Plaza Execution

I jolted awake, with heavy panting, a sweat-drenched back, and throbbing temples. I had unknowingly fallen asleep. My heart was beating wildly. And before I knew it, it was already night. The silver moon hung in the night sky, its glow penetrating from the only window in that tiny house, as if spectating at everything like an audience of a play. Time seemed to tick slower than normal.

I drew out a slow, deep breath and leaned my back against the wall, trying hard to calm myself. Then I reflected upon the memories and all the things that have happened so far.

According to what Jullian told me, every earth in this universe—or whatever it may be—was just this huge narrative. It needed a narrative to survive. So, to put it simply, it was like a depressed person whose coping mechanism was to watch movie after movie to stay alive. And if anyone got in the way, becoming nosy and meddling and stuff, they would be kicked out of the house.

'F*ck! This is getting more complicated,' I cursed inside my head.

First of all, I am not the first transmigrator. There were lots of them scattered in the various Earths across the universe. There was The Void that has a corrupting nature, and somewhere lay the headquarters and a leader of some sort (Madam Cynthia) that oversees—what I assumed—everything.

There was also another one in the Earth I was in whose location was unknown and couldn't be located, suspected to be a regressor. I needed to find him or her and find out if we're on the same side, and I must collaborate with that person to find a way back home. But the problem lies with those poachers. Why the heck would they want to kidnap us? Do they think we're some kind of treasure chest or something?

Don't even get me started on those memories, if you can even call them memories at all. The body I was in was a murderer in cahoots with (apparently) another murderer. I am currently studying at the University of Salalona, pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing as an irregular student, living terribly in the slums.

This was the city of Salalona, the capital, while the name of the country was Estatubal. It was a tropical country surrounded by seas.

And apparently, Inigo's family used to be filthy rich, owning a manor and all, but I don't know what happened that brought them to their current situation. I don't believe it was bankruptcy either. There should be some mysterious force behind all these.

Yes, and those words in the basement weren't funny either. I needed to investigate that place. I had to.

But most of all, I needed to know what the heck were those glowing stuff in Richard's hands and mine.

'Black and silver… Narrative… Fantasy… Door and candle summoning…' I mused. 'If that silver glow is a power of some sort, I need to know about it the sooner the better and have control over it. I will ask Jullian about this. He should have a knowledge or two, right?'

And at that moment, I suddenly remembered something crucial. The date in the newspaper: January 15, 1301.

Upon remembering this, my pupil shook. 

With the help of the moon's illumination, I searched the house for any newspaper. Calendars weren't widespread in this era yet, so obviously, there was no calendar in the house.

They weren't hard to find. I immediately found stacks of them arranged by date from oldest to latest. The latest being January 13, 1301.

I was then reminded of the words the typewriter typed: Year 1301, thirteenth day of January, at thirteen hundred and one hours. Fidel transmigrated inside Inigo's body. 

All the hairs on my body stood on end. I became convinced that it was still January 13. And if the newspaper in which Inigo was reading was issued January 15 morning, then Florence was murdered on the night before.

'Now then, what to do?'

As I was thinking about my next course of action, I heard creaks from the outside. Someone was approaching and I could already guess who it was and I was right.

The door opened soundlessly, slowly revealing Arkira's silhouette.

I froze. Suddenly unable to decide what to do when I caught a whiff of a rather familiar stench.

'It's blood,' I noted inwardly.

With Arkira getting closer and with the help of the illumination from the moon, I finally knew where the smell was coming from. Arkira was all bloodied up and then she collapsed on the floor.

I gasped, recoiling in shock, my eyes widening in disbelief. Without a second thought, I darted forward and kneeled beside Arkira, my heart racing with concern.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked.

I placed my thumb on her wrist to check for a pulse, my mind racing with worry as I tried to assess her condition. Though I have no idea why I even did that, especially when I could clearly see that she was still breathing. What was I thinking?

Anyway, she seemed fine and her pulse was normal, but her breathing was erratic. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to breathe.

The truth was, I couldn't care less if she died right then and there, being an assassin's apprentice and all. But who knows what would happen if she died? Not only would I have to bury her, but it might also complicate my already complicated situation. I can't have myself worrying about a corpse in my house when I already have my hands full with barely keeping myself together. I have to find a way back home ASAP.

As I was racking my brain on what to do, with no real medical background whatsoever, Arkira suddenly propped herself up, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

"Haha! Gotcha!" she said, laughing. "I can't believe you really fell for that."

At that moment, confusion collided with anger and bubbled up within me like a volcano. I felt a rush of conflicting emotions flood my body. I felt like I was just made a fool of and I absolutely hated it. My heart pounded, and my features hardened with a mix of anger, frustration, and… relief.

I rose to my feet, towering over her, my voice filled with venom. "That's not funny!" I seethed. "You scared me half to death! Don't you ever do something like that again!"

