A bronze eye looks over an expansive city full of people and trade from its very center. The buildings of the city; formed from brick and mortar, wrapped around and descended down the sides of the hill that the eye was perched above. The streets directly underneath the eye are very wide; wide enough that 6 horse drawn carriages could sit side by side with plenty of room to spare. 

Each house and shop was a canvas upon which picturesque carvings were inlaid on supportive pillars and watchful gargoyles. Every single window was made of wonderfully crystal clear glass set in ornate iron frames. The eye had a perfect view of all these beautiful creations from its perch directly above them.

 

Such traits were not ones that would be shared by the rest of the sprawling city: a hastily built wooden mess.

 

Side streets and back alleys would slowly become narrow and winding as they grew further away from the eye’s gaze. Builders had become so starved for space in certain areas that their creations had started to swallow up and stretch over the roads that fed them. These mazes of winding streets and pathways would only be broken by the occasional wall jutting out from between roughly tiled roofs. 

These walls were remnants of the city as a much younger creature; now left behind to crumble from the wasting forces of time rather than any lengthy siege.

 

The city’s growth had slowed down considerably since the time the walls were last needed, but the quality of new buildings on the outskirts still hadn’t begun to resemble the artfully decorated inner city.

 

Many areas of the city were watched over by their own bronze eyes, albeit ones of lower quantity and perch height. Still, each was unmistakable to any citizen that laid their own, less metallic, eyes upon it.

 

It marked the presence of the Clergy of Shamshaw, and it was no ordinary eye. Mounted sideways on top of every building run by the religion, the pupil of each eye contains a smaller eye inside it. The vast majority of these symbols would only go so far, a single eye inside the other, but occasionally the pattern would be repeated over and over until the smith making it could create no finer detail. The eye at the city center was one of such.

 

The building the eye belonged to was the city’s beating heart; an immense cathedral 200 feet tall. It was affixed at the very top of a bell tower whose centerpiece weighed over 300 tons. It would often be said that the very earth would tremble when it was rung.

 

The surrounding buildings seemed to give it a wide berth around its front doors, which allowed for an extravagant fountain to be placed in the empty space. This work's main focus was a sculpture called the weeping knight, who would cry water delivered from the nearby mountains via an aqueduct overtop of the heap of statues beneath it.

 

Hunched over and peeking out of a nearby alley, a pair of vibrant green eyes sat underneath a curly frizzled mess of dark hair. They glance over various parts of the great church with a narrowed leer, but never linger on one thing for long.

 

_____________________________________________________

Three things can be said about the Cathedral’s front doors: They’re big, they’re bronze, and they’re pointless. A lot of the things in this city are at least one of these things, but this door is one of the few things that’s all three at once.

 

Most people just use the side entrances anyway, ‘cause that thing’s too big to open...

 

.. it should be, anyway…

 

That eye up top is another. It just sits up there and does nothing and all! 

At least the door is used every now and then. 

 

An’ then there’s the fountain. I dunno who made that thing, but a knight cryin’ water all over a mound of torn books an’ dead birds seems pretty dumb to me.

 

I kick a pebble from the dusty alleyway ground as hard as I can towards the pile of statue, causing it to skip across the cobbles with a clatter.

 

It barely clears the fountain’s edge, and plunges into the coin filled water with a plunk.

 

*Rumble*

 

Vibrations pass through the ground, sending ripples through both the fountain and my nerve. I take a cautious step back.

 

That wasn’t me, right?

 

Suddenly, the sound of burbling water vanishes from my ears, and all activity from the fountain abruptly ceases.

 

I take another step back and turn my head in search of a possible escape route, but almost immediately a second, louder rumbling causes me to look back towards the cathedral.

 

Oh right. I forgot about that.

 

The fountain stops when they open the door.

 

The clanking of gears and scratching of hinges fills the air as the cathedral’s central hall becomes visible to the outside world. Row upon row of long wooden benches run down either side of it, and not a spot of room is free upon them.

 

I cower behind a stone wall as I watch hundreds of people start to move inside the great building, and my eyes linger on a few figures among the crowd that I recognized.

 

Jamie McDuff, a famous baker who would sometimes give out malformed pastries and bread made of dough scraps if you asked him nicely.

 

Ole Miss Nancy, who would tell stories of her youthful and rather illegal worldly travels to anyone who would lend an ear.

