"Time to get up, Prota!" John exclaimed.
Seeing as she didn't respond, he picked up a pillow and threw it at her. Prota stirred, blinking tiredly as she rubbed her eyes. What was going on? She wasn't used to being woken up. She usually got up on her own. In fact, she was always the one to wake up John. What in the world was going on?
"Do you know what today is?"
Prota frowned. Was today supposed to be something—
Oh.
"Alright, no more work for either of us. Thank god," John said, turning around do work on something. "We're all done. We'll be heading out soon. Did I not mention this?"
Prota's eyes, initially full of anticipation, dropped down. It was her birthday today. Despite everything, she'd managed to remember that this one day was significant to her. It'd been foolish of her to expect something from him, especially after all he'd done for her. Why would he even be aware of her birthday? No, she was the foolish one for expecting something in the first place.
"Alright, head on over to the old lady. You know which one I'm talking about, right? I gotta run an errand, so just bring the package back home," John explained. "Don't worry. I'll get home before you do."
Prota nodded slowly.
"Alright, I'm headin' out. See ya!"
With that, John was out the door. Prota sighed and threw on her cloak, the bell over the door giving a friendly jingle as she walked the familiar paths. This time, though, there was no need for frequent breaks. She could easily walk the whole way with more than enough energy to spare. It wasn't much, but considering the state she'd been in, it was an incredible achievement.
"Hello, dear," the old lady smiled. "You're here for a package, right?"
Prota nodded, an aura of gloominess hanging around her. She was trying to tell herself that it didn't matter, but it wasn't working. She was a child. She'd been looking forward to something special, and when it hadn't come, she was sad. It was fair to let her be a little childlike.
"You're a very lucky girl," the old lady winked, then rolled out a large, magically sealed crate from underneath her stall. "John's a grumpy fella, but he's got a soft heart down there. He might care for you more than you might realize, if you know what I mean."
Prota's heart rose with hope. She shook her head. No, she didn't deserve it. A gift like that was something she shouldn't be expecting. But still…
Prota nodded one last time then scurried home as fast as she could, pulling the crate behind her.
~~~
Prota looked around the empty bar, but there was no one there. Strange. The door to the bar was unlocked. That meant John was home, right? Maybe they were upstairs. She left the crate behind, her footsteps like as she went up the stairs, throwing open the door to find—
"Happy birthday!"
Banners hung from the ceiling, brightly coloured balls floating around the room, tied down to the ground with string. Prota stared at them. Magic devices? What did they do? They were floating, so they must've been magical, right? Her head flicked back and forth excitedly as she tried to take in all the decorations at once.
"Hey, you brought the crate from the old lady, right?"
Prota nodded, still staring at the decorations around the room, but that was enough of an answer for John. He ran downstairs and then lugged the crate back up, the box thumping every step of the way.
"Alright, what do we have here…"
John cracked the seal, and a wonderful smell wafted out. He grinned. The old lady had made exactly what he'd asked for. It wasn't exactly revolutionary, but he'd been longing for this for so long. He could cook it for himself, but there was an appeal to a meal like this cooked by somebody else.
Two pairs of lightly toasted buns sandwiched a stack of hamburgers, cheese and bacon, juice and sauce dripping down the side. Freshly cut and fried potatoes sat in a container, the edges a deep gold, practically crackling with crispiness. Sitting next to them was a pizza with a large, fluffy pastry for the base, a homemade tomato sauce ladled on, and fresh cheese melted on the top, still bubbling and gooey. Steam rose from the box as the smells combined into a heavenly feast for the nose.
Prota just stared with sparkling eyes and a watering mouth. John looked over at her and laughed.
"Well? What do you want to try first?"
John nodded as Prota pointed to the cheeseburger. Taking it out, he passed it over, and she began eating with a ferocity she hadn't exhibited in a year. She didn't quite smile, but her eyes shone in a way John had never seen before.
She was in heaven. There was something different about this. All her meals had been fine, but they'd all worked towards improving her body. The past year had been all about fixing her life back up. But this wasn't for any of that. This wasn't training. This wasn't recovery. This was just a gift. This was a feast to be enjoyed as nothing other than a feast.
There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to be anxious for. She could just close her eyes and relax.
"Alright!" John exclaimed as they finished up.
They both leaned back, stuffed, but there was one thing left. John dropped a large container on the table, mist falling off the sides. Prota reached out hesitantly, feeling it, only to pull her hand back as the coldness of whatever was inside surprised her. The lid opened to reveal some kind of soft, white food.
"Ice cream. It's cold, so take it slow, ok?"
Prota nodded eagerly.
"Ok… where did I put them…" John muttered, looking around. "Oh!"
