Ocular to the Dying Sun

Distracted Night Light’s; part 6

People entered through the sloppy-looking entranceway. All dark wood and sort of slanted by the way Mitt looked at it from where he stood, small, with his neck craned impressed a sense of caution to his senses. Hiding underneath a cloak did not help him with how the shadow of his hood made everything feel dim.

Still, hearing the patrons outside that gathered with joviality say “Aling Nora” several times made him relieved to know he wouldn’t need to scour the entire street to see where Epiro went. Planning a way to know about the rumors and proving the truth behind them was Mitts thought.

Thinking of a plan isn’t something he could do on his own, but he trusts that Epiro could think with him since Mitt knows that their work isn’t just about being hired swords. Mitt needs to figure out where he could start his investigation about the rumors, and where to start with people connected to a plethora of information. The Militia.

Eagerly following the flow of the crowd going in and out of what Mitt could consider a local eatery, he finds comfort that he could hear Epiro’s voice as the group of guards sat at a table with a round of mugs. They all ate, talking animatedly about their missions.

Interested, Mitt snuck around along the wall near Epiro’s table since it was located just one table away.

“…to see you in this town. What brings you here?”

“…—ness is blooming with my emplo—”

“Airships, right?”

“…across the seas, and it’s amazing—”

Slinking away as best his small body could he managed to avoid the bulk of weapons leaning on the wall beside the one table he was trying to pass thru.

“…me wrong but we’re quite satisf—”

“Did you all travel from—”

“…more would come, and it’s the best tech—”

Besides Mitt trying his best to approach Epiro to never sway from his aim, he couldn’t do anything when he felt eyes looking in his direction.

“Should we be… innovation your employer speak…”

“No, no. I’m not a salesman… and it’s his job to get more… so their town can grow.”

“That man is amaz—”

The moment he felt them, he looked away, just enough for his hood to hide his face. Luckily, the cloak he wore was something that could hide his body and face enough for him to move around. Relying mostly on the acumen he has for his magic, he lightly made a sudden motion with his Tapik magic, enough to distract the people on the table near him before he retreated.

This wasn’t his intention though when he hid behind one stout server, he noticed that the person on the table was Lagodis who was looking behind him, an effect of the distraction Mitt did. The man sat facing the direction Mitt is watching from, but since the old man is looking behind him, he was free of noticing his actions.

Three other people sat with Lagodis at the table. Two men, one beside him and the other opposite of Lagodis. One had loose braids, busily eating, and the other slightly faced behind as if he was trying to gauge something but figured he’d dismiss the issue he sensed.

The fourth person at the table started speaking again as he animatedly said something, enough for the people at the table to gain their attention back on the topic they were talking about. For most, Mitt wouldn’t be listening to a snippet, but he could tell that the discussion they were holding interests Lagodis enough for his old man face to look intently at the other man.

“Why do—ant to kn—ut Uran, old man?” said the man to Lagodis. Their voice is casual but interrogative in intonation.

Though words were broken due to the noise drowning the rest of the details, Mitt could tell that the man asked about someone named “Uran.” He slightly moved away from the woman he was hiding from and instantly saw his opportunity to act as if he was part of the crowd when a man, stout and smelled like beer, handed him a tray and slowly filled it with all kinds of broken glass.

Mitt was surprised that the man just handed him a tray, but he instinctively held it, steadily. Maintaining a still posture, he pressed his instinct to shimmy away by avoiding any other noise besides a shrimp-ish voice of “mhmm” as the man continue to vomit expletives Mitt has never heard before.

He was just at the other table with this man but was luckily facing his back to Lagodis’s table. Enabling Mitt to listen even if they were only snippets of the ongoing conversation.

“You say, what?” said the man’s voice.

“I’m saying, we’ve reason to believe that the man named Uran is the—”

“No!” said the beer-smelling man. “Who are you to say that when you haven’t even paid your tab? Huh?” His voice was booming and brusque, which was overshadowed by a different booming one.

“Fat, kantotero! Gago! You think I haven’t paid; when I’ve already done paying you with these ladies!!” said the other one, Mitt couldn’t see where this man replied as he hid his presence behind a beer-smelling man.

“—that’s why the Lady should meet with him.” Lagodis words finished an entire chunk of what he said missed because Mitt had no time to focus with the sudden shouting in front of him.

“Oh, well, that’s a different matter if a noble is asking for his pre—”

“—no, no. Nora, stop. I didn’t get together with those wo—,” the beer-smelling man suddenly said but had himself abruptly cut with cracking of his jaw as a swift fist hit his face.

Before Mitt could even do anything, he’s pushed backward, directly hitting the back of the man on Lagodis’ table. Loud buckling wood and glass filled the place, enough to rouse people into shouting jovial cheers of a fight ensuing.