 

C’mon, he’s gotta be in here somewhere.

 

August the smith, who would let me watch as she clangs away at an anvil to make the clergy’s arms and armour.

 

The Mouse twins and their parents; havoc makers who fall back on the money and influence of their family to avoid being held accountable for their actions. Their short stature lets them get into all of the same nooks and crannies across the city center that I can.

 

This is the correct day, right?

 

Members of the clergy start to exit through the main doors now. I spot some of the caregivers and instructors from Jumelia’s, some priests from churches in outer districts of the city, and even some visiting clerics. Finally, I start to spot some members of the group I’m looking for: the students. 

 

I sweep them, looking for a tall kid with a slightly hunched back, and while I see a few familiar faces, the one I’m looking for seems to elude me. I quickly duck down into my alley as soon as I notice one of the nuns starting to look my way.

 

Today should be the day that the students leave seclusion, so where is Robert? Did something happen to him? It has been nearly 2 years after all, anything could happen in that much time. Did I just miss him?

 

I peek out from my hiding spot with just one eye to look even more carefully at the faces of each and every person with the clergy’s iconic bronze embroidery.

 

No… it can’t be…

 

Amongst Jumelia’s staff, is that really him?

 

I stare at who was once the lanky, nervous boy I once knew. No wonder I couldn’t pick him out at a glance- he’s just as tall as the rest of the adults now!

 

Sure, the squirrelly scaredy-cat look in his eyes is unmistakable, but almost everything else about him has changed. No hunched posture, no baggy clothes, his face isn’t currently buried in a book.

 

He barely even feels like the same person anymore.

 

He leaves the fountain’s courtyard and passes by my hiding spot, taking off in the direction of Jumelia’s.

 

I duck into my alleyway and sprint behind a dozen or so buildings until I reach a gap that leads to the same street further down. This part of the backstreet also seems to provide far better cover.

 

“Robby!” I call out in a semi-hushed voice.

 

He whips backwards as if he had heard a blood curdling screech right behind him, and raises both hands up to clutch a pendant I just noticed him wearing.

 

Well, he’s still pretty jumpy at least. That part of him hasn’t changed at all.

 

I wave at him with both hands, before lowering one to be on him to me.

 

He looks confused for a split second before seemingly coming to a realization. “Morell?” He utters, releasing the death grip he has on his necklace.

 

I beam widely and open my arms, and he’s in them only a moment later. It’s a little bit uneven given how much taller than me he is.

 

Maybe it’s just a force of habit after I noticed he changed so much, but I can tell that his hugs are different. I can feel his increase in age through his stature and training through the strength of his embrace. Both of these things offer me some sort of comfort with the knowledge that he might not be picked on so readily anymore.

 

The bronze buttons on his uniform however, do hurt a bit.

 

*BONG*

The sound shocks us both, even though we should have been used to it by now.

*BONG*

Both our arms release each other.

*BONG*

We both glance back to the great Cathedral.

*BONG*

The main bell of the cathedral has begun to move in its perch, releasing immense ground shaking clanging with each swing.

*BONG*

The same eye visible both all over the city, and on Robert’s buttons is cast into the side of the bell.

*BONG*

*BONG*

*BONG*

*BONG*

*BONG*

*BONG*

*BONG*

 

We both stare at each other in silence that is only interrupted by both of us catching the movement of the fountain getting its water back a ways up the street. All in all, the hug barely lasted a second or two.

 

“That kinda ruined the moment.” I say, breaking the silence between us.

 

He laughs. 

 

“Yea, I would usually cover my ears as soon as I heard the doors close. I guess the reunion made me forget.” The tall boy states.

 

“How many people does it take to ring it? It must take at least a hundred to move something that big, right?” I ask, knowing his love of explaining things he finds interesting.

 

His face lights up at the question. “Oo! Believe it or not, they don’t even use people at all! Both the bell and the front doors are operated through the force of the aqueduct’s water alone! Though I guess there’s the guy who pulls the lever, so that’s one person.” 

 

“But it's just regular water. We drink it everyday. How is it strong enough to move something so big?”

 

He grins.

 

“A king stands no chance against a hundred men” he says proudly.

 

I stare at him, unamused.

 

“It’s true!” He reaffirms. “No matter how skilled a knight is with a sword or which deity a cleric is devoted to, a hundred men would best them easily. Kings are no different, as long as they’re alone”

 

I groan at the statement. It’s one that the priests parrot to us regularly.

