-committal. "You are fifteen, yes?"
"Yeah." At least this body was fifteen.
He shook his head. "When I was fifteen, it was a simpler time. I stole apples and chased girls. You run until you wheeze and come help an old man bake some bread."
Marin continued, "You listen. You file away. You stare when the awakened walk past, like you are trying to see under their skin."
He tapped his temple with a knuckle.
"Times are hard now. And try as you might, your thoughts betray you. Whatever lives in there, Noah-boy, it will not let you knead dough for the rest of your life like me. So." He scooped out another portion of dough.
"Either you go to the Academy and learn to use your powers, or you let your thoughts wander and eat you alive."
"Like I said. I'm not sure I'm ready. " I sighed, "Isn't there an entrance test? I overheard that from some awakened down here."
Marin gave a short laugh. "There is. You're right, the academy doesn't just accept any bumbling fool. My grandson tried thrice, failed the tests each time. That's why he ended up running to the armies that little bastard."
"So what? You think you'll fail?" Marin chuckled.
"I am sure as hell not passing easily, can't even lift a box of these." I slapped the box of tomatoes.
He cackled and turned away, signalling the lecture was over.
I swallowed and busied myself with trays.
"What would you do," I asked curiously, "if your grandson came back from the frontline?"
Marin paused.
"Asked him why he did not bring bread from the outside," he said after a moment. "Then hit him with a rolling pin for making his grandmother worry, if she were still alive."
"That's a lot of love," I said.
"It is what he deserves," he replied. "Now stop talking and help me before the dough over-proofs."
We worked in silence after that.
By the time I headed back to the camp, my arms ached, and my clothes were dusted in flour. The sun had clawed its way higher behind the clouds. Ward pylons hummed softly as I ducked under the perimeter, the shimmer of their field brushing my skin.
Back in the tent city, kids used a broken pallet as a makeshift board game. Someone had painted a crude district map on canvas and pinned it up, marking damaged buildings in red and safer routes in blue. A medic waved me over to help carry a crate of bandages.
By night, the tents glowed softly from within, little patches of light under the heavy sky.
I lay on my cot, blanket pulled up to my chin, listening to voices through thin canvas.
My eyes narrowed as I whispered to myself.
[Insight]
-
[NAME]
NOAH REED
[STATS]
Strength: F
Agility: F
Constitution: F
Intelligence: E
Perception: E
Charisma: F
[VITALS]
Vitality: F
Stamina: F
Mana: F
[GIFTS]
INSIGHT: RANK EX
HERO: RANK F (DORMANT)
[SKILLS]
ENDURANCE: Rank F
Knife Work: Rank F
[CONDITION]
OVERALL: 93%
FATIGUE: MODERATE
SLEEP: RECOMMENDED
-
It wasn't impressive. But I'd started building a set of skills at least. At least it was better than a week ago. I had yet to improve any of my stats, but that would take me time.
I exhaled slowly, let the faint text fade, and stared at the dark canvas roof until my eyes finally gave up.
Sleep didn't come quickly.
When it did, the fire in my dreams burned a little less bright.