I then turned away and retreated to the corner, lied down on the hard floor using my arm as a pillow, and pretended to sleep. In fact, I hadn't slept a wink that night, nor had I eaten anything for the day. I was famished and tired but I persevered, rehearsing my plans inside my head over and over till dawn. Kind of like an obsessive psycho killer thinking about his next victim. I'd always been fragile even before the transmigration. And when I raised my voice on her was nothing but a reflex I had whenever I felt like I was made a fool of.

I wasn't really angry, you know? Just pissed. In fact, I was kinda scared of her too. Although she played it off as just a prank, the blood on her clothes was very real to me, smell and everything. But I pretended not to notice it like I always did. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I know nothing. So please, just leave me alone.

In the distance, I could hear the faint sounds of laughter and chatter coming from the neighboring shacks. It was a stark contrast to the awkward silence that hung in that tiny space.

***

Morning came and there was the sound of Arkira bustling around in the kitchen. The aroma of sizzling meat wafted through the air, making my stomach grumble in protest. I pretended to be still asleep. As she left for work, she didn't wake me up, but I could feel the guilt hanging in the air.

After a few minutes, I couldn't resist the tantalizing smell any longer. I got up and made my way to the kitchen, where I found a beef steak pie sitting on the table. Next to it was a note that simply read, "An apology for last night."

I stared at the beef steak pie, my stomach growling loudly. Despite my hunger, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was maybe poisoned. She was an assassin's apprentice afterall. It seemed too good to be true. I couldn't let my guard down, not when I knew what she was capable of. But as I stood there, debating with myself, the aroma of the pie wafted into my nostrils, making my mouth water. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the plate, but in the end, my hunger won.

I took a nervous bite, waiting for the telltale signs of poison to kick in. But as I chewed and swallowed, I felt nothing suspicious. In fact, the pie was delicious, the savory meat and flaky crust a welcome relief to my empty stomach. And as I finished the last crumb, a bronze door suddenly materialized beside me as Jullian came out of it. I almost didn't recognize him now that he wasn't wearing his white mask.

He had thick, graying hair that was combed back and held in place with a generous amount of gel. His deep green eyes hinted at a wealth of experience, while his graying beard framed his rectangular face. He looked tough.

"How d'ya doing?" he casually asked. I noticed he changed his clothes into something more—how do I say this—more gentlemanly. A tailored suit with a waistcoat, a long overcoat, a top hat, and polished leather shoes. Underneath was a crisp, white shirt with a high collar and a dark green cravat.

"I'm still alive," I told him. "But aren't you hot?"

With Estatubal being a tropical country, I just couldn't help but wonder how he could go around with that much layer. My eyes then sauntered down to his left hand. It was no longer a gun.

"It is indeed hot and uncomfortable," he admitted. "But as I observed, people here seemed to value aesthetics and appearances more than practicality and comfort. Anyway, I've got some news."

"Uh—"

"Oh! This? Yeah, it melted. Good thing I brought a replacement." He explained when he noticed me watching his left hand. It looked like a normal hand now. "This world obviously sees laser guns too advanced for its current era. Good heavens. That was new!"

He then removed his glove and showed me a robotic arm. Waved it a few times in front of me before putting back his glove.

'I guess robot arms are fine as long as they aren't visible?' I wondered.

"Anyway, the news. I heard there will be a plaza execution at nine. I don't think you'd wanna miss that."

"And… Why would I wanna see someone get executed?" I asked, face a little ashen. Heck! I don't even watch Netflix Documentaries back on earth. I mean, back on my earth. And he wanted me to witness a death penalty live?

"I thought you wanted to go back?" he asked me back, face deadpanned as though he was looking at someone stupid.

As I thought of earth, I was suddenly reminded of my recurring dream: The criminal who was about to be hanged for the attempted murder of the crown prince who I always ended up having eye-to-eye contact with before waking up.

"I'll go," I immediately changed my mind. "What time is it already?"

He took a quick look at the silver pocket watch that was chained to his belt. "Twenty minutes to nine."

"I… I see. Let me change for a bit."

I didn't wait for his response as I headed back to the living room that also served as a bedroom and went to search for Inigo's clothes. They weren't hard to find. Although the house may be small, the things were very organized. 

There were only four luggages that were stacked on top of each other at the right corner of the window opposite the door. Two large, two medium-sized, each belonging to both Inigo and Arkira. And I wasn't surprised to see the exact clothes Inigo wore in the memory fragment I saw: Olive green tweed jacket, a silk cream-colored shirt, and the matching tailored trousers. I also confirmed the tin box from the memories and it was indeed there.

I also found a pair of polished leather shoes under the desk by the door where newspapers were strewn all over, no longer arranged by date after I made a mess out of them.

