2 Chapter 1: A Tired Hand
(The year 1075, A bar in Tkaronto Columbia)
Inside a well-furnished bar, there was a woman with long black hair, purple eyes, traces of black originium crystals growing on her left arm, and 3 sets of horns on her head indicating she was an Alecto Sarkaz. A rare sight in the streets of Columbia.
Even though Sarkaz and people infected with oripathy are theoretically allowed in Columbia, most are used as frontier pioneers since both groups are seen as expendable. It's dangerous work that often leads to oripathy infection or immediate death, but it is one of the only jobs available for Sarkaz and the infected leaving little choice.
This woman, however, was an exception regardless of being both an infected and a Sarkaz. The bartender paid her no mind as he leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. After all, she was his best customer.
The two listened to the sound of a radio broadcast echo through the establishment.
"Early morning yesterday, an accident occurred at the Montel Mines. Miners struck an originium vein triggering the explosion that shook the city yesterday. 7 died in the explosion, while 23 other miners were infected with oripathy due to the originium dust in the air after the event. The mine was reopened 2 hours later, and operations continued as normal. Citizens are advised to avoid the area due to active originium dust still affecting the premises..."
The sound of the radio was cut off by the annoyed bartender as he switched to an orchestral music station.
Meanwhile, the woman leaned over the bar using one hand to hold her forehead with furrowed brows as if she was cradling a headache and used the other hand in an attempt to fill her empty glass from the bottle sitting next to her. The glass was only filled halfway before the bottle emptied. Annoyance crossed her face as she called out in a hollow voice.
"Bottle is empty."
The bartender tender didn't even bother to open his eyes while he answered.
"You know where it is."
The bartender listened to the sound of the bar stool scraping across the floor and the clank of bottles as she helped herself. After the noise stopped, he spoke once more.
"Normally, you don't start cradling your head until around 6 p.m. You're 5 hours early. What, you losing your tolerance?"
She rolled her eyes in response regardless if the man could see it.
"It's not the drink that's giving me a headache, just unnecessary thoughts."
The bartender opened his eyes with a raised eyebrow.
"Anything interesting?"
The woman was silent for a moment before letting out a self-deprecating chuckle.
"... No, just drunken delusions."
The bartender lost his interest after that. He has seen enough drunken delusions to last a lifetime. Quiet reigned back over the sparsely filled bar once more. The only sound was soft orchestral music playing over the bar speakers at a low volume.
The woman couldn't hear the music at all, however. the only things she could hear were her thoughts. The same thoughts that have plagued her over the last week.
One week ago while the woman was sufficiently inebriated, visions flashed through her mind. Scenes played out before her eyes of events that have yet to pass. Some events were related to each other and some were seemingly independent at first glance. However, after pondering she noticed that all of them had one key point. They were focused on the next generation's Lord of Fiends, the supposed rightful leader of the Sarkaz people, or someone related to her.
Nevertheless, she would not allow herself to be a fool. These 'visions' were likely just drunken hallucinations. A false hope created by her subconscious that she has attempted to suppress for centuries. It would not be the first time, so she has chosen to disregard such thoughts. After all, she is unsure if she can handle even a single more disappointment.
Despite her attempts at expelling the memories, a single question refuses to relent. What if? What if they were real? She had heard of the Sami snow priests and the Cyclops receiving visions of the future. An insight that has spun the prophecy of doom that hangs over Terra. If they could gaze upon such things, why not her? Could she not at least check? Her musings did not continue further. She could not bear to let them, and so the endless cycle of questions started over once more just as they had for the last week.
Falling deep into thoughts once more, she did not notice the approach of another until the squeak of a stool moving next to her rang out. Looking over, she saw an Alecto just like her with short brown hair, black plate armor, and two swords being placed on the bar table. Much to her annoyance, she did not fail to notice that the man moved her bottle away from her as he sat down to make room for the blades.
"Anders, I see black still looks terrible on you."
The man's mouth twitched slightly upward as he replied.
"Black looks good on anyone, Valeria. Besides it reminds me of my childhood hero. Makes me feel like she's by my side as I fight."
Valeria simply rolled her eyes as she finished off the last of her glass, but let her gaze linger on the blades for a few moments.
"What are you doing here?"
"What? Can't a man visit an old friend?"
Valeria raised an eyebrow at that.
"You occasionally coming in here to bother me makes us old friends?"
Anders just dismissively waved his hand.
"After it happens for long enough, yes it does."
Valeria scoffed but did not argue. Instead, she chose to tap on her empty glass a couple of times.
"If you're going to be here at least make yourself useful."
Nodding, the man grabbed the bottle and poured. Valeria was satisfied for a moment before noticing that he only filled it about a quarter full. She sent a glare at the man, but he spoke first before she could protest.
"How is your oripathy?"
Both of them turn towards the black crystals growing on her left arm. Pulling down her sleeve to give the man a better look, she showed him that her left arm was probably about 15% crystallized. Anders couldn't help but wince.
"It extends a little onto my side, back, and chest. If I were to guess, I'd give it about another hundred or so years."
The mercenary grimaced while silently being thankful that Sarkaz are more resilient to oripathy than the other races. Any other race would have died after 3-5 years. He spoke in an attempt to cheer himself up.
"Well, oripathy medication progresses every day. Even if there is no cure, maybe that time can be extended a while."
"Nonsense, oripathy medication has more side effects than benefits. Even when it works the only thing it does is suppress the pain."
Anders couldn't help but glare at those words. With a heavy voice, he continued.
"We both know that's not why you don't take medicine, Valeria. Don't treat me as a fool."
Valeria chose to avert her eyes and focus on her drink. Silence envelops the two for a while. A minute passes before she speaks out once more.
"If you're here I'm assuming you've found a job?"
The mercenary gave a solemn nod.
"Yes, you hear about the mine collapse the other day?"
Nodding Valeria motioned for him to continue.
"The company in charge of it doesn't want to pay compensation fees so we were hired to take out the survivors that were infected with oripathy. Apparently, our fee is cheaper."
Valeria frowned at the information.
"Grim work, are you sure you want it?"
Anders was silent for a moment before giving a tired sigh.
"We're Sarkaz. All of our work tends to end up grim. The younger mercenaries weren't exactly motivated, but what other choice is there for the likes of us? They'll learn."
His words sent Valeria into contemplation. Yes, what other choice is there? Who would give them another opportunity to put food on their table? What other way is there for the Sarkaz to live? Unconsciously her gaze returned to the swords lying on the bar. A fact that did not go unnoticed by Anders. He dared not even breathe. Afraid that any sound would cause her to retract her gaze. However, his hope would end in disappointment as he heard the sound of her stool moving as she stood up.
The sounds of her feet echoed through the bar as she walked away, but stopped shortly after. The woman did not turn around but spoke into the air. Her neutral voice seemed to fill the whole room.
"Decline the job. I have a different one for you."
Surprise overtook the man. In all of the years they have known each other, this was the first time she has ever hired him.
"What is the job?"
"Ask around about a group of scientists called the 'Sand Soilders' sent to the Ibut region of Sargon by the Blaine Formative. I wish to find them."
Offering no more words, she walked out of the bar to prepare for her trip. For better or for worse it was time to determine the worth of these visions.