 

“Yes Robby, I’m well aware of the things the clergy says to keep us humble. How does that relate to the bell and the water?”

 

He pouts a little. “I just meant to say that the aqueduct can bring in a lot of water. Though, it’s still not enough to operate the bell and the door simultaneously.”

 

I nod in understanding.

 

In truth, I already know most of what he’s just been telling me from my interactions with the older sisters and general eavesdropping, but I’m not about to steal the joy that Robby gets from teaching others. His happiness also makes me happy.

 

“Y’know, you sounded a lot like one of the instructor priests with that one. I dunno how I feel about that.” I tell him.

 

He puffs out his chest slightly.

 

“Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve just been apprenticed to Father Sutherland himself.” He proudly proclaims.

 

“Uuuugh.” I groan. “Don’t tell me that you’re idolizing Sutherland now too. And that wasn’t exactly supposed to be a compliment.”

 

He crosses his arms. “Father Sutherland, Morell. And I would hardly blame anyone for admiring him given his history.”

 

My eyes narrow slightly at the holy-garbed boy, and I cross my arms as well in mimic of his action.

 

“Sutherland is the clergy’s pet. A dog. Now that he’s too old and slow to hunt,he’s chained up just outside his master's home to bark at kids and mailmen.”

 

Robert sighs.

 

“Why do you hate him so much? After all he’s done for you? After how lenient he’s been with you sneaking out and skipping class all the time? Any other dean would have kicked you to the streets long ago.”

 

“I don’t hate him per say, It’s more that I lack any sort of respect for him. He’s an old hero turned blind servant by a force that he should have already understood his way around.” I tell him.

 

“Maybe it’s you who doesn’t understand the clergy!” He snaps back. “One would be inclined to take the words of hundreds of learned men and women over the words of one roguish little girl.” 

 

His use of that term sends my mind spinning. Many of the priests used my lack of height as an excuse to try and keep me from roaming the streets even when the other kids were allowed too. I didn’t really mind them doing this as their thoughts matter very little to me and I would just sneak out on my own anyway.

 

Coming from Robert, however, this comment is a sign that one of my worst fears is coming true. He’s changed too much, and with each sentence he speaks I feel as if I’m starting to know who he is less and less. Like my best friend’s face is quickly becoming a mask stuck to the stranger beneath.

 

“You’re doing it now aren’t you, skipping class that is.” He pauses for a moment to see if I will respond before continuing. “It doesn’t matter how much of a prodigy you are, you can’t become a knight off of your talent alone, and physical skill isn’t helpful at all for studying.”

 

“So? I can just learn how to read and write from you, and scriptures are boring. That’s all the junior classes are anyway. Exploring the city is way more useful for learning how to do fighting and traveling stuff.”

 

“Those pointless classes are the elementary principals that all of the others are based on. The scriptures teach the behaviours that make our knights different from the lawless mercenaries and brigands of the wilds. Even if you did get an exemption from scholarly classes due to personal skill, the type of knight that that would most likely make you would hardly resemble the ones from the books I read to you.”

 

“Those were all just children’s stories anyway. Knights like that don't exist in the adult world. As long as I do the right thing in the end, the motivations behind my actions won’t matter.” I say to him.

 

“You seem to forget that we are still children. You're 12 and I’m about 15. If we don't get properly educated now, ‘the right thing’ might mean something completely different for us in the future.”

 

I pout, trying to make it as obvious as possible that I’m unsatisfied with his explanation. 

 

“What happened to you, Robert? You’re spouting the same hyper-conscious drivel that drips from the mouths of every priest ever. Whatever happened to the version of you who wanted to be appreciated for your differences?” I say, trying to bring back whatever nostalgia he might still have for our early days.

 

“My differences don’t matter by themselves, and people shouldn’t appreciate me for simply having them. What does matter is what I’m able to do with them, and Father Sutherland and the rest of the clergy is all too generous to teach me how.”

 

There’s a certain light to his eyes as he talks about the clergy. It makes me want to barf.

 

“You look up to them too much. You and every other kid stuck in Jumelia’s. All Shamshaw or any of his groupies want is to have everyone do what they say and when they say it. They’re all a bunch of stuck up control freaks and no one should strive to be like them.”