Scrambling to land on the ground without compromising his hood or safety, Mitt managed to skitter like a cockroach by scuttling on his bottom while moving inch by inch away from the commotion and towards the wall. Though, he had instinctively looked up, in time to see the man looking down at him in shock.

A face lined by a dark scar on the right side of its cheek, tanned enough with an unshaven, rugged-jawed face looked back at him. The eyes of the man momentarily met with Mitts, but it was only milliseconds due to how conscious he was of being recognized.

Thus, even if Mitt didn’t see the reaction of sudden curiosity on the man with a scarred cheek, it was only a fleeting feeling because it was completely swiped away by the distraction now physically edging towards their direction.

Almost everyone in that area scampered away like cowards as the lady of the eatery, Aling Nora, with her big bulky self, pummeled the beer-smelling man. Around them, a bunch of men laughed as they watched the man become a punching bag under the arms of Aling Nora.

It wasn’t the first time Mitt encountered a fistfight, but it was always going to be an interesting turn of events for his night when he joins the crowd of onlookers at the entertainment. Left and right hooks could be seen professionally landing on the barely harmed beer-smelling man, though he shows an expression of pain. Deep down, Mitt thought, he could tell that the beer-smelling man is just simply letting Aling Nora beat him.

He started smiling along with the crowd when Aling Nora started to turn her attention towards the other man, and this turned worse because she screamed her lungs out as she said, “how dare you pedal your puta here like you own this place?!?! Walang hiyang, bulas ka ng kiki ni satanas! You better be thankful for your slip of the tongue, or else the guards would have captured you, but even then—”

After which the woman started to pour hell at him by hitting him where it hurts most by kicking a strategically toppled table towards his crotch. The precision with ease, the goal of Aling Nora was met with a reward of a disgruntled groan followed by another when she slaps his face with an open palm.

Feeling the sting of the slap, Mitt winced and then found himself shoulder to shoulder with a girl, she looked the same age as him, but he doubted if she was. She wore quite rough brown pants, coupled with a thick belt on the waist that looked loose but held on her waist quite well. The rest of her body wasn’t exactly visible to him, but he knew she was a girl. Though rowdy was the crowd, he held himself in check for fear of pushing at the girl.

His efforts weren’t wasted when he felt the adults around them push him around and held his ground, shielding them both with subtle magic. She looked at him, for the first time, and she wore a slight frown on her face since it seemed like she tilted her head to the side. The amusement on her face disappeared because of how Mitt, the face that remains hidden under the hood, must have scared her.

In a blink, a force pushed him, shocking his tiny shoulder as he felt the force of the hands. He had a momentary glance to realize that the girl had pushed him away from her. He stumbled a bit before a hand steadied him.

Eye’s wide as Mitt listened to Aling Nora’s words, he failed to realize that he was partially held on the shoulders by none other than Epiro who sported a face of exasperation towards him. Epiro deftly pulled him away from the front of the crowd, where Mitt unconsciously tried to see if Lagodis and the scarred cheek man were still there.

Unfortunately, he was only met by the varied faces of people jeering at the commotion. Feeling a slight disappointment at the chance to listen in on Lagodis, the old man he knew who worked behind the curtains of his mother and the militia, his feet found him walking beside Epiro.

He hadn’t noticed it, but Epiro was muttering to himself, “my life is going to be at stake after this.”

“Hey, Epiro, I saw Lagodis inside,” Mitt said, as silent as he could. “I made sure I wasn’t spotted, so it’s alright. No one will tell mother.” This last one was delivered in a way that sound like he was suppressing an excitement in his voice, but he was nervous nevertheless.

Epiro looked at him, then sighed. “That’s not the point though,” he muttered as internally he knew Lady Yphemu already sensed her son leave the premise of their mansion.

He’s heard of it many times before, how Yphemu and Sacr speak about the times she’d sensed Mitt leave the premise of their mansion due to his magical signature slowly weakening. Conversations like those weren’t something he intended to hear because the next lines were regarding punishments towards the guards assigned in their mansion.

Several times he’s heard that Sacr strictly punished them or returned them to Milita, under Lagodis, for training. Since most of those guards had to be a level adept in magical inundation, like him and Lagodsi. For sure, the old man sensed Mitt, and even if Lady Yphemu was not saying anything about her son outside of the protection of the mansion, he was positive she was lenient to him not for the lack of concern.

Neither was she spoiling him from the world, but rather an intimately distant way of letting him learn. Thus, if Epiro was just a smidgen aware that the boy wouldn’t be listening to him at an ungodly and uncertain hour, he should have expected Mitt to follow him because he was the first one to approach.

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