Shopping

Lynn Street 16, at the corner of the Monument of the Goddess of Night, lay shrouded in darkness. Elliot felt his eyelids fluttering as his senses stirred, slowly emerging from the depths of sleep. The chill of the cold stone floor seeped through his body, and he blinked into a stark blue light that pierced the shadows before him.

"Red Blood!" a voice echoed, laced with malice. It was Edwin, his silhouette looming over Elliot, whose bleary eyes struggled to focus. As Elliot's vision swayed from side to side, he registered the emptiness of the room—a stark, desolate space devoid of windows, the faint bluish glow emanating from the open door behind Edwin.

Thump! Thump!

Heavy footsteps reverberated in the distance, drawing closer with every passing second.

"How dare you, you worm, look up at me with such indifference? You filthy Red Blood scum!" Edwin spat, his contempt palpable.

With each word, he punctuated his disdain with blows—his booted feet crashing down on Elliot's ribs, torso, and face. The force was jarring, but it was not the strikes that inflicted the most pain; it was the reminder of the injury already festering in Elliot's bluish-purple shoulder. He's not wearing that ring, Elliot thought desperately, instinctively raising his arms to shield himself as he was slowly pushed back into the cold, dark corner. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he let out a soft groan, attempting to maintain his guard, though it trembled under the weight of despair. But the assault ceased as quickly as it began.

Elliot's forehead glistened with cold sweat, his body bare and marred with bruises and dirt, while his blonde hair clung to his skin in disarray. In stark contrast, Edwin stood pristine, his attire immaculate, untouched by the filth that clung to Elliot's skin. As he stepped out of the cramped, dark room, Edwin turned, his back still facing Elliot. "You're going shopping. The basket with the list and money is outside the door." His voice dripped with arrogance, echoing as he made his exit. Almost out of sight, he added in a quieter tone, "And don't even think about running. The symbol on your back is a pact—we can track you anytime."

The final words hung in the air, ominous and chilling, yet Elliot understood them all too well. Gritting his teeth, he silently cursed, Damn it! How the hell am I supposed to escape now? Frustration welled within him, and he slammed his fist into the ground, his gaze fixating on the open door. "You're the real filthy pigs," Elliot muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing with a fierce determination. I just need to become stronger than them, he resolved, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips only to dissipate quickly. I just need blood—blue, green, or whatever else I can find. Then, with time, I'll break the seal... if that's even possible. And if not, I'll finish off Edwin and Samantha so no one can track me.

With a deep sigh, Elliot pushed himself upright on trembling hands. Was this a vision in my sleep? And when Aston himself went to bed, did I wake up in my own body? Another sigh escaped him as he stepped barefoot through the door into a world illuminated by an ethereal bluish light. His eyes squinted against the glaring brightness that enveloped him.

Before him unfolded a scene of life, albeit one steeped in darkness. People dressed in somber, muted colors brushed past, their conversations drowned beneath the rhythmic thud of galloping horses. The sound of wheels splashing through puddles echoed against the cobblestones, punctuated by the sharp click of shoes against the cold asphalt. Elliot's gaze flickered to the basket by the door. Inside lay a shopping list alongside five Cont—silver coins embossed with the image of a beautiful young woman, reminiscent of the figures depicted on the bills of Elis, though smaller.

As he read the list—Western Pocket Packs, bread with spreads (jam and butter), four packs of Helliod, two packs of the Robenwaldler Special, and a mixed salad with chicken breast—his brow furrowed in confusion. He noticed some items already nestled within the basket: clothes! A small smirk replaced his earlier sorrow as he eagerly pulled out a simple shirt and trousers held together by suspenders. Though plain gray and crafted from worn wool, the garments bore the marks of hardship—burns and holes, particularly at the back where the symbolic blue mark on Elliot's skin peeked through.

The mark resembled a vertical eye devoid of a pupil, surrounded by various symbols etched into the iris. Only fragments of it were visible through the fabric's damage, while the bruises marring his skin were stark against the faded cloth, the blue welts on his legs evident through the tattered trousers. The suspenders were barely functional, one strap intact while the other dangled uselessly.

Elliot's gaze drifted to the distant crowd, not venturing far. The clamor of horses persisted, and passersby strolled through narrow alleys, their faces reflecting a blend of desperation and resolve. The azure sun hung low in the sky, its glare harsh against his skin as he tentatively reached for his still-injured shoulder, lifting the brown basket filled with his meager provisions. His eyes absorbed the surroundings—an antiquated world steeped in the trappings of a Victorian era, despite it being the year 2057. Here in the Kingdom of Avelor, on the continent of Elisia, it was the year 1613 by the AORB calendar, the "Alliance of the Red Bloods," a point of reference that echoed painfully in his mind, particularly since Aston's mother, Hanna, had presumably passed a year ago.

"But why is it so outdated here?" Elliot murmured to himself, observing the passersby adorned in elegant attire, some akin to Edwin and Samantha, others more like him—Red Bloods from Earth. Despite everything, Elliot maintained his gaze low, his posture deliberately humble to avoid drawing attention. I hate this already... I'm unwashed, covered in dried blood and wounds, he thought bitterly, licking the back of his hand, the salty taste reminding him of his dire state. "Damn it, I couldn't even brush my teeth," he cursed under his breath, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

...

After walking only a few minutes, Elliot found himself standing before a large shop, its façade a stark contrast to the smaller buildings that flanked it. The sign above the entrance proclaimed Evelyn's Shop in bold letters, engraved in black against the wood. At least the shop isn't too far, he thought. What would've happened if I'd gotten lost and Edwin had to come find me? The mere notion sent another shiver down his spine.

