Silas shoved his hands in his pockets and strode with nonchalant confidence into the plaza as Ren watched, awed. After a moment, Ren blinked, stepping forward but never into the light. "Are you insane?"
The lanky boy turned, tilted his head, and grinned. "Oh, right. Come along, stagehand."
'Stagehand?' Ren frowned, his face growing hot. Whether frustration or embarrassment caused it, Ren couldn't tell. "R-Right." Hesitantly, one foot found its way in front of the next, and Ren stepped quietly onto the mosaic tile, his boots clicking softly in the moon and starlight that reflected off the polished tiles beneath him. "Yes, sir."
Silas turned his back to Ren, walking with that same lackadaisical attitude that he strode into the center of the plaza with. "Good. The Garden doesn't take many new apprentices, you know."
"Yes, sir." Ren muttered again, "Thank you for the opportunity, sir."
Turning back to face Ren, Silas' silver eyes lit up with mirth. "Relax, friend. You're safe here. Oh, that reminds me." Removing his outermost robes, Silas tossed them over to Ren. "Evelyn said something about giving you a coat, earlier. Take that for now."
Looking down at the crimson coat, Ren paused slightly, thinking back to the cloak he'd almost stolen. "...Thank you."
Scoffing, Silas turned on his heel, raising that flippant hand again. "Don't mention it. Seriously. Or Evie is going to make it my problem for the whole month."
Unsure of how to respond, Ren slid the coat over his arms and shoulders, tied it down, and followed Silas a half step behind. Moonlight, simultaneously cold and warm, followed Ren with each step, reflecting off the mosaic tile. To him, the ghostly glow of the tile marked the passage to judgement. No, the tiles themselves were judgement. And they'd condemned him to… A life on the road? To be a stagehand for some roadside show?
Ren puffed out a breath, repeating the Winter Mantra. No… This would have to be temporary. He could return. He would return.
Silas looked about them, then spun to walk backwards, easy smile on his face. "So, stagehand. What do you know of what we do?"
Trying to meet Silas' gaze through the slits in the mask designed almost too specifically to cover his eyes proved a challenge, but he hoped it came across. "...You transport goods and dance and sing along the way." Uncomfortable, he brushed his fingers across the side of the mask, as if trying to make sure it was still there.
"Ah, careful to keep that thing on," Silas lampooned, turning on heel in a smooth motion as he kept walking, "And… Good interpretation, if a little simplistic."
Forcing himself to keep a straight face, Ren merely nodded and remained silent. Silence was a better response than incompetence, and Ren knew that if it was important enough, he would be given the necessary information. Such was the way of the strict hierarchy of the Arbiter house.
It seemed, however, that Silas was perfectly content to let the question lie unanswered.
Quietly, Ren picked at the material of his coat. It was finer than he'd anticipated, smoother. Almost like the silks he was used to, if a little worn comparatively. He didn't look down. Wasn't sure if he'd be able to see anything of the coat if he did.
They walked across the plaza like that, Ren fidgeting with his coat and mask, and Silas with his hands above his head and a relaxed gait. Each step was gunfire, roaring across the plaza with as much noise and fanfare. Sucking in a deep breath, Ren repeated his mantra, forcing himself forward. 'It's temporary.' He promised himself, 'It's temporary.'
Eventually, the plaza gave way to to steps descending wood and and stone, heading out from one of the central circles of the concentric city to the lower, grimier outer circles. Even at this time of night, people milled about them, some cold, hungry, left to the streets. Ren avoided them from the corner of his eyes, lips twitching at the corner.
"You must remain strong for them," His father had once told him, "You are to be the hope that there is truth in this world, and that change may come."
He bit his tongue, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of the memory. Ren's father had always been an optimist. Where was the optimism now? Such optimism was no better than a summer calm. Warm, perhaps, but fleeting. Fall winds would always inevitably destroy what heat the sun had once brought, and winter would drown it all together. Unlike Erin, Ren had never taken after his father's optimism, or his mother's ability to perceive the world with clarity.
Silas ducked into an alley– A shortcut to the further rims, where the buildings grew increasingly compact, the cobbled roads narrower and narrower. Ren was familiar enough with the city to know he was heading for the public stables on the western side.
The city had only two entrances, and, by extension, exits. One on the west, and one to the east. To the north and south, the elegance of the Rosespire Mountains fanned out, wings to the angelic nature of the Grand City of Gateway. The Grand Capital. Ren's home, and now the one place Ren wouldn't be able to return.
And yet, as the roads grew narrower and narrower, despite Ren's familiarity, he couldn't help but feel like they were closing in on him, eating at him, gnawing at him. And when they finally got to the public stables, the walls behind him gaped, spitting him out against unforgiving outer walls. He had no idea how he'd made it this far…
"All people moving in and out of the city need to be searched. Fugitive murderer Elren Winter is still at large."
