Chapter 4: Maigor

The sky stretched above, its dark expanse resembling the eerie time just before dawn. The winds howled dry and chilling, mercilessly slicing through my clothes and gnawing at my very core. As I stood in that wretched queue, the old building loomed over me, its gray and weathered stones telling stories of a bygone era. It seemed as ancient as the city itself, a relic of the past now repurposed into a place that offered nothing but false hope.

This building, once a garrison that perhaps witnessed battles of old, now served as some sort of employment exchange. People of all kinds huddled together, forming a motley crew of desperation and shattered dreams. Small children clung to their worn-out parents, their innocent faces bearing, trying to find warmth in this freezing place. The miserable old stood with weary frames, their tired eyes searching for a glimmer of hope in this bleak existence. And in between them, there were those like me, what kind of place that bastard Sidonius has sent me.

How did I end up here, among the downtrodden and forgotten? After enduring so much, this was the place I found myself in? It felt like some sick cosmic joke as if the Silent King was mocking my struggles and laughing at my expense.

The line inched forward, each step feeling like an eternity. The air was thick with uncertainty, and it seemed like this place held no good for anyone. A sense of foreboding gnawed at me, and I couldn't escape the sinking feeling that whatever awaited me beyond those gray walls would only lead to further disappointment.

We were all caught in the same web of fate, drawn to this place by circumstances beyond our control. And so we waited, patiently or impatiently, for a chance at something better. The damn sky remained dark, and the winds showed no sign of relenting. And so, I stood there, in the shadow of that old building.

As I stood in that dreary queue, surrounded by a sea of weary faces, I couldn't help but overhear the disgruntled voices of the folks nearby. They were huddled together, their shabby clothes and tired eyes telling tales of hard lives and unending struggles.

The first group was led by a man in tattered clothing, his face etched with lines of weariness and frustration. His greying hair stuck out in unkempt tufts, and his worn-out boots seemed barely holding on. He spoke with a voice tinged with bitterness, his words dripping with resentment towards the Empire.

"They're holding back the city's funds again," he spat, his companions nodding in agreement. "It's the same old story. They feast in their grand halls while we scrape by, like rats in a sewer."

His companions were no different, clad in patched-up garments that barely shielded them from the harsh elements. Their expressions carried the weight of countless disappointments and struggles, each of them united by the shared resentment towards those in power.

The second group was a cluster of men and women, their faces drawn tight against the biting wind. Their clothes were slightly better, but still worn and threadbare. They talked in hushed tones, their breath visible in the chilly air.

"You think this winter's gonna be worse than the last?" one woman asked, shivering as she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.

Another man, with a worn-out coat and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, replied with a solemn nod. "Aye, I heard the winds from the south. They carry a bitter chill, and it ain't gonna be easy on us."

The uncertainty and fear in their voices were palpable, their eyes darting around as if searching for some glimmer of hope in the bleak landscape of their lives.

But the most heart-wrenching conversation was between two elderly men, their frail forms hunched over like withered trees. Their faces were etched with deep lines, each one a testament to a lifetime of hardships and sorrow.

"I tell you, I don't know how much longer we can hold on," one of the men said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Our village is starving, and there's no one coming to help."

His companion, with a tear in his eye, nodded in agreement. "It's like we're forgotten by

The damn city of Maigor was as bleak as ever. I finally reached the front of the damn line, and there he was – the man giving out the employment. He looked like any other bureaucrat I'd seen in this miserable city, his clothes were plain, a uniform that probably had seen better days. The fabric looked worn and faded, just like the hope in this city. His face was stern, with a perpetual scowl etched on his features. I could tell he wasn't here to exchange pleasantries.

"Name," he barked, not bothering to look up from the pile of papers on his desk. His voice was sharp, like a blade ready to cut anyone who dared to waste his time.

"Alexis," I replied, keeping my tone curt and to the point. I wasn't in the mood for chit-chat.

"Age," he demanded, flipping through the papers with practiced efficiency.

"Fifteen" I answered, my patience wearing thin with each passing second.

"Identification," he commanded, holding out his hand as if expecting me to drop the paper into it.

I handed him the damn paper, the one piece of documentation that held whatever little value I had in this world. He scanned it, his eyes moving across the words like a predator hunting for weaknesses. Looks like that bastard is going to throw away me after he freed but still whatever its still better than those cells.

"Village of Encers," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "In the garrison." and then stamping the paper with a red seal which etched an impression of kind of tree, but who cares? It didn't change the fact that I was being sent off to Eternal king knows where to work my ass off for some scraps

"Thank You," I muttered, taking the paper back from him. "When do I leave?"

He glanced at the calendar on the wall, as if deciding my fate with a mere glance.

"Ah the next boat would probably leave in a couple of hours" he replied, the words falling from his mouth like stones.

With that, he dismissed me with a wave of his hand, already turning his attention to the next poor soul in line. I didn't bother to thank him or bid him farewell. What was there to thank? He was just another cog in this cruel machine, pushing me further into a life I never asked for.

I walked away from the old building, the weight of my new assignment heavy on my shoulders. Encers. I had never heard of the damn place, but it didn't matter. It was just another name on a long list of names that would dictate my existence.

As I stepped out into the cold, dry wind, I couldn't help but wonder what awaited me in that village. More suffering? More hardships? It didn't really matter. I had no choice but to go. So I would. I would go to Encers and do whatever damn job they assigned me. It didn't matter if it was digging ditches or cleaning stables. I would do it. Because that's what life was – a series of damn tasks you had to complete, whether you liked it or not. And I was damn good at completing tasks. So I would survive. Just like I always did. But, still this taste of freedom is cold as the Arcar.

The damn city of Maigor was as bleak as ever, with its gloomy skies and chilling winds. It felt like the sun had forgotten to rise, leaving us in perpetual darkness. The people around me shuffled like ghosts, their faces worn and weary, just like mine.

I made my way to the old harbor, the heart of this miserable place. The atmosphere was thick with the smell snow and liqour. The docks were bustling with activity, doc workers shouting and barking orders, boats coming and going in a chaotic dance. The lake that surrounded Maigor was like the center of a spider's web, streams coming from all directions, converging here. Boats floated on the dark waters.

I waited, probably for hours, hours that felt like years. The doc workers moved with an efficiency that I envied, loading and unloading crates and cargo with practiced ease. As I listened to their conversations, a mix of anger and sorrow welled up inside me. The world was a cruel and unforgiving place, and these people were living proof of it.

Finally, my boat arrived, a small wooden thing with a single man onboard, wrapped in thick clothing to fend off the damn cold. He rotated the boat with practiced ease and tied it to the dock without a word.

I walked in the boat without any hassle placing my back and sword off my shoulder and keeping it Infront of me. I sat on one side of the boat, watching as the dock worker addressed the man as captain. They exchanged a few short sentences as the worker loaded up the boat with grains, wood, steel, and liquor. It was all business, no time for pleasantries.

The journey was as I expected, with the biting winds and freezing waters. The captain didn't seem bothered by it; he just kept rowing without a care in the world.