5 The Shadow

Botyoc picked at the spot where the cuts had been just weeks ago, and the scabs came off easily. As Anjat predicted, the Bacucangs retaliated by force, but it was fended off without many injuries. As much as he pretended not to care, deep down, Botyoc was glad to not have more deaths weighing on his conscience.

It was rare for the orphans to get a break, but in order to celebrate the prince's tenth birthday, the emperor had declared a mandatory holiday. Without his shifts at the factory, Botyoc found himself growing restless. His own tenth was only days away, and unless the emperor himself appeared in an explosion of Alchemical flame to adopt Botyoc as his son, there wouldn't be another chance for him to celebrate. And so he sneaked out of the orphanage, past the annoying little Imyat, who tended to stick to him like a leech.

On this festive day, the Bacunawa-controlled marketing zone was busier than usual, in anticipation for the cross country parade that the emperor himself had supposedly planned. Botyoc never cared for the Elites, and would love to drown them all in the River of Great Divide, or cast them into the Rift. Nevertheless, he decided to check it out anyway, to study the enemy, such was the excuse. It's definitely not for the fireworks, Botyoc assured himself.

The alleyways remained relatively empty as the adults stuck to the main roads. Robberies rarely occurred in those dark death traps, especially with the Bacunawas guarding their territory so zealously. Only one or two knifings slipped past the enforcers every month, but apparently, the adults considered those odds too risky. Botyoc could never understand that logic, as it was very obviously only the weak who died; the strong had nothing to fear.

Already bored from walking, he kicked a pebble against one of the walls, and watched the ricochet with satisfaction. It was rare for him to be alone, he realized, ever since he found little Imyat abandoned by the roadside and took her back to the orphanage with him. What a silly girl, he thought, so innocent. Perhaps that was what had made him stop on that stormy day, instead of ignoring her cries like all the others who simply walked by.

"Bocboc!" Botyoc called out, expecting his friend to come out of hiding. A figure approached from the other side of the alley, but the boy who appeared wasn't Bocboc, rather someone much skinnier. "You are a Bacunawa?" Botyoc asked.

The other boy nodded. Almost a dozen pouches of various sizes dangled from a sash tied about his waist. "I'm Mauro. Not an enforcer, sadly, and I have a father. Not my real father, mind you." Mauro spoke very quickly, almost too rapidly to be considered coherent. "He found me and took me in, but I'm still an orphan." Noting the confused look on Botyoc's face, Mauro slowed down drastically. "I am part of Bacunawa. I'm a scavenger. And my adopted father is a ti—" He stopped abruptly, then paused. "A guy."

A tinker, Botyoc thought to himself. "You should probably rehearse that answer a bit more. Talking about tinkering could get everyone killed," he warned. "Besides, you shouldn't spill your life story to everyone you meet in an alley."

Mauro nodded to show he understood. Tinkering was an offense punishable by death, as the Imperials wanted to maintain the monopoly on all technological innovations. The subject was so taboo among the general populace that mere mention of it set people on edge.

"Better yet, don't mention your father at all," Botyoc said seriously, hoping Mauro would take it to heart. "Any idea where Bocboc is?"

"Who's asking?"

Botyoc smiled. "That's better. I'm Botyoc from the Sigben Gang," he offered with a polite nod.

Mauro didn't reply, but looked closely at Botyoc's face. After a few seconds, he relaxed. "Yeah, you look just like the description," he decided. After the scavenger took a step closer, the two shook hands. For a small boy, Mauro had a very impressive grip.

Botyoc wondered what the "description" was, but he decided it was something that he could wait to find out. "When you see him, tell him that Botyoc will be coming to the Tryout." With that, he began walking past.

Mauro simply stood there, scratching his head while trying to remember the information.

Before Botyoc had walked even three feet, sudden footsteps alerted him to several people quickly approaching. Out of reflex, he backtracked, grabbed Mauro, and dragged him behind discarded crates.

Botyoc silently prayed that the scavenger was at least competent at hiding. Luckily, a moment later, he heard Mauro take a long, deliberate breath, and both of them went completely still. From behind the piles of discarded containers, Botyoc had a limited but serviceable view of the alley.

