Reality

"She is dying. How can we save her?" A little girl sobbed hysterically beside a little boy. The two crouched beside a filthy and tattered bed where a woman lay gasping for air.

"Don't give up. I'll fetch a doctor." He tried to sound brave, but his voice was quavering.

"But they never came." The little girl shrieked and trembled as she said, "We have no money either."

"I'll run to the south, they're very rich, they'll have mercy on us, that's what they do." He was lying.

He didn't believe it, but he had no choice. He ran to the church and begged for help, but the volunteers just threw him some herbs and quickly chased him away. When he returned, they slammed the door in his face without a second glance.

Here he was, cowering on the ground, worse than a worm and not a man. His mind was like a troubled sea. He was filled with regret and sorrow, and he wondered where he would rest. He felt reality.

He sprawled on the floor of the cell, breathing in the filth left by the former inmates, but he felt no revulsion, for it was no worse than the place he called home. Here, at least, there was a hearth and a lamp, while the people in his district were so destitute that they could not afford a proper oil lantern.

He was overwhelmed with confusion. The man's attack and his own fatigue and hunger made it difficult for him to comprehend what was going on.

Everything seemed surreal. The man's voice was cold and emotionless as he uttered strange words as he opened the door. The boy curled up on the floor, glancing at the innocent child. He felt a flicker of gratitude but also a surge of fear. What if the precious child was hurt? He didn't know if the man would punish him or not. He also noticed the man's appearance. This man looked so refined and noble. He walked with a swagger, like an arrogant lord, he thought.

As the door creaked open in the distance, as the man's voice uttered cold and harsh words, and as the precious boy began to sing, he felt a wave of calm wash over him, and he longed to drift into sleep, as if everything in this world was too cruel, and he wanted to escape into a dream because of the sweetness that filled the room. All the filth and misery seemed to be cleansed by the purity of the boy's voice. It was a lullaby, he thought, though he had never heard such a lullaby before.

The man slumped to the ground after the lovely boy with the doll-like face finished singing. He looked unharmed, but as if in a deep slumber. The young gentleman approached steadily, and he felt his every step echo with his heartbeat, making him shiver and panic. He saw the man bend down, gently turn the man, who looked like a filthy swine, over, and rip the keychain from his body. As he watched the man throw him into the cell, the boy curled up in fear, not daring to see what was happening. Soon he heard the door creak and a fresh smell, like some kind of soap.

"Get out." The man commanded.

The boy flashed back to that moment. He snapped back to reality. He scrambled to his feet, and though he felt dizzy, he still hoped to escape from this place quickly. He looked around and realized that his comrades had left like zombies, leaving him alone.

He glanced at the man, who wore a hat that partly hid his face, but those captivating gray eyes were something as stunning as the deep blue of the sea. His raven-black hair made his eyes sparkle like stars in the night. He felt a surge of gratitude and muttered it weakly.

As he was about to step out the door, the gentleman's voice stopped him.

"Wait." He felt a jolt of fear but turned around, and when the man gestured for him to extend his hand, a gold coin landed on his grimy, dark palm.

The boy felt its weight; he gasped and almost dropped it when he heard the boy next to him say, "Take it away." He wanted to cry on the spot, but remembering he hadn't thanked the boy yet, he spun around and said, "Thank you, Bricky."

He raced to his home, remembering the golden hair and star-gray eyes. His chest pounded with exhaustion, but he still hoped, despite the pounded chest.

...

"Can we just go like this?" Brahms asked as they sat in a carriage.

He had just used his powers to save the boy from the wrath of a hotheaded man while the gentleman watched in silence.

As his song echoed in harmony, he reached beyond space and time, connecting with his breath and voice.

Brahms unleashed his power. He sent the man into a dream, a dream more real than reality. It was his power - the unique power Althur had spoken of - that made him a creature of the Dreamland.

"It's all right. He'll suffer more than a nightmare in his sleep." Althur reassured him as they sat in a carriage.

He put his arm around the boy's shoulder and pulled him close. "You did well. You're brave, little Bricky."

"It was terrible." The boy said, cringing at the memory of the man who had tried to hurt the other boy. "Don't dwell on it." Althur said quietly, stroking his hair. "You did the right thing. You stood up for what you believe in."

"I did what you told me." The boy said proudly, feeling a surge of heroism in his chest. He inhaled deeply, but coal dust and smoke contaminated his lungs, causing a resounding reality.

He missed the smell of the sea breeze and the salt of Frithestan, if only for a moment. He briefly flashed back.

"Yes, you did. And I'm proud of you."

Brahms looked up and saw Althur smile warmly and look into his eyes.

"Let's go back and have a nice dinner." He suggested changing the subject.

They moved by wagon along the main street, bustling with life and activity, as if oblivious to the northern part where dark clouds of smoke and dust rose.

The faint sound of distant engines and iron hammers clashed with every hoofbeat of their horse as it moved along, be overwhelmed by the rhythm of life on this street.

"I wonder how that boy is doing." The boy said, thinking of the boy who had been saved by his power.

"Can we help them, Althur?" He asked, hoping for an affirmative answer.

"What do you think?" Althur asked back, wanting to hear his opinion.

"I don't know. Are all the children here like that?" The boy said, feeling sad for their plight.

"That's the reality. You can give a child a gold coin, but you don't have enough gold to give them all." He remained silent and offered no answers, as if he sensed that all answers were futile.

While Althur and Brahms were on their way back to the inn, Peter, who had snuffed out the last candle, followed the dark tunnel and climbed up by the faint light seeping through the door.

When he reached the surface, he witnessed a rather strange sight. The unpleasant man who had offended him was sprawled on the ground, dozing peacefully beside the holding cell.

The door was ajar, and the inmates were gone. Only dirt and stench remained in the room, and the man lay there oblivious.

When he saw that the sun was sinking below the horizon, he decided to end his shift and go home. He looked up at the orange sky and the majestic mountains, longing for something as he gazed into the distance.