Sticking six candles into a bowl of ice cream, he lit a match and lit the candles.
"Ok, so… Six years. Six candles. Happy birthday, Prota."
Prota squeezed her eyes shut, making a wish. Then, with all her might, she blew the candles out.
"Alright, now dig in!"
As soon as she took her first spoonful, Prota's eyes shot wide open.
"Good, right?" John laughed. "There's more, so have as much as you want."
Prota started devouring the desert as fast as she could, then froze as she got brain freeze. She winced as the cold seemed to spread through her very bones.
"Hey, I told you to take your time," John said, trying to hide his smile.
"Hnn," Prota moaned as she held her head. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good either.
She was so engrossed in her meal that she didn't notice John leave the table. She did, however, notice the two packages he brought back with him, wrapped in colourful wrapping paper.
"Ok! Two gifts. Since you didn't get anything last year, I guess. These aren't all that great, but I hope they work." John was yammering on nervously. "If you don't like them, you can just get rid of them, ok? So, what first?"
Prota pointed to the long box, attracted to the larger size.
"This one? Alright, here we go."
He passed the package over to Prota, who eagerly opened it up. Inside was a wooden staff, about as tall as she was, with a gnarled top to place one's hand on.
"It's a magic staff. It's not as good as some, but it should be useful. I'm not actually sure how practical it is, but… It can store mana from the user, like a reserve, and you can take it out whenever you need."
Prota's eyes shone. It was a bit big for her, but magic shrunk it down to her size. She put it on her back like she'd seen other mages do, and it immediately stayed in place, hovering in midair, affixed to her by magic.
"And second… open this one carefully. It would suck if you ripped what's inside."
Prota took the envelope and tugged at the sticky parts, careful not to rip the insides. After some struggle, she opened it and took out a singular sheet of paper.
"So, uh… You know how I've been telling everyone you're my sister? So… well, what if…"
He seemed to be struggling to get the words out.
"What if you, um, actually became my sister?"
Inside was a legal certificate that declared Prota to be the direct sister of one John Quarta.
"It's a legal document, but, I mean, I can always cancel it if you want, but-" John stammered, but was cut off as Prota ran up to him and tackled him with a hug.
He was so taken aback that he was literally at a loss for words. Prota was still someone uncomfortable with touch. Her subconscious fear of killing those around her was still strong, to the point where she still occasionally shrank back when John touched her. Nobody else could even get close.
Now, here she was, fully embracing him in a warm hug, entirely of her own will. It wasn't that wisp of a touch she'd given a year ago. There was no hesitation in her action. She truly wanted this.
"...is that a yes?" he muttered.
Prota nodded, burying her face into John's chest, and he returned the embrace. She heard him whisper two words.
"Thank you."
They stayed like that for a while, refusing to move, basking in the warmth of the other's presence—two souls, both lonely, cold alone, but capable of warming the other when combined.
A peace they wished could last forever.
~~~
"So it's agreed. The ten of us will participate, and we split the thousand. Agreed?"
There was murmuring and nodding at the dimly lit table. Ten tough looking mercenaries, all going after the bounty on John's head.
"Then sign the contract."
Each took out a knife and pricked their finger, allowing a single drop of blood to fall on a magic contract. Whenever a drop of blood fell onto the paper, it would glow. A magical contract. One that bound the ones who signed it with their lives.
"He could be dangerous."
"Our job is always dangerous. A hundred gold for each of us… all for a bartender? And a little girl? It's too easy to be true."
The group continued to murmur. Then the noise slowly reached a lull. There was silence for a bit, and then one of the men turned to a dark corner.
"You sure you don't want in?"
"...I'm fine."
Grey emerged from the shadows, about to leave.
"We'll give you your fair share if you participate."
"I don't want any money. Leave me out of this. Remember what I said about the bartender."
"Yeah, yeah. Close to death. Not actually dead. Good enough to convince that noble bastard."
He flipped his hood up, beginning to leave, but stopped as a mercenary called out.
"Oi."
He stopped and turned back. A mercenary flipped him a gold coin.
"Thanks for the tip, brother. We wouldn't have been able to set this up without you."
Grey left without another word, a guilty look passing by his face.
~~~
John and Prota were out for a stroll, wandering the streets as they watched the stars twinkling overhead. They ended up near the old lady's stall, and as they walked by, she gave Prota a wink. John had clearly planned a lot.
Prota was comfortable holding John's hand as they walked. The staff was hanging on her back, and even though it wasn't doing much, she liked how it felt. It was already like a familiar companion. It was something precious, just like her cloak. She couldn't even imagine not using it.
"John," Prota said, pointing at the old lady.
