Through the distant tempest, two fiery orbs beat down on Glorestra despite the late year. Seasons were a thing of the distant past, spoken of only in myths. Also—it probably wasn't those suns creating all the heat, but the tempest itself, all unnatural wind and heat. Although, after a hundred and seventy years, it might as well have been natural. The knowledge of whatever had caused this had slipped away from the minds of everyone.
Sanya Of-None slipped through the crowded streets. Sand, rock, and gravel underneath her feet, all a dusty tan. People filled the streets, heading one way or another. The occasional wagon or cart bounced along, pulled by a camel or two. Those took up most of the space, leaving everything seeming cramped. Without them, the foot traffic would have much more room to breathe.
The wagons were a telltale sign of booming trade and a flow of large amounts of resources. The heart of Glorestra continued to pump healthily.
A small, mischievous smirk escaped Sanya's flat expression. This meant more marks to steal from, and, perhaps—more importantly—food to eat.
She passed building after building. Tan structures made of bricks of stone, oftentimes only a single story tall with flat roofs. The occasional building stood taller, or had a domed roof, sometimes a turquoise blue or a bone white. Owners of the flat roofed buildings liked planting sad little gardens up there, filled with rows of pots and wilting flowers. Sanya liked to go up there to the roofs at night sometimes and lay among the dying flora and feel the night air.
Off the sides of the buildings—between them and the streets—stone columns held up an additional roofing. What was it called again? Um. Pergola? Yeah, that! It allowed for people to pass through the shade or to have little market stalls selling goods. Most of the market stalls would be gathered together in a couple open spaces and plazas though.
It did not matter if the stalls Sanya took interest in were on the streets or in a plaza, she could probably get away with taking a little something from anywhere she wanted. However, she only wanted a specific list of things.
Well, maybe she'd steal something frivolous just for extra money—but she had a list. Her eyes scanned over each stall, easier to notice what was sold on her right rather than her left, being on the right side of the street and all. Unfortunately (yes, unfortunately) she did not have to crane her neck over crowds to see. She glanced left, then right, then left again. People did this all the time, looking for someone selling what they looked for—so hopefully she wouldn't be suspicious.
Ah, who was she kidding, she probably looked mighty sketchy—though, for reasons beyond her latent thievery. She drew way too many heads for comfort, which, of course, made stealing a little bit more difficult. N-not that it was a challenge!
T-too many glances, from one person after the next. She wanted to die.
She was, like, five foot and ten inches or something like that. Her straight, black hair went beyond her shoulders and settled somewhere around her very flat chest. She was all parts tall and lanky.
Despite the pain in her soul, she wore trousers. She fought that ailment slightly with an oversized tunic that went down to her knees—which, thankfully, was a common fashion choice. Her sleeves were long, hiding her arms, which was another nice thing. Otherwise, she'd probably get twice as many looks and stares.
Aaaargh. Kill me.
Hey! Maybe if she botched a theft, she'd get her wish!
Oh, yeah, trousers on a woman. Thankfully it was only just uncommon, not rare or unheard of, yet some stinky old people and other grouchy citizens still hated that women wore trousers at all.
She would really like to entertain them and go along and wear a skirt—but, i-it . . . it was harder to move in them. Yeah, that.
And, uh, she'd get more stares?
She also wore a scarf-like object, wrapped around her neck and covering up to her nose. In more thanks—also a fashion choice for women either by themselves or by abusive and controlling men who thought it improper to show too much skin.
Though, being progressive enough to wear trousers and yet wear the scarf created a strange contrast. Whatever! S-she wore what she wanted to! Hmph!
She wanted to shrink ten inches and melt away into a blob and then to, like, disappear.
Her stomach growled.
Yeah, yeah, shut up. She was getting to that.
She felt herself getting warmer. Sweat threatened her forehead and her armpits. Her hands twitched to the opposite forearms and scratched them, sharp nails digging through her basaltic cloth tunic and raking her skin. Her jaw clenched.
Heliux, just kill me. Please.
Her existence was a joke. A laugh. A mockery.
She weaved through the moving crowds and headed under the pergola. She let out a sigh as some of the heat stopped beating down at her. The heat that came from within toned down a bit too.
She stopped and leaned against one of the pillars, gathering her breath. She closed her eyes for a bit.
“You okay . . . Uhhhhh . . .?” Somebody near her trailed off. Some old lady's voice. She did not know how to address Sanya. Sanya felt like someone had stabbed a dagger of shadow into her heart.
