In terms of the case surrounding Meridia… both Verdannia and Meridia share a long, bloodied history. One hundred and fifty years of conflict, ending only when I was a boy. The Emperor's final display — the straw that broke the camel's back, the act that toppled Meridia. And yet, when I ask why the war began, no one can answer. Not the history books. Not the old men in taverns. Even the delivery man couldn't tell me.
This place… it's off. Not the streets, not the people. Something beneath it all.
The kettle screamed alive, like a bird being boiled. Orin darted to lift the bronze kettle off the stove, then burning himself and recoiling in pain. The kettle stirred but did not wake, still screaming a vent of steam from its nose.
He went to a tap next to the stove before running cold water upon his palm. He sighed, his sigh running a cold mist across the wooden countertops.
Miss Agnes, The landlady waltzed in before asking, "Are you alright there?"
"Good morning to you too, Miss." Orin responded smiling as she bore a worried expression on his face.
She glanced towards the kettle, "I always tell you to use the towel before you pick it up!"
She grabbed a relatively tattered cloth, holding the handle of the kettle over a porcelain set of mugs. Each of the mugs having the symbol of the church.
She poured it, slowly, the leaves soaking the water expunging their flavors. A bitter steam rose like incense from the mug sashaying through the air.
"Tha-"
"Nope! This is mine, I've waited a while for you to show your ugly face here."
"Sorry, sorry the train delayed Miss Agnes." He smiled, rubbing his head with his last remaining hand.
"You can pour it yourself." She said defiantly but deep down worried
She held the mug and walked through the door, lighting a small candle as she walked by.
"Miss superstitious."He jeered
"Believing in that church stuff."
After rinsing his hand he poured the remaining kettle water into a teapot, lifting the teapot above a mug of his own. He poured the water–fast, too fast– and it splashed over the leaves. Bitter steam rose impurely. The tea had over-steeped, but he lacked the heart to try again.
He took a seat by a frost-ringed window. Outside Verdannia groaned awake. The postmen posting. The guards tapping their canes at irregular intervals. Lamplighter walking by streetlamps lighting the candles on them. Mechanical carriages rolling along the cobblestone streets. It was new to him and yet, it seemed. Familiar.
His breath fogged the pane. He began drawing idle shapes into the condensation—an eye, a key, a rose—but wiped them away before they could finish forming.
Metal shutters clanked open, men in soot-stained uniforms stomped past in formation, and somewhere far off, a bell marked the first hour.
"Valdora had no reason to be still using coal in this day and age. In truth, the world is advanced. No- The world of the rich is advanced." Orin muttered
His Aunt Agnes walked into the garden, solidifying the warding sigils. Something of the church. She returned and before she could speak Orin muttered, "Tomorrow I'm leaving to see the rest of Valdora,"
She was disheartened but responded, "I'll leave you some of your fathers money, If you need I'll hand you the rest another time,"
"Thanks." He murmured, though she didn't hear him, she saw his lips move and made her leave.
He took a matted overcoat, dragging it along his arm before he put it on. He reached for a hat. He crowned himself with the old felt thing like it still meant something. It was his father's.
He took a brown bag, containing the leftover pastries. He slid into his pocket a handkerchief, his quiet and lucky companion, before he made his leave.
Stepping into the snow, displacing under his foot. The streets of Valdora carrying the familiar smell of Miasma and soot.
"Orin!" Miss Agnes called out
He turned his foot hanging out of the exit.
She stood looking up as if reminiscing, "It's the first time I've seen you since you were small. At that time of war,"
"You were so small." She continued
"You have the eyes of your mother. What I mean to say is, please come and visit. I hardly know you. Please stop this. Please stop chasing those memories, whatever they may be. Have you ever thought there was a reason you lost them? I've no idea what they might be but why cherish what you don't have?"
Then Orin responded, "When she asked you for help you never bothered, it was more like you hated her. Why? My father, I never knew him. My memories are gone and she's dead. When she died, you never helped me. So why now?"
She looked down almost in a repentant manner. She had no answer.
"Was it because we were Meridian?" He asked
"It was because I am too. If they found out…"
"Our blood is your blood."