Colton

"Pig!" Becka knees her groper in the groin, igniting a powder keg of frustration and anger. Fists start flying, and chaos fills the streets. I pull her to a side alley before she can join in the maelstrom. However, I did enjoy watching that idiot hit the ground.

Whistles blare, and guards fill the street, "Break it up, break it up." They strike anyone who resists, but there are too many of them. In the ensuing chaos, we slip away. The storm fading behind us, we take a moment to catch our breath. Standing in, I don't even want to know.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath. I look back to the brawl and see the desperation. The crowds of refugees were bad enough, but the guards make it worse. This was supposed to be a simple job: make the delivery and go home.

Becka dusts herself off, "You didn't have to do that, Colton." Even after these few months, her edges haven't dulled. Her skirt gets caught, and she rips it in frustration. "Fucking dress!" She rips it until it hangs above her ankles, then smiles triumphantly over her opponent. "There! If you had let me change, this wouldn't be happening."

"Hey, you wanted to tag along, Becka, so it was either the dress or your skivvy." I toss her one of the packs. "Come on; we have to get to the Blackstone district."

Tristan whistles at us, "I know another way. Follow me." He hands me my share of the load before we slug through the trash. A putrid smell rises with each step we take. Making our way into an open area flies gather in buzzing clouds, eager for their next meal. Buckets rain down from the bridge above, oozing across the cobblestone. I trust Tristan like a brother, but sometimes I question his sanity.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Relax, Colton," he reassures me, "I always come this way." The glint in his eyes telling me all I need to know. He's leading us to Smith Alley.

Becka wipes her face, then punches my arm. "Again, pants would have been nice." she gestures down her legs, her skirt coated in muck. She's never cared about her appearance before. I don't know why she cares now.

I pull her close when another wave falls, narrowly dodging a direct hit. But droplets still manage to pelt us like stones. I feel the heat rushing to my cheeks, and I panic, resting my chin on her shoulder. "We'll have a scented bath when we get back."

She leans into me. "With the berry scent?"

I wipe the spatter from her cheek. "If you behave."

"Hey! It's this way," Tristan yells, leading us back into the narrow alleys. These once-proud buildings are now bones, ready to give at the slightest touch. "So, either of you hear about that incident up North?"

Debris blocks our way forward, so we start clearing it, "Something about Besekers and poison?" The thought of such a weapon sends a shiver up my spine. "Yeah, we heard. The Empire lost everything north of Bloodcrest Keep."

I throw the last beam, revealing a poorly maintained door, and wisps of black smoke puff through the cracks. I ready myself, that day threatening to engulf me. My breathing quickens, and memories creep their way into my mind.

A hand snaps me out of it. "Are you going to be ok, Colton?" Tristan asks.

"Yeah, I'll deal with it." I calm my nerves with one last deep breath, and we open the door. Tying scarves around our faces, we enter. A wave of heat blasts us, and flashes fill my mind. I close my eyes and say, "It's in the past, it's in the past," pushing those memories back down.

Ash fills the air. Compared to the rest of the city, this place is a graveyard. The warm colors are now an oily black. An ever-present cloud of smoke blackens the sky. The echo of anvils singing their off-key chorus while metal footsteps hush the voices of the masses.

The voices grow louder, and curiosity gets the best of us. Out in the open square, a black iron statue is surrounded. Many soldiers try to calm the sea of people at its knees, "People, we understand that you are tired, but you must endure."

"I lost three men to exhaustion," one of them yells. One of them fell into the forges." He rallies the crowd. Emboldened, they close the gap, but the click of crossbows breaks their will to fight. Like beat dogs, they return to work. Curiosity sated, we follow Tristan to Smith Alley.

Tucked away from prying eyes sits our destination. The Steel Rose is a smaller smithy run by one of the most cantankerous old men I know. I bang on the door, and a pipe flap opens above us.

"We're closed."

"Then open the door," Tristan answers.

"Oh no, I ain't letting you lot in here." The lid on the pipe closes.

"That's a shame. I have all this steel, but I guess we'll have to sell it somewhere else." Tristan starts to walk away, counting to three with his fingers. The pipe opens again, and he stops. "I guess we were doing business then?"

A loud sniff shoots out of the pipe. "Not smelling like that, you ain't. You know the routine mutts."

Another pipe opens, rattling so hard that fissures form in the wall. Tristan and I lock arms with Becka. What's about to happen is going to piss her off. "Hey!" She squirms frantically, unable to touch the ground.

"Don't be mad, Becka. We have to do this," I say. We close our eyes and are drenched by a tidal wave of cold water. It's refreshing. The grime oozes off of us, taking the smell with it.

"You dick!" Becka kicks me in the shin, water dripping off her fiery features. Her cheeks flush red, and her shirt is soaked, giving me a good view. Seeing my eye wonder, she covers herself. Something starts running down her cheeks, and she wipes it away with her sleeve. Was she wearing makeup? She turns to Tristan, ready for a fight, stopping when the door opens.

Supported by a metal leg, the owner tosses us some rags. "Don't drip on anything." He limps his way back into the shop, taking a seat. "Show me." Becka and I open our packs, and several weapons we liberated fall on the table with a metallic ting. "I won't ask where you got these," He eyes most of them, unimpressed. "I can salvage most of this. What do you want for it?"

Tristan opens his pack. "I need these blades repaired." Wrapped in a wolf's pelt are several spear tips. "With how things are going, my father wants us prepared." Tristan's gaze darts around the room, "Is Sophia here?"

The room turns cold, "And why do you want to see my granddaughter?"

Folding the wolf pelt, Tristan hands it to the Smith. "I wish to court her." His resolve is unwavering, even with that metal boot ready to meet his ass. "I love her, and I ask for your blessing."

Locking eyes with Tristan, the old man pulls a knife, stabbing the table between Tristan's fingers. "What makes you think you're worthy of her hand?" his expression cold, daring Tristan to flinch.

"I'm still breathing."

No words pass between them but smiles creep their way through. The Smith starts to let out a laugh, and Tristan follows suit. "You're a brave man, Tristan," he pulls the knife, "Sophia!"

Metal rattles through a door in the back of the shop, and a head pops out. "Opa, I'm in the middle of..." Her soot-covered face spots Tristan, and her cheeks flush red. The door shuts, and she exits a moment later, her face clean. "Tristan, what are you doing here?"

"I was making a delivery." He walks to her. "And I have a proposal I wanted to give." He takes her gloved hands. "Sophie, will you marry me?"

She turns to her grandfather, who gives a nod of approval. Her legs become jelly at a loss for words, and she goes limp in Tristan's arms.