Sanya opened her eyes and squinted. The lady stood behind her market stall . . . thing. It was a stone slab on equally stone wheels. It probably weighed a ton, Sanya didn't know how some decrepit grandma could push that around, yet Sanya shouldn't underestimate the lady, especially not if this was her life.
She had various pottery things and crafts like that. Sanya did not look long, she did not care.
She closed her eyes again and nodded vigorously, hopefully the living antique got the message.
She took a deep breath and then pushed herself off the pillar, continuing forward.
She . . . did not feel much better. In fact, she felt like the lowest garbage. She continued to feel worse as the longer she continued onward, the idea of pulling off a theft in midday made her want to dig her own grave and lay in it.
Other people would be doing it . . . probably. Little kids, most likely. Ones who were all skin and bone, dirty and dying.
Well, Sanya wasn't much better. A little older. A little less dirty. Arguably . . . dying more? Bah, who was she kidding?
Maybe if she walked up and assaulted a guard she'd get thrown into an oubliette, where maybe she would get fed—at least.
No! No—wait—shut up, Sanya! Being behind bars meant . . . no . . . no . . .
Sanya shuddered and stabbed the thought to a bloody pulp.
Sanya stopped walking.
The . . . Um . . . What was it called, again? The overhead ceiling thing for shade! It turned right, continuing along the building. Meanwhile, the street opened up into a vast plaza. A nice, empty space of nothing but sand and rock underneath and market stalls and vendors sitting on top. There was some semblance of a grid pattern but mostly it was free-reign chaos.
People moved in these little pathways, shopping either with their purses or just with their eyes. Sanya was the kind of person to shop with the, um, the five-finger discount.
Sanya’s mouth twitched into some grim smile before she smothered it. She took a deep breath for good measure and started walking again, heading towards the market that started maybe a cart or two's length away, to have a decently wide street surrounding the market.
As she got closer, she could smell all sorts of foods being sold. Bread and pastries straight from an oven maybe ten minutes ago sat on parchment wraps. Meats roasted on portable stove tops and fires. Money exchanged over all sorts of goods sweet and savory.
Sanya’s stomach grumbled again, saliva flooded her mouth. She swallowed it all down.
She moved through the crowds of people. Nobody shouted their wares—not over the cacophony of hundreds of different noises. Vendors talked to shoppers. Shoppers talked to other shoppers. Vendors talking to other vendors. Soooo much talking!
Sanya swore she could hear chickens clucking, pigs oinking, and camels . . . making camel noises. Even livestock changed hands too. What wasn't sold here?
A metallic smell permeated the air too, baking under the hot suns and engulfed by the distant tempest all around them. Ah, yeah, that thing in the sky and in the distance and all around them.
Sanya could only imagine what cavern folk thought upon first seeing such a dangerous piece of nature maybe a mile away. Fear? Existential dread? The thought that if just a couple mages stopped their spells, that the fire and wind would quickly approach them and consume them all?
After eighteen years of living under it, Sanya had gotten used to it. Everyone else was probably used to it by now as well. It probably spoke wonders that Sanya and others could ignore the tempest—to take it all for granted, or to be calm and complacent underneath such horror.
In the distance, Sanya saw the grand three-story building of the legislature. Near it, she could see the opulent fortress-like palace. It stood even above the legislature, all parts buttresses and crenellations and a few domes just because. All around, Sanya could see the imposing wall and its towers maybe a kilometer away behind her—the closest she was to the wall.
Sanya could also make out the two towers scraping into the sky from Glorestra's cathedral, complete with a roof reaching for the tempest.
Every once in a while, a guard stood on duty in the market pathways, tall and stiff, encased in metal armor and sweating and stinking like a pig.
Sanya wanted to spit on each one she passed—not because they smelled or dripped sweat, that was fair—because they were soldiers. Violent meatsticks hired by the King or the legislature or whoever. They went to war and killed people. Beyond enforcing the law, they hurt people, and even when they enforced the law, they hurt people unnecessarily. They tripped for power.
Hmm.
What did she want to grab first? Food? Or her other items?
She eyed a delicious-looking kebab stand on her left. Some produce stand and a random stall of textile goods flanked it. Many people stood and waited for their turn for a nice, hand-held meal to eat while they walked.
Too busy? Or busy enough to slip in? . . .
Sanya glanced at the produce stand . . . imported goods? She saw llumifruits and apples and potatoes, normal things that did not grow on the surface.