Ren spun, and Silas caught him by the shoulder. Silas sighed, reaching into his own coat and pulling out a stage mask of similar quality to Ren's. Maybe a little less intricate. But, he turned, gave Ren a smug wink, and donned it. For a moment, Ren paused. They looked almost identical. Silas was half a finger taller, maybe, and half a finger narrower. And sure, his mask didn't cover his eyes enough to hide their silver color, but other than that, Ren had to take a step back and pause.
"Like looking in your reflection?" Silas chuckled, gently pushing Ren aside to see who had spoken.
Clicking his tongue, Silas spun Ren back around and pushed him forward. He leaned close, hissing, "You stay silent and let me handle this, got it, Arbiter?"
Ren nodded, a frown creasing his lips in slight disapproval. But he would remain silent. His pride wasn't as important as his life.
Clearly clocking the dissatisfaction on Ren's lips, Silas' insufferable smile only widened. "Good." He turned again, leading the two young men with that impish nature of his.
Of course, around the corner were several House guards. Colors of all but the cool blues and purples of House Winter formed a hasty barricade. So, greens, yellows, oranges, reds, and everything between. It seemed that some of the lesser Houses had even helped form around the walls. If Ren didn't know that they were likely undertrained, he'd actually be nervous.
Maybe being nervous was a stretch, already. Ren was an Arbiter. He was made to be ice under the flames of pressure. So he kept his posture straight, his arms at his sides, and lips curled down at the corners. High, impervious, untouchable.
Silas nudged his shoulder as they approached the gate. "Relax. You're too…" His voice dropped, quiet against the shouts of the barricade, "Winter."
Behind his mask, Ren's eyes narrowed, but he tried pulling his lips into something of a smile, though he feared it awkward and unrecognizable. Relaxing his posture, shoulders fell slightly as he imitated Silas, hands going into his robes. It was uncomfortable. Standing so relaxed, so careless. An Arbiter should never… 'I'm not an Arbiter.'
The thought hit him with the force of a carriage. Though it contained grief, it was more of an empty shock that filled his chest. A hollow, aching sensation that didn't seem to be able to put itself together properly before it fizzled and started again. He sucked in a breath. This wasn't the time to be feeling this. This wasn't the time this wasn't the time this wasn't the time…
Silas had already approached the barricade, hands flailing about him as he spoke, trying to make his point, "...Are you serious? Why would this kid be Elren Winter? He… Looks like him?! Looks like him? Sir, I look like him." Flipping his hand, a silver dagger coalesced from silver mist, the back of his hand pulsing with a gentle silver-white light. "We're performers, sir. From the Caravan of Elegies! …Yes, it's real. Yes. That's our stamp. They left earlier today. This? This is part of my act! Yes, I'm Marked. Caravaneer stuff, you see?"
Through the slits in his mask, Ren could make out Silas pointedly moving his dagger, the movement of his head giving clear orders. 'Run.'
A knot formed in the back of Ren's throat, his breathing growing heavy. The air itself seemed to be his adversary, unwilling to comply with his lungs. He couldn't just… Run from a barricade. It was against the law. A pit formed in Ren's stomach at the thought. 'Is it really… Wrong?'
Still, Silas' movements grew more urgent, his point growing more frantic. "His name is Paul. Yes. His name is on the ledger. Right…"
Ren couldn't bring himself to move. An arbiter would never break the law. But Ren wasn't an arbiter.
One step. He managed just one step.
For a moment, maybe a fraction of a second, maybe shorter, Silas' lips tugged upward at the corner.
It happened all at once. Ren charged, dashing forward with all his might, his hand pulsing with soft violet light as the Grand City tried to eat him one last time. This wasn't a glorious moment. He was a child, hiding from his father after having done something he shouldn't have. He was an apprentice Arbiter, fleeing trouble after Winston had spotted danger.
He was a faceless man, running with flightless wings across his face into the very thing that Elren Winter would've never imagined fighting.
The first gunshot rang through the air only three paces from the barricade. Though Ren knew it was aimed for him, could feel it rip through him, his glowing Mark ensured it passed through him, without trouble.
Behind him, Silas gasped in mock horror. "Paul! What are you doing?"
There was no stopping, though. Stopping meant removing Ren's mask. Meant revealing himself. Meant destroying any chance he had of returning home.
One step. Then one more.
Silas silver dagger elongated into a sword as the barricade collapsed in on them, unhinged laughter spraying from his lips, reveling in the chaos as he defended himself… And somehow all without killing a single person. "Come, then! Show this Reaper what you can do!"
Ren kept running as the clangor of swords and bullets echoed behind him.