 

He sighs again. Loudly.

 

“I know that, Morell. We all know that. It’s not some secret hidden locked up in a moldy crypt. Other than the occasional exception like you, all of us came here by choice knowing full well what we were getting into. The clergy’s dominion over this city is what makes it such a good place to live in the first place, and a flawed good Is leagues better than what I was getting before. Now I’ll get to help out kids in situations just like I was, and maybe I’ll even be able to fix some of the flaws while I’m at it.”

 

“You really think that you’re gonna be the one to change things? Are you gonna clean every street in the outer city? What about the river? Are we gonna get drinking water that doesn’t smell or taste like trash because of you? Will you stop the sketchier priests from bullying those too afraid to speak up about it? Are these really tasks that someone like you is prepared to handle?”

 

His eyes widen a little and he tilts his head a bit.

 

“Someone like me? What's gotten into you? Aren’t you the person who always told me I could do anything that I put my mind to?”

 

“Well, I guess I did technically say that, but I told you that during the months when you basically refused to leave the library. I was under the impression that you wanted to live out the rest of your life compressed between two pages like a fallen leaf, not fix the city's problems by crying until they solve themselves out of embarrassment.”

 

A sparkle of liquid starts to form in the corners of his eyes. Oh crap, did I go too far? Is he gonna cry and run away now?

 

He wipes at his tears with his long gown sleeve and stands up perfectly straight. His arms are held by his side and his fists are clenched.

 

“Y-y-...”

 

He takes a deep breath.

 

“You shouldn’t say things like that about the people who take care of you. You’ve been protected by them for your entire life and you can do nothing but be mean.” 

 

His words are loud and firm, almost rehearsed. Just hearing them makes my jaw grow slack. It’s a way of speaking that I’ve never heard from him before, and would have reminded me of Sutherland if he hadn’t stuttered. And maybe if it was a bit less squeaky.

 

“He’s in your head. You sound just like him.” I mutter.

 

“What?” 

 

“YOU’RE JUST LIKE SUTHERLAND!” I yell at the boy, tears starting to form in my own eyes as well.

 

A chill runs up my spine a split second after I finish saying the name of the thin old cleric.

 

Shit.

 

“Skipping classes again, Morell?”

 

A bony hand grabs my shoulder before I even get the chance to think about running.

 

I try to wrench myself out of it’s grip, but it proves too strong for me.

 

“I DO WHAT I DAMN WELL PLEASE” I yell, whipping around to look at the figure whose grasp I’m in.

 

While I’ve seen a few people taller than the figure before me, his incredible thinness almost seems to make him tower over all of them when viewed separately.

It’s father Sutherland of course, looking almost more skeletal than usual. 

I dunno how he managed to sneak up behind me without making any clattering noises.

 

He looks down at me with a face devoid of any emotion, like so many of the statues and images in stained glass windows from the cathedral. It's a striking difference to the furious reactions I get when any other priest would catch me doing something they don’t approve of. 

 

“How much of our discussion were you around to hear?”I ask rather defeadedly.

 

“I heard plenty.” Comes his monotone reply.

 

“Crap.”

 

“Indeed. Come now back home, young one. These habits of yours for roaming the city could end with you lost, hurt, or worse.” The spindley priest says, the concern displayed by his words not at all reflected in his face.

 

“I aint gonna hurt myself just by walking around, so let me be for one time in your life!” I yap back.

 

He raises one thin eyebrow and tilts his head. The motion feels forced and slow, like a potter shaping clay.

 

“I hear that last week you nearly slid off the roof of Gormund’s storehouse. If I’m recalling this correctly, you screamed loud enough to wake the dead from their crypts.”

 

He waits for a response, probably looking to twist my words into another one of his lengthy lessons. I don’t want to give him the pleasure of lecturing me, so I stay quiet.

 

“You’ll realize soon that you can’t keep up these activities.” He eventually continues. “In a few months you'll be moving into the cathedral for your training, and such behaviour will not be tolerated by your new instructors.”

 

“GOOD!” I screech. “I don’t want to be part of this crummy cult of yours! I’m gonna run away and become a… a mercenary! Or, a… uhhh… a pirate! And I’m gonna do whatever I want whenever I want to!

 

“Mhm, sure you are.” Comes Sutherland’s response.