The merchant at the stand had his eyes turned, chatting with the kebab owner as he created skewers.
Sanya slipped through the crowd and up to the produce stand. Without so much a quick look at anybody else, she plucked an apple and hid her hand inside the long sleeve of her tunic. A mere second later, she continued on her way.
Her heartbeat picked up. Her breathing grew ragged. Sweat threatened her again. She hated this. She wanted to slam her head against one of the stone stalls, or poke her noggin into the kebab stall’s open fire. She wanted to immolate, to burst into flames and to not be reborn like a phoenix.
One was done. No one said a word. The merchant hadn’t noticed. It was one apple after all. Just one. Despite being a cavern import, they were probably worth nothing.
She reached up and brought the apple to her mouth. Except, her scarf blocked the way.
She frowned. Nope. No way! She brought her hand back down and forgot about eating—for now.
Yeah, she needed one of the items on her list. Desperately. Now.
With a newfound sense of urgency, she picked up her pace, hurrying through the crowds, looking at stall after stall, cart after cart, looking for it.
Something very precious.
She passed by more food. Every kind of group was accounted for. She passed by chickens in cages, pigs on leads. Tons of crafts, from pottery to textiles. She saw books! Clothing.
Metalwork. Tools. Household appliances . . .
Ah! She spotted one.
A small, metal blade.
Sanya grinned.
She weaved through the crowds, heading closer. This owner unfortunately looked forward, out towards the people and having a watchful eye over his metalwork crafts.
Sanya's grin killed itself.
She slowed down and browsed the stalls around it, slowly glancing back to see if the owner would look away, to chat with a companion or anybody. Preferably one of the stalls behind his, facing another pathway.
She had taken in, like, four boring stalls, the contents of which she could not care less about. To much dismay, the owner still looked outward.
Hmph.
Sorry! Guess she would have to do this the hard way. She walked in the direction of the stall. She flicked her right hand back and forth, eyes focusing on the stall owner. He was rather short—for a guy—and sported a thick, black beard. His eyes were blue or something like that. He wore a turban over his—presumably bald—head, and was wrapped in a robe-like cloth. Not robes like the mages wore though.
The owner's eyes began to flit from one place to the next. He closed his eyes, taking a hand up and rubbing his lids.
He opened them again, but continued to look around. Panic and distress exploded on his face. A little bit of fear.
Sorry.
Sanya clenched her right fist, making sure to keep it closed. She dropped the apple in her left hand.
One of the stall owners next to the metalwork guy turned to him.
“What’s wrong, good merchant?” He asked.
The metalwork owner did not look at the other man trying to help him. “M-m . . . My . . .” He grasped his head with both his hands.
“Will you be okay?” The man asked again. “Do you need help? Call a doctor?”
The metalwork owner nodded slowly. “My eyes! They've never done this before. I-I . . . This shouldn't be happening. I've not had issues with them before. I—”
The man cursed.
Sanya came upon the stall, snatched the blade, turned, and hurried.
“Aye!” The man that was tending to the metalwork owner called.
“W-what?” The metalwork owner asked. “Are you calling to a doctor?”
“No. Some lowly spawn just plucked something from ya.”
Sanya did not see their reactions, but the metalwork man probably paled. “While I'm blind!?”
Sanya's stomach dropped. She'd been seen. Oops.
She quickened her pace, shuffling through the crowds. She could have sworn she heard the man yelling for guards.
Sanya unclenched her fist now. She was not good enough yet to do all that just with her mind. She needed some sort of physical action for it to work.
She grimaced. She was a monster. Her weird magic added to the other things that made her terrible.
Heliux kill me.
Sanya glanced back.
It was Sanya's turn to pale. Two guards moved through the crowds at a pace faster than their lazy meandering. Fast, despite working against the crowds. Despite pounds of armor weighing them down, tall polearms in hand, some sort of bludgeon weapon at their belts.
She looked forward. Did she pick up her pace or could she be slow and blend in? Running meant being seen immediately, but also meant she could probably get away . . .
Well, from those two at least. She'd be crazy suspicious to any new guards she ran past.
So, slow and covert it was?
Sanya practically shook. Sweat gathered in uncomfortable spots and collected in her eyebrows. Her whole body went from pale to red.
As long as she did not look back. As long as she walked slow and looked normal—
A gauntlet grabbed her right hand.
Sanya jumped, a string of curses flew through her head but never left her mouth.