"Go ahead," John nodded, sitting down on a bench.
Prota had no words, still hesitant to talk to anybody but John, but she bowed her head in appreciation. The gratitude was sincere.
The old lady smiled kindly at her. "Don't you worry about it. I'm just an old fart who happens to be involved with a few things. You take care of John, you hear? He needs someone responsible to take care of him."
"I can hear you, you old bat!" John yelled.
"Yeah? Then why don't you learn to become a competent, capable young man? Go do something with your life! You've got loads of time ahead of you!"
"You've got no time! Go shrivel up and die!"
The old lady just snorted. "See what I mean? You be sure to take care of your older brother now, you hear?"
Prota's eyes widened at that. The old lady gave her one more wink and handed her a lollipop.
"Happy birthday, Prota."
Prota ran back over to John, licking away.
"Good?" John asked as they continued their walk down the path.
Prota nodded. She'd never felt such a peaceful sensation of joy before. It was a sense of security that she'd long since forgotten.
"After this, we'll go become adventurers," John rambled. "Go on adventures, slay beasts, learn how to use magic… then onto Scholaris. Then the demon lord, and then your sister, and then…"
His voice trailed off, his face becoming undescribably hollow for a moment. But only for a moment.
"Then, we'll see," he said.
If Prota hadn't been so engrossed with her lollipop, she would have noticed the change in his tone, but she was busy, so the lack of sincerity in John's voice went unnoticed.
"Come one, it's getting late. We have packing to do tomorrow," John said. "Let's head on home."
It should've been over with that. A happy ending to a happy day. But things never ended so easily.
"Down!" John yelled, pushing Prota to the ground as a handful of knives to fly over their heads. "What the-"
His eyes scanned the alleyway, locking onto four men wielding swords.
"...assassins? Mercs?" John frowned. "How… what the hell? How did they know we'd be here?"
The men charged John, who clenched his teeth and pulled out his gun, the barrel flashing six times as he pulled the trigger over and over. As if the men had been warned in advance, a dirt barrier went up, blocking the bullets. The pieces of lead fell to the floor uselessly.
"Shit," John cursed under his breath. "How do they know about that, too? What motherfucker told them?"
He turned back to his sister, barking out a command.
"Prota, go to the granny. She can hide you well. Go! Now!"
The little girl nodded and ran off, leaving him to fend off the assailants. He turned back to face the assassins approaching him with frightening speed.
"Alright, let's do it."
John muttered to himself, his head light as an indescribable emotion filled him, leaving no room for thinking. As a result, an incredible aura washed through the air. It was almost enough to make the men back off.
Almost.
The first one died like an idiot. He leapt into the air where a dirt barrier would be unable to protect him, and a bullet went right between his eyes. Two more cracks rang through the air, and the body fell to the ground with a sickening crack, blood pooling from underneath.
People began running and screaming as the fight continued, but John was focused solely on the remaining three men. He fired three more shots into the dirt wall, then pressed a button, ejecting the barrel. Reaching into thin air, another barrel loaded with bullets fell into his hand, which slammed into his revolver with practiced ease.
Time. He had to buy time. If he said something pointless, then maybe they'd entertain his conversation.
"There's a lot of you."
"You think this is it? That's amusing," one of the men scoffed. "You're an idiot."
"More men- Prota!" John exclaimed, looking back.
He hadn't even considered the possibility of a diversion. A diversion? For him and Prota? Why? His fears had been realized. The little white haired girl was nowhere to be seen.
"You idiot! He knows now!"
"Yeah? What's he gonna do about it?"
"He already killed one of us!"
"That one was an idiot. The bartender doesn't even have a core. What's he gonna do?"
John's body began to shake as his mind started going blank. No. No, no. This couldn't be happening again. Why? Why him? Why now? He'd been so close. So close to tasting what he thought to be joy. He should've gotten a break from this stage of a world. He wanted out, and he'd almost gotten it.
His mind snapped back. Right. What was he thinking? This had happened to him before. Why was he expecting anything else? There was no such thing as luck. Only the [Author]. And that damn bitch made it so that true hapiness was something John could never achieve.
He could identify the emotion within him now. It was anger. Pure, unbridled anger. It wasn't fair. It was never fair. His life was just curse after curse, bait after bait, and he kept taking it like the idiot he was.
His vision started to blur as he let his body go limp, feeling his chest expand and contract as he took breath after breath. Eventually, he snapped back to his senses, his eyes locking onto the enemies before him.
Prota was gone. There was nothing he could do about it now, but there was something he could do about the men in front of him. No, they weren't men. [Characters]. Who would care if they went missing?
Not him.
They don't matter. Kill them all.