The footsteps grew louder, until faces began to appear. At least, they could've been faces had they not been hidden behind dark and fearsome gas masks. It appeared Botyoc's initial assessment was incorrect as a dozen pairs of boots flew past. Each of the masked figures carried with them heavy gas tanks on their backs. Yet, despite the obvious weight, their footsteps were impressively quiet. Armed to the teeth, the golden Ivy Sigils on each of their sleeves marked them as Elite Alchemists.

What almost made Botyoc stumble out of hiding was the extravagant robes each of the masked figures were wearing. Surely, they weren't the most practical in design, but the material appeared so smooth and the patterns sewn so intricately, the boy had to consciously suppress his envy.

Despite his deep hatred of the Elite, Botyoc couldn't help but respect these deadly living weapons. He had heard rumors of the rigorous trainings people go through in the Academy, and part of him had dismissed them as mere myths. Seeing the efficiency and grace in their march washed away most of his doubts.

As the procession passed by, Botyoc identified the source of the more noticeable steps. A middle-aged man marched with easy grace across the empty alley, his hand holding a metal grip. Extending from the handle were two chains trailing behind him, which were attached to hooded figures with shackles around their wrists and locks across their necks. Metal chains draped around the two slaves' entire bodies, with all the loose links connecting at the feet.

This was the first time Botyoc had ever seen a Riftborn up close, and the sight sent chills of awe down his body. If the stories could be trusted, those creatures possessed unimaginable strength. The chains were locked so tightly that even when walking, there was no jingling sound of metal links striking against one another. Still, despite the tremendous amount of additional weight, the two had no difficulty keeping pace. Judging by their body shapes, he knew one of the two must be female.

Something was familiar about the man holding the leash, and the recognition nagged at Botyoc. Where had he seen this man before? he pondered silently. Next to him, Mauro remained perfectly still, thankfully. Seeing no course of action other than doing the same, Botyoc closed his eyes until the steps passed by and eventually faded away.

Though the danger appeared to be over, Botyoc's instincts told him to remain behind cover.

Minutes passed, and the boys' muscles began to cramp from holding their pose. Just as Botyoc considered stretching out, more footsteps thundered down the alley.

A second group, this one much larger, began marching by, with much less subtlety and grace. Looking out through the tiny space between the containers, Botyoc began counting.

Unlike the first party, this group was a mix of gas-tank-carrying Alchemists and soldiers wielding techno weaponry. There were some who completely omitted the uniform, instead opting for light form-fitting cloth and long, slender two-handed swords. Amidst this flood of new information, Botyoc noted the absence of Ivy Sigils.

Somewhere after the fourth dozen, Botyoc lost track as his mind raced to process this development. Why is there such a large force mobilizing right now? he wondered as what must have been more than a hundred soldiers passed by. A force this size could lock down an entire zone, even wage a small-scale battle. Combined with the dozen Elite alchemists that already went by—

It was then that Botyoc came to a shocking realization: The man whom he thought he recognized was none other than the Shadow. There could be no one else who shared so many features with the emperor, the posters of whom were plastered all over the districts. Although Botyoc couldn't begin to surmise, such an important figure must be on a mission of utmost importance. This revelation explained the presence of Elite alchemists, along with not one, but two Riftborns.

Whatever the agenda was, given the reputation of the Shadow, there shouldn't be any backup, which meant the second group could be assassins. And with any luck, there would soon be a titanic battle in the alleys of Market Zone.

Mauro let out a big sigh as the footsteps faded away, leaving the children alone in the alley once again. "We should probably get away from there," he suggested while pointing south, the direction the alchemists were headed.

Botyoc didn't care to reply as thoughts raced in his mind. Gently, he nudged and gestured for Mauro to leave, and the young scavenger wasn't in a mood to protest. After a few hesitant glances from the Bacunawa, Botyoc found himself alone with his thoughts. Looking around to make sure he wasn't being followed, Botyoc began heading south, toward the impending battle.

He admitted to himself that this was extremely dangerous, but this could be a golden opportunity, despite Anjat always warning him that if he sought out danger, she would kill him.

What if he found both sides devastated, and had a chance to kill and loot an Alchemist? Surely, it was worth the risk. Throw on top of that the rare opportunity to watch the Shadow in battle, and Botyoc found himself picking up the pace.

For a few minutes, he worried that the men had taken a detour and he would miss the action. But a deafening explosion echoed down the alleyways, bringing a smile to his face.