P-3: Omen

"What's your goal, girl."

Pala sat on the rim of the stone fence, looking down upon the town square. She looked down at the market, her gaze focused on the faces of the early morning shoppers. Their conversations seemed lively and friendly, unlike the relationship she had managed to form with her godfather.

"As I get closer to the forest, people seem happier."

Marcas stroked his beard for a few moments before matching her gaze, looking towards a mother haggling with a butcher, her young son shyly clinging to her pants and hiding from the gruff looking shopkeeper.

"The forest is still taboo, even when it seems to have no reach beyond the trees. The people who want control are scared of what they don't understand, so they can't ruin places like this out of fear."

"Then why would someone like you come here?"

Marcas paused for a moment before pushing himself off the fence, tapping Pala on the shoulder as he passed by.

"Let me show you."

Without waiting for a response, he quickly turned the corner and made his way down the cobbled stairs, each step filled with youthful vigour that out of place when it was contrasted to his worn leather clothing and greying hair, as he counted each step he took under his breath. Pala quickly swivelled on the spot, swinging her legs around and hopping down before following her, lugging around her weapon like a child would cling onto a toy.

"Twenty seven."

"What?"

At the bottom of the stairs, Marcas turned around, grinning from ear to ear towards Pala who remained a few steps behind. She stopped as she stopped, baffled by his sudden 'statement', almost instinctively tensing up and shifting her left foot forward.

"That's how many steps there were. That's also my lucky number. I think it's time we celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

Without giving her an answer, Marcas marched towards the butcher, who's idle eyes lit up as the old man marched into the store, pushing the door open with a surprising amount of force. Pala looked on in shock as the butcher threw his arms up into the air, his greeting loud enough to almost be classified yelling.

"Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, Marcas."

"Ivan, my man, how have you been!"

As the door slowly closed, the two men embraced across the counter childishly, followed by a confident high five. Pala found a new appreciation for glass as the door closed in on the two, muffling their conversation from the world as she leaned against the wall, glaring at anyone who looked like they thought she was related to the two of them. About five minutes later, Marcas left the store with a large grin on his face and a wooden slab in hand, a shamelessly large sausage placed on top of it. His grin has grown somehow, waving towards Pala with his spare arm while walking over.

"Celebration means meat! I'll be having this baby for dinner."

"You really are like father."

"Well, let's just say your father knew how to party when he was younger."

Pala frowned slightly at his jest, starting to walk off deeper into the market, doing her best to avoid eye contact with everyone around her. Marcas trailed behind, switching between his normal pace and a careful jog to try and keep up with Pala. As they reached the centre of the marketplace, Pala froze, recognising the voice behind her very well; her godfather was getting side-tracked.

"Can you not…"

By the time she had turned around, Marcas was already holding a kebab in each hand, the stall owner nervously holding the sausage slab while looking towards Pala begging her to move along as soon as humanly possible.

"Young'uns like you need to eat healthy. Think of it as your morning tea."

Pala glared towards Marcas, unsure of whether or not to accept, but the stall owner's nervous gaze was enough to convince her to act. In one swift motion, she snatched up the kebab and devoured it as fast as possible. Once she was done, she stomped over to the stall and gently place her hands under the slab, raising it into the air before breaking into a stiff walk, trying to keep the same pace as before. Marcas jogged behind her, now having a jolly spring in his step that turned heads as they moved through town.

After five minutes of fast paced walking, the pair escaped from the bustling market place and reached a quiet part of town, lined with small houses made of brick, most looking cobbled together in a messy but somewhat charming fashion. As she walked along the side of the street, eventually Marcas stopped to take out his key, opening one of the doors and calling to Pala.

"Set it down in the kitchen, won't you."

As she turned, Marcas stepped inside the door, the sound of him kicking off his shoes reminding Pala of his brother when the two of them were younger. Somewhat cautiously, she followed and did the same, looking on in shock from how small the house really was. From what she could tell, it was just three rooms; directly in front of her was a living room with a kitchen connected to it and to the hallway on her right she could see the door opened to a bedroom. The room that was down the hallway, out of sight she assumed was the bathroom. Seeing that there was an unoccupied armchair next to her godfather, she quickly placed her sword on the floor before hopping up and placing the food on the kitchen bench. Almost immediately, she bolted for the armchair next to him, leaning as far back as she could without sliding off the chair and getting herself comfortable.

"I never invited you to sit, you know."

Immediately Pala panicked, bolting up and starting to move back towards the front door until she heard a jolly chuckling from Marcas's direction. She returned back to his chair to glare at him before sitting back down, trying her best to ignore that she was being mocked.

"Now, how long are you planning on staying? I assume your father sent you here to study, so that would mean…"

"Uncle, I'm not here to study."

Marcas averted his gaze from the ceiling in contemplation and turned towards Pala, raising an eyebrow.

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm on a journey to clear my brother's name. I just thought I would drop by to meet the tactician my father spoke so highly of."

"I see. What do you think about me so far?"

"You're an idiot who would rather spend their money on food than achieve anything greater than two armchairs and a somewhat nice kitchen."

Despite her harsh tone, a grin creeped onto Marcas's face, joyful to the point where Pala recoiled slightly out of shock.

"That sounds perfect to me. Just a simple life in a peaceful town."

"Your talents are rotting away. Each moment your brain comes closer to collapsing in on itself, yet you still insist on numbing it with this weak notion of peace."

Marcas's grin quickly faded, now matched with a scowl surpassing even Pala's permanent frown. He pushed up on his brow with his hands as he leaned forward, his thumbs on the side of his face and his fifth fingers above his nose, a stressed groan leaving his lips.

"Damnit Gerald."

"What?"

As quickly as he muttered his friends name under his breath, he returned to his usual cheerful attitude, sinking back into his chair and flinging his legs up before letting them slowly come back down again.

"I can pass down my talents to you, if you'd like. Knowing your father, I'm sure you're a fast learner too."

"I've wasted enough time getting here. I only have ten months left to prove my brother innocent."

"You can learn a surprising amount in three months. I guarantee that you'll be able to outwit even the most decorated tacticians in that time."

"And let my sword dull? Three months is enough for my body to decay, my muscles to soften to the point where even lifting my blade is impossible. How am I supposed to train in a peaceful place like this."

Marcas clicked his tongue, leaning forward enough to peer around the room before leaning back down. Pala mimicked his motion, trying to see what he was looking for.

"At least stay the night. I'm not confident I can eat the whole sausage myself in my old age. I have some tea that I'm sure you would enjoy as well."

"I wouldn't want to impose on you any longer."

Almost immediately Pala stood up, moving towards the front door and sliding her shoes back on, picking up her sword afterwards. Marcas was frozen in his chair, clearly stuck in some sort of thought but unable to come to any conclusions.

"Goodbye."

Pala began to close the door behind her, but suddenly his uncle called out to her, his voice strangely shaky compared to his composed and relax attitude he had been showing off for the whole day.

"Pala, your parents aren't the people you think they are. And neither am I."

"I know."

The door closed softly, but despite the overall pleasant encounter, Marcas's eyes looked exhausted and his age was suddenly showing as he leaned back in his armchair, pondering what has just occurred.

"Gerald, what have you done."