Comeback

Orion had known his family was dead, and potentially, the entire House. Still, it was salt to his fresh wound hearing it from another mouth, especially one which claimed his House harboured treason in their hearts.

Outrageous: slandering his family, smearing dirt on their faces. Nonetheless, a glance around told him the crowd had slurped up the Soldier's lies and his House's miserable end.

His eyes reddened with agitation and his hands itched for action, preferably the Soldier's neck in between them. But he knew it was pointless; hurting the mouthpiece of the Empire wouldn't avenge his dead family, nor would it bring them back. Despite this, Orion's anger ballooned as he picked up on the blasphemous comments flung over his head.

He growled, then forced his mouth shut to stop, and shoved himself out of the crowd. He passed by countless faces on Hexham's road with tears rolling down his cheeks.

It was despair; he wanted to plunge into the chilly river and be done with it, and yet his House's, his family's demise loomed over him. If he didn't avenge them, who would?

His anguish lasted minutes as he wandered aimlessly, solely walking for the sake of it. Regardless, as time passed, his hope grew and blossomed: he could do it, he was a Zakari, the greatest of the four great families. But this didn't mean he could shoot blinded and hit bullseye- hope only came so far. He needed a plan, and for that, he needed paper: he had to see his thoughts and problems in full.

Rubbing the reeded edges of his gold coin, Orion decided against his previous thought – ink and paper would be a waste of what little he had. Instead, he needed sand. Remembering a large patch of it, albeit littered, in the slums, he retraced his steps and got there just as the sun had fully woken.

In little time, he found a reed-sized stick and cleared out the foul-smelling garbage, revealing soiled sand. He scratched House into the sand and circled it: it was central to this injustice, it was the victim, it would be avenged.

Drawing a line, he attached the House to Empire. No, the Empire was the entire civilised world; the Empire was not his enemy. Why hadn't he seen this before? He slapped his face hard, leaving a red blur against his pale skin. He could not make mistakes like thinking anyone able to breathe with decency was against him.

Staring intensely at Empire, he drew a line leading to ? – Murderers. They were his enemies, and they were knotted up in the Empire's highest echelons. Still, he couldn't put a name to them or cite their motives.

He had to start there.

Orion's lips then stretched into an o as he stared at, but also past, his writing. The optimal place to dig for information was here, in Visgamar. The city was large enough to contain anything he'd require, and in turn, it contained nobody who could identify him as a Zakari, unlike in the capital.

Shivers ran down his spine at this realisation as it hinted at another more insidious one. Was it really a coincidence he had been seemingly abandoned here, or had someone known exactly how he would think? In which case, what did they want?

His eyes drew back to the ?. Ultimately, it showed how little he understood of the game he had become a pawn in. He needed information. Yes, he needed information. Orion smiled in what felt like forever, a worm wriggling against the tautness of his face.

The rest of his thought-train came to him as if the ambiguous resolution had been the only missing track. He would only get the information he wanted from the powerful, but the Nobility would blanch and lock him up the second they realised his identity. Then, an idea struck his head so violently that no other options remained.

Orion wasn't well-travelled, and those he knew would now want him captured, dead or alive. But not the Seeker Kasib.

He was a friend of the House's, and better still, an old friend of his dad's. But the best was the power Seeker Kasib held – unused power at that. When he learned of the injustice that had occurred, the upper echelons would go from proud to fearful in an instant, scared for their lives and of their families', just like Orion had been.

He just knew it.

Seeker Kasib had stayed at their House four months before because he had been hunting down a monster in the North, and their home was the last civilised place before the North. The Seeker's Summit was ongoing now, and although Seeker Kasib wouldn't be at it, he would be at the next one: he had explicitly said so.

Orion had to meet him there; he had to grow powerful enough in a year's time to enter the Summit. There was no other way of meeting such an elusive figure like Kasib, and there was no better way of getting his revenge than through Kasib.

"Oi, what's a dimwit lordling doin' around 'eres?" called a voice from behind him.

Orion brushed the written words away with his boots and genuinely smiled, shattering the webs on his face. He had a path to walk down, and a destination to get to.

"Did yers not 'ear me?"

…

"Hullo, you listenin', lordy?"

…

"How about this? Yer gimme yor clothies an' I'll let yer leave alive!"

He turned around and faced the approaching owner of the voice. The loudmouth was a child around his size, but much dirtier and uglier, surrounded by a scramble of similar breed. Orion considered beating up a few and escaping the rest, when suddenly, he sucked in his breath and slapped himself in full show of the curious gang.

He was no longer the lofty lord of a great house- he was the hunted exile of a disgraced house; these were the sorts of people he would be spending time with. All the more, he remembered a quote from a book he'd glanced at years ago- "Who knows the streets of their cities better than the street urchins who live on them?"

"Yuh'right, lordy? Look, jus' give us yor clothies while they're still clean, an' we'll beat yer up if that's what yor want." the loudmouth said while nudging up his eyebrows. His friends laughed while Orion cringed at the uncouth humour exclusive to streeties.

The streeties ranged from age to size, but the oldest looked to be 17, similar to Orion, while the biggest were as tall as him but carrying more weight. They wore thatched and ripped clothes crusted with dirt, and their skin was similar being cut, bruised, and dirty. The loudmouth had messy maroon hair, two scars along his cheeks from the eyes to the lips, and golden-brown skin.

Orion took a sideward glance and sighed with relief at seeing no one else around. His eyes paled and snow whirled down his right arm, rapidly liquefying into menacing streams revolving his hand.

"Uhh! Lord Magy, I truli didn't know yer a Magy," the loudmouth said, now aware of who he'd taunted. The younger urchins began to shift and edge away, while the older ones stood in fear, aware of how fast Orion could strike them down.

Throughout this, the feared mage in question stared at the group through slitted and downcast eyes, trying his best to hide the colour. Fortunately, sunlight now flooded Visgamar and his eyes warranted no second looks from those who knew no better. And while he was never much of a gambler, he was betting against high risks simply because the opportunity had served itself to him.

"No worries," Orion responded, to the loudmouth's relief, "All of you can go except the loudmouth,".

And so they did. Within ten seconds, only settling dust clouds suggested a whole gang had been there instead of the sole, distressed street-urchin.

Orion's eyes darkened back to black but he didn't collapse the spell, instead clenching his teeth to withstand the full-body pain.

"Whatevah yer need done, I'll do it," the loudmouth pleaded, nay, begged.

"Good," Orion said while releasing the spell, ice tendrils cracking against the sand. His hand was immediately in his trouser pocket, not showing the knife but posing so the loudmouth noticed he had one. "I'm new to the city, you see. I want a guide to show me around. Do you understand?"

"Of course, Lordy. No one's betah at the city than Thimble," the loudmouth said, flashing a nervous grin.

…