 

“How many times is it that she’s said she’d run away now?” Robert's voice rings out from behind me.

 

“That’s the 329th. She really picked up the pace in your absence.” Sutherland replies.

 

I again attempt to loosen myself from his grip to no avail as the two of them speak, insignificant as a spider trapped under an overturned mug. I feel a tug on my wrist soon afterwards, and before I get a chance to resist, I’m being carried under one of his arms like a sack of flour.

 

“HEY- LEGGO!!!” I yell, slamming my balled fists into his leg as I dangle in his hold. “I’LL JUST ESCAPE AGAIN ANYWAYS!!!”

 

I take a deep breath to refill my supply of yelling.

 

“AND THIS TIME I’LL LEAVE THE CITY!!!”

 

“No you won’t.” He says calmly, without missing a beat.

 

“I will. And you’ll never be able to find me.” I quickly jab back.

 

“You won’t. And the both of us know it.” He replies. “Jumelia’s has become the home to many runaways, Robert included, and I’ve seen you listening to their stories. You aren’t stupid, Morell, you know how children fair in the open world alone.”

 

I resign myself to my fate for a while, letting the Father carry me as I recall the stories that some of the other children had told me. Human trafficking rings who would look for children with interesting traits to sell them to the highest bidder. They would end up as brainwashed soldiers or experiments usually. 

 

Robert himself had run away from a family who all possessed warrior-type traits. They were going to force him to kill, and he just didn’t have the heart for it. It didn’t matter much in the end though, since he had to slice a goblin’s throat to avoid being eaten by it’s tribe.

 

There was even a nun I met who had been saved from the clutches of a nephilim cult by Sutherland. She practically worshiped the ground he walked on.

 

My ‘escorts’ round a corner into the wide central streets, and The House of Saint Jumelia’s enters my field of vision. It’s a massive structure of mortar and red brick, 5 floors in height. Each corner of the building has a rounded tower that juts out an additional floor above the top.

 

It was one part orphanage and two parts religious boarding school, so nobles would often send their unwanted offspring here as well. Sons 4th in line for inheritance and beyond, bastards from servants and commoners, and children of previous marriages were a common sight.

 

The rest of the students here were mostly all glad to be here. The orphans and runaways were given less desirable accommodations than the nobles, but it was still far above the state of the orphanage in the outer city. I hear that the rats there are big enough to bite your toes off while you sleep.

 

I push the additional thought of being eaten out of my mind.

 

But it wasn’t just children who came here. In fact, the boarding school and orphanage only made up a part of the above ground building. 

 

For some children, Jumelia’s is a refuge from hunger and the key to a continued life, for others, it’s just another one of their parent’s tools to be worked around.

 

For me? I suppose it’s some sort of trial. It’s the only place that I know of so far that would  prepare me for the outside world for free. The fact that I’ve spent my entire life here only serves as a convenience.

 

I don’t want my home to be in a city like this. It’s full of uptight rich people and the overly-moral. I’d rather my home be the entire world, and I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna explore it.

 

We’re close enough for Jumelia’s to start towering over us now. It truly is a monstrous building. Sutherland walks up the worn cement steps as the red school slowly takes up a larger area in my field of view.

 

We pass through the doors; also bronze and stupid, but not as large.

 

Sutherland then sets me down in the foyer before getting down on one knee to look me in the eye.

 

“Morell, I do my best to try and understand you, and I want to try to do my best to find a system for your education that the both of us can at least tolerate. Now that young Robert has finished with his seclusion, and provided you cease at least your break-outs, I can arrange for you to tag along on certain parts of Robert’s training. You two see: to have a lot of catching up to do.”

 

I turn my head to look back at Robby, but quickly notice something. 

 

Without a moment to lose, I dash through the still-open front door and down the steps.

 

I hear their voices behind me.

 

“It seems like both of us forgot to close the door.” The priest says rather nonchalantly.

 

“I’m sorry father, it completely escaped my mind.” Robert's panicked voice comes next.

 

Sutherland sighs 

 

“It’s not your fault, it has been a while after all. Let’s just go get her.”

 

I don’t know what it is about slipping through someone's fingers like that, but I love doing it. 

 

I laugh as my seemingly tireless legs carry me down into the street, straight into the oncoming path of a large horse drawn carriage that I was too excited to notice.

 

My eyes squeeze themselves shut on instinct, but I know it won't help.