With less than twenty minutes remaining, I didn't take a bath anymore. I just took a bit of water from the clay jug in the kitchen and washed my face with it before wearing the clothes. I also slathered a thick slab of gel all over my hair and styled it a bit to look at least half-presentable. There was only about eight minutes remaining.

As we finally stepped out of the house, my frown couldn't be any uglier. I couldn't really smell anything in my dream but it was different in person. There was this putrid, oppressive smell all coming from the garbage, piss, smoke from the factories, the pervasive stench of polluted water, the sewage… It was a smell that meant business. And its business was to drill a hole into your nostrils to your head and turn your brain into a slurry. Even Jullian started coughing.

The overcrowding and rapid urbanization had forced houses in the slums to be stacked on top of each other, squeezing in as many as possible which resulted in narrow, dark, and suffocating alleyways and courtyards. I couldn't be any more grateful that we finally reached the carriage stand where carriages were lined up, waiting for passengers.

We approached the coach driver who was casually drinking from a flask, looking in our direction.

"Excuse me, is this carriage available, sir?" Asked Jullian.

"Aye, it is! Where are you headed?"

"To the plaza. How much would the fare be?"

"Well, plaza, eh? It'll be six coppers," said the coach driver. For reference, a gold coin was worth four silver coins. A silver was worth four bronze, and a bronze was worth four coppers. All coins had a hole in the middle so people could insert a string through it for easy carrying. Wealthy folks often used them as accessories to flaunt their wealth. Sounded pretty stupid to me. Like they were advertising to the thieves to steal their money.

"Eh, that sounds rather steep. Can't we settle for a bronze?" Complained Jullian. I later found out he just robbed it from the thief who went to steal from a certain wealthy man's manor when he left that afternoon. He had to play along this world's laws of order if he planned to stay longer.

The driver scratched the back of his head. "A bronze and a copper is the lowest I can go."

Jullian sighed but agreed anyway. "Fine. That's fair enough."

"Alright! Step right in! Mind your step."

And with that, we easily got to the plaza.

The square buzzed with a mixture of hushed conversations and anxious murmurs. At the center was a gallow that towered ominously. Just across the gallow, a small stage had been set up. Adorned with crimson carpet. Figures in fine and luxurious attires stood on the platform, their faces grave and for the first time, I caught a glance of the protagonist of this world, Elian Kaufman, the crown prince. He was standing on the right side of the king.

My eyes locked on him alone as Jullian and I weaved through the crowd going to the front to get a full view. I couldn't help but feel a slight pang of bitterness in my chest as I watched him, and even now as I am writing this. He was everything I will never be even as this novel ends.

He was wearing a tailored black velvet coat with red lining, adorned with gold buttons. Black trousers and a red sash at the waist, completed by a black boots. He had an air of superiority about him. Tall and lean with sun-kissed skin and piercing, sea-green eyes. His jet black hair was neatly trimmed.

By the gallows, the professional executioner stood tall, his face concealed beneath a dark hood. A noose was tied around the criminal's neck, a dirty sack covering his head.

Silence fell over the crowded plaza as the magistrate stepped forward, his presence demanding attention.

"Good people of this honorable assembly, today we gather to witness the conclusion of a matter that has shaken the very fabric of our society."

The magistrate paused, allowing his words to sink in.

"We stand here today to confront a brazen and treacherous act, an attempted murder of the crown prince. After carefully examining the evidence presented and hearing the testimonies of witnesses, the court has found the accused guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt."

The magistrate's words conveyed the severity of the crime. 

"The punishment decreed for such a vile act poses no room for ambiguity. May this punishment stand as a warning to whoever dares threaten the monarchy." He then turned towards the criminal. "Alistair DiMarco, the former prince of the fallen kingdom of Lustruinia, any last words?"

Upon saying this, the executioner removed the sack to reveal the criminal's face, his face making a permanent mark in my head: Golden hair that shimmered under the sun, resentful brown eyes…

My heart raced, almost drowning out the sounds around me. The knot in my stomach tightened, and a strange tingle ran down my spine. Something didn't feel right. Why did the criminal have my face? Why did he look like when I was still Fidel? 'What is going on?' I asked myself.

The criminal's eyes seemed to bore into the magistrate's head and when he uttered nothing, the magistrate asked another question. "Are you regretting your actions?"

The criminal just grinned.

The magistrate then raised his right arm and made a slashing motion with it, a signal to proceed with the execution.

I was about to close my eyes in reflex but my body froze. The criminal was looking directly at me. I found no sign of defiance that he had just earlier. If anything, he seemed to be challenging me.

His eyes remained locked on mine even as the noose around his neck tightened and broke his bone, killing him.

The criminal was dead. However, my eyes clouded over. A shiver ran through my spine.

And at that moment, an abnormally large raven circled around the now dead Alistair DiMarco and perched on his shoulder, cawing. A flock of ravens then followed suit. Now, it wasn't something you normally see, was it?