"Give up," one of the mercenaries called out, his head barely peeking out. "I'll give you a painless death if you just-"
There was a crack, and the man fell dead, a hole in the center of his forehead. Far away, John was standing, smoke trailing from the freshly fired gun. There was a loud click as he pulled the hammer down, death in his eyes.
"Two more," John muttered.
The anger had concentrated into something far more threatening. It wasn't just a raw emotion anymore. Death. No mercy. No bargains. Just death. Without uttering a word, he was getting the message across. The two men he was facing were already walking corpses. That vision simply had yet to be realized.
"You- are you an idiot? You think you can take us on?!" one of the remaining two yelled, charging in.
That was the wrong move to make. It quickened his death by about a minute.
The earth spell, which had worked so well before, was useless now that the men weren't thinking straight, and the flash of the barrel announced another one gone.
"You- you bastard!" the last one yelled.
His mouth began to move as he tried to cast a spell. Unfortunately, a full encantation took longer to cast than a single bullet. One more shot. One more kill.
The bullet burst out of his head, blood spraying out like a fountain, brain matter splattering everywhere as the body fell to the ground with a wet thump. There were none left to oppose him.
Looking around, John scanned the area for clues. Finding nothing, he ran to the lady at the stall, who was waving him over.
"Six men," she gasped. "They took her. That way," she said, pointing to the fields.
"Thank you," John said, his voice emotionless.
He was about to depart when a hand landed on his shoulder.
"Quarta."
It was Grey.
"Hey. I'm warning you. Don't go after them. You…"
His voice trailed off as John slowly turned around, his fists clenched tight.
"Oh. It was you."
"What? What are you talking about?" Grey said, his voice perfectly smooth.
He was a good liar.
It wasn't good enough.
"Don't lie to me. They knew where we would be. This is the path I always take. They knew my guard would be down. They knew about my gun. Someone tipped them off."
"Quarta, that girl, she's a demon! Mana absorption! That's a demon art! Does your arrogance blind you? We just trained a demon! What are you-"
Grey was silenced as the gun's muzzle was pressed against his forehead, the metal still hot.
"Your point?"
"Wait, hold on just a minute-" Grey started, but John cut him off.
"You thought I was just a manaless mercenary, right?"
"Quarta, I'm trying to protect you. There's a thousand gold bounty on your head. News will spread. Soon, the city guards might be after you. What will you do then? Will you still protect that girl? And how will you protect yourself?"
"...did you think something like that would convince me? What, did you make the mistake of assuming I was sane? That I was smart? That I had common sense? I don't have any of those, not anymore. That argument won't work on me."
Grey was speechless. John's eyes pierced his soul, but they weren't accusing. They didn't blame him for anything. And somehow, that was worse. He felt as if he were being evaluated as a tool, like he were being judged solely on his usefulness.
"Alright. Do you like gambling, Grey? Let's leave this up to the [Author]. If you're needed, you'll survive this. And if you're not, well…"
"What? You wouldn't. John, what are yo-"
Not waiting for Grey to finish, John pulled the trigger. The noise was slightly muffled by the flesh of Grey's head, blood and brain matter splattering everywhere as the bullet practically turned the insides to mush. The body fell to the ground, but John didn't even so much as flinch.
Without turning around, he spoke.
"Leader of the demon worshippers. Are you going to do anything? If you want to try it, now's a good time."
"...you knew this whole time, did you?"
"It was pretty obvious," John said, his voice hollow. "Just because you aged a few decades doesn't mean you changed your habits."
"Ha. This is my true age. The cultists wouldn't have wanted an old fart leading them. Well, it matters not. I'll stand by what I said before. You are incredibly close to the 'truth' of the world. Why would I get rid of you?"
Despite the situation, John couldn't help but give a snort of amusement.
"The other cult members would have your head if they heard you say that."
The old lady smiled, but it was a dangerous smile. "They don't matter. They can try. You killed most of them, anyway. They will not give me the answer I want. You…"
John didn't even look in her direction, but he could tell. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't hesitating. She was either crazy or far stronger than he gave her credit for. Probably both.
"And you remember what I said?"
"You'd never tell me, I know. But you are no threat to the world. There is no need to engage in combat with you, so I will continue to observe. Who knows? Maybe I'll find something out someday."
That got a half laugh out of John. "Damn. Well, you wouldn't be my first stalker. I've got one. Maybe more. Ten. A hundred? Depends on how well the [Author] is writing, I guess."
John tossed his gun away and stared with murderous intent toward the plains. He wiped the mess off his scarf, rewinding it around his face. Reaching back, he threw his hood up, the shadows covering the rest of his face.
Then, from the darkness, a single red light began to shine.