Rhaen Vauxhall [3]

When I was a kid, I used to hear rumors about a Giftless child born inside the old clocktower hundreds of years ago, and because I was also found there wrapped in a torn sheet and left at the edge of the gears inside it, people liked to say I was the descendant.

But I never believed it.

What I did believe… was always the same dream I experience now and then, where I was too small and held tight in a woman's arms as she ran through the dark with someone powerful whose figure was chasing close behind us though I could never see it clearly.

Judging by her indigo hair that spilled down her shoulders in waves and pink eyes that looked just like mine, it was obvious that she was my mother.

Catching my reflection in the dirty puddle next to the trash bin, the ripples in the water smoothed just enough for me to see my face: indigo hair tangled from the wind of that blocked punch earlier, and pink eyes staring back up at me.

Just like hers.

And then, as always, the dream ended the moment she poked her finger gently to my forehead, right between my brows, and everything faded into white like she was trying to seal something in or keep something out.

That same poke…

The one Necraia just did to me the moment she tried to offer that deal.

"...Mom."

Before I realized it, my hand had already risen and hovered over the same spot, like my body remembered what my mind was still trying to make sense of. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought that maybe the offer wasn't as bad as I first believed.

It wasn't just because it meant I could finally climb the Tower even though I don't have a Gift as my power, but because… if I kept climbing and if I reached high enough… maybe I could find her somewhere above.

The only person who ever held me like I mattered and the only one whose face I remembered not because someone described it to me, but because it stayed in my dreams even when everything else faded.

She, who ran away to protect me, not away from me.

However, the only clue I had was a massive clocktower that exactly looked the same as the clocktower here, just slightly bigger.

Mreeaaww~

A broken meowing sound snapped me out of my thoughts, along with a feeling of something wet that brushed against my bare feet.

"...Mr. Graycat?"

Looking down, Mr. Graycat was still alive, though barely, and was now licking the toes of my feet though he couldn't stand anymore. I didn't even realize I had already reached his position while thinking about that dream.

Crouching down, I finally took a good look at him. 

Mr. Graycat's frame was thinner than I thought. Patches of fur were missing, peeled away to reveal bruised and tender skin beneath. His legs shook with each step, and yet…

"You still wag your tail at humans," I whispered, "at the very species that did this to you…?"

He meowed softly in response, a hoarse sound that barely carried through the air. Then he limped closer, and he nearly stumbled, but he kept going until he bumped his bony head against my hand whereas, at the same time, I felt something tighten in my chest.

It wasn't just pity, but… 

Shame.

I crouched, letting my palm rest against his side, careful not to press too hard. His ribs rose and fell beneath my fingers like brittle twigs in a breeze. He was so fragile and so breakable and still, he looked up at me with eyes that held no resentment.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, pulling him into my arms and he didn't resist. "It's… all my fault."

Mreeaaww~

I held him close. His warmth seeped into my jacket, and his heartbeat was so faint that it barely felt like a thump, my hand trembling as I stroked his back.

Until.

Like the last thread had snapped, Mr. Graycat's legs gave out and collapsed at my feet.

I waited a little longer, just in case. But looking at how the light behind his cloudy eyes faded, and his tiny limbs went soft in my grip, I knew he was no longer with me.

"…Mr. Graycat?"

Tears, for the first time, flowed freely from my eyes.

I didn't wipe them away. I didn't hide them. I just let them fall as I knelt down and slipped off my jacket. The fabric was stiff, rust-stained, and barely enough to warm anyone. 

Nevertheless, I folded it with shaking hands and wrapped it around Mr. Graycat's body before I cradled him like a baby and held him to my chest with the same care I wished someone had once held me. 

I didn't know how much time had passed while cradling his corpse, but after a while, I stood up and was barely able to keep my knees from buckling.

Step.

Carefully, I turned out of the alley. The streets were noisy again, and the air was stale with rust and the scent of rusted gears bleeding into the air from every cracked pipe.

I walked through it all, even though I didn't know where I was supposed to go— only that I needed something to preserve what little dignity Mr. Graycat had left. For instance, a clean cloth or at least a proper farewell to send it off and bury him anywhere better than other than this rotting craps behind some heap of trash.

"...Mr. Junon."

I bit my lip, holding back a sob as I hurried toward his shop, hoping he might have a spare sheet lying around, like a clean blanket tucked away near the storage racks where he always kept them for the street dogs.

I had just turned the corner when I crashed into someone again, nearly knocking the air out of my lungs for the second time, and I staggered back with my arms tightening instinctively around Mr. Graycat so I wouldn't drop him.

The man didn't stop, if anything, he sped off down the street like the devil himself was chasing him.

But I saw him.

It was that damn half-faced mask I also bumped earlier and the same bastard who slammed into me before without so much as a glance or an apology.

I wanted to shout after him, maybe curse him out like I had done the first time, but I didn't have the breath or the time right now.

Step.

I just turned away, clutching Mr. Graycat even tighter, and forced my aching legs to keep moving until I reached Mr. Junon's shop.

Mr. Junon's shop was still in the same corner tucked under that slanted tarp beneath the crooked scaffold. The tarp flapped a little, patched up here and there like always, held by the same bits of string and clips he'd used forever. 

The spoon bell was still there too, swinging gently on its wire. The crates sat off to the side, and the old table was still buried under parts no one but Mr. Junon could ever make sense of.

But… something felt off.

This was the time he was usually at the table, tinkering or grumbling about scrap on the surface when he was just waiting for me to come back as he knows about the relationship, more like brotherhood, I shared with Mr. Graycat.

"Mr. Junon?" I called out, leaning in and peeking through the opening.

With no response, I pushed the tarps aside and stepped in. The moment I did, the same scent from the alley earlier filled my nose before my eyes even adjusted to the dim light: smell of blood.

"Mr. Jun…"

I saw him.

He was slumped behind the table, body twisted slightly, face tilted toward the ceiling as if he'd been trying to breathe through the pain as blood pooled beneath him. It was too dark to be fresh, and too much to pretend it wasn't serious.

I rushed forward and dropped to my knees beside him, careful not to jostle the jacket wrapping Mr. Graycat I still cradled in my arms.

"Mr. Junon!" I reached out and gently shook his shoulder. "Can you hear me? S-Stay still. Stay with me."

His eyes fluttered open at my voice. 

"Rhaen…?" he murmured. "That you…?"