With hesitant but determined steps, he approached the door, which swung open easily, resembling the entrance of a Wild West saloon. Inside, several people stood in line, prompting Elliot to raise a questioning brow. Where are the groceries? And why are all the people here like me? Before him was a shop that defied his expectations—no shelves lined with food like a typical supermarket, but a space filled with ragged souls.

The other customers, much like Elliot, bore the marks of hardship. Their clothes hung loosely, hair oily and unkempt, skin dirtied by the struggles of survival. A faint smile tugged at Elliot's lips; these were people like him—humans, struggling against the tides of fate.

"Fresh meat?" A voice startled him from behind.

"Fresh meat?" Elliot echoed, confusion etched on his features. "How long have you been here?"

Elliot turned to see a young man, muscular and appearing older than his years. His skin had a slight brown tone, and his short hair was swept to one side. Though marred in places, his skin was in better condition than Elliot's; his tattered clothing—a beige shirt and woolen trousers—was complemented by intact suspenders, unlike Elliot's own.

"Uh, sorry... I've only been here since yesterday," Elliot replied hastily, realizing he had been staring for too long.

The man's deep voice responded, "No problem. But you should be cautious about whom you engage with around here. I've been here a few months and can offer some insight if you need it. First one's free. Consider it a friendly gesture." Elliot managed a small smile at the older-looking man, but quickly raised his hand to shield his brow. "Of course, I would be grateful for any help."

The man, whose skin bore a weathered brown hue indicative of his years, introduced himself. "My name is Genemis Matoly, but you can call me Gene."

With a warm yet subtly chilling smile, Gene continued, "First of all, the Earth, as we know it, is merely a small part of this world, which everyone here refers to as Hemorion. There are six major continents in total, though I am familiar with only three. Earth is the continent of humans—or the so-called red-blooded—while Icarus and the continent we currently inhabit, Elisia, are home to the blue-blooded, along with some green- and orange-blooded folk. There's much more to learn, but we'll stick to the basics for now. We currently reside in the southeastern kingdom of Avelor, on the continent of Elisia. There are other kingdoms, though even I don't know them all. I can tell you about the golden heart of Elisia, the kingdom of Zentria, but that's where my knowledge starts to wane. If you desire more information, there are various ways to acquire it."

Gene wet his pale, slightly chapped lips before adding with a sly grin, "Either through food, clothing... but ideally, through blood. A few milliliters of blue or green will suffice, hehe. Oh, and one more thing—this shop doesn't operate like a supermarket anymore. It's more akin to a theater. You place your order, and it's prepared for you... only with food instead of tickets."

Despite Gene's smile, a lingering chill remained in his demeanor. Elliot studied him for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I'll give it some consideration. Thank you, Gene."

Although Elliot was already aware of much of the information Gene had shared, it helped clarify his understanding of this world called Hemorion, where Earth was merely a smaller continent. It also provided him a clearer sense of his location. Through Aston's memories, he had assumed until now that he was in the kingdom of Zentria, having only heard its name in passing. Avelor, huh... he thought as he waited in line, standing quietly with his gaze lowered, as was his habit. Ren, please... be safe, somewhere out of harm's way... not buried under rubble or... in the belly of... Elliot's expression darkened as unwelcome images flooded his mind. His fists clenched tightly, his gaze fixed on the floor between himself and the people ahead. No, Ren. You're fine. You have to be. Please...

His melancholic reverie was abruptly interrupted by a voice calling out to him. "Customer?... Customer!" A man, a head taller than Elliot, stood before him, prompting Elliot to look up.

"What would you like?"

Fumbling with his basket, Elliot raised a piece of paper and, in a somewhat louder voice, read his list: "One pack of Western pockets, bread, marmalade, four packs of Helliod butter, two sets of Robenwaldler's special three-pack, mixed salad, and chicken breast."

Absentmindedly, he brushed his right eyebrow. "Please wait a moment while I fetch your order."

For a whole minute, Elliot stood against a gray wall in the store, his arms resting on his knees, his back slightly hunched. "Excuse me, your order is ready!" The shopkeeper, a man roughly 1.90 meters tall, stood behind the counter, while Gene was placing his own order.

Elliot approached, carrying a brown basket with a sagging strap, and carefully placed the groceries inside. After concluding his conversation with Gene, the shopkeeper extended his hand and said, "That'll be 1 Cont and 3 Celi."

Elliot handed him two Conts—silver coins—and received 7 Celi, copper coins, in change. "Thank you for your purchase," the shopkeeper said as Gene moved toward the wall, turning to speak with another customer in worn clothing.

Elliot made his way back to the door, counting his money. "3 Cont and 7 Celi..." He sighed as he retraced his steps toward Edwin and Samantha, recalling the route with clarity.

...

He knocked on the outer door, and after a few seconds, a voice called out, "One moment, I'm coming!" Edwin's previously impassive expression transformed into a grin. "Well, if it isn't our red-blood." He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning the basket in Elliot's hand.

Elliot kept his gaze downcast. "Good job. You're still somewhat useful after all, hehe," Edwin sneered, his expression souring. "Now go find a job. Anywhere, and right now. But since I'm in such a good mood, I'll even tell you where to look. If you head left and keep going straight, you'll find a district where many of your kind work. Oh, and by the way, all the money you make will go to us."

Edwin snatched the basket from Elliot's hand, pocketing the coins resting atop it. With a final word, "Now get to work," he slammed the door in Elliot's face.

The force of the door sent a gust of air past Elliot's ears and hair, causing him to stumble back, clutching his nose. "Argh, damn it!" Crimson blood now stained his fingers and the ground beneath him.