Book 1 Chapter 15: Emergency Exit

The pre-dawn light was a cool, pale wash across Dustfall as Hugo strode through its quiet streets. His usual cheerful smirk was on his lips, though it was subtly altered now, less playful and more a sharp, focused curve that hinted at the intensity of his thoughts. His mind, always a whirring engine of calculations and connections, was entirely consumed by a single, desperate problem: Motley. And the grim, ticking clock of the President’s ultimatum.

Last night, long after the city had settled into its fitful sleep, Hugo had called an emergency meeting of his Inner Circle. They had gathered in the hushed, exclusive top floor of the Bumble Bar: Nemean, the bar’s silent keeper; Elara, with her sharp mind for whispers from the docks and official channels; Joric, whose network stretched through the steamworks and the city’s working arteries; and Alexis, the newest, most principled member, whose unwavering integrity Hugo valued above gold. He had laid out the raw truth: the Solarian outsider, the power test, the predetermined execution. And then he’d asked them, his most trusted confidantes, for a solution – a way for a man with no past and no identity to vanish from Dustfall.

The air around him, usually thick with the scent of spices and dust, was thin and cold. He passed the closed stalls of the early morning market, their canvas flaps still lowered like tired eyelids. The city was still mostly asleep, save for the rhythmic chug of a distant steam pump and the occasional distant bark of a guard dog. The docks, Nemean had suggested, his voice flat, emotionless. The last boat leaves late, just before dawn. It’s always bound for Sylviana. The name had resonated with a grim practicality. Sylviana, a port town nestled along the coast, is still technically under the President’s rule, but distant enough, chaotic enough, that it might be the last place they’d think to look. It was a gamble, but the best they had.

A baker, already kneading dough in the faint glow of his steam-heated oven, offered a tired wave. Hugo returned it, his smirk unwavering, though his mind was already back with the Inner Circle. It's a long shot, Master Hugo. The port will be watched, the cargo inspected. Elara’s voice, sharp with concern. But it’s our best shot, isn’t it? Hugo had countered, his gaze sweeping over their faces, his smirk tightening into a decisive line. And they’d agreed. It was their best shot. The gamble of a lifetime. Not for profit, not for information, but for a man they barely knew, a man who had somehow, inexplicably, earned Tash's fierce loyalty and, by extension, Hugo's own.

He paused at a bustling, early-morning stall, where a young woman with flour dusting her eyebrows was arranging fresh bread. "Morning, Lena!" Hugo greeted, his smirk softening into one of his more charming variations. "Busy already?" Lena smiled, her movements quick. "Always for Master Hugo!" she chirped. He bought a basket of warm rolls and sweet pastries, the familiar exchange a brief, grounding moment of normalcy. He would take these to his employees, a small gesture of appreciation for their tireless work. His thoughts returned to the plan. The President won't expect him to leave by sea. Too obvious. Unless... that's exactly what he wants them to think. No, that was too many layers, even for the President. The docks, the last boat to Sylviana. It was the best they had.

Further down the street, near the warehouses, a shadowy figure waited by a stacked pile of goods. Hugo’s contact, ready to sell a snippet of information he’d only just received. Hugo exchanged a few low words, dropping a handful of coppers into the man's palm for a whispered rumour about increased guard patrols along the northern road – vital, but useless for Motley’s new escape route. It confirmed their decision to use the sea. No threats or powers will be used to force information out of you. He remembered his contract, the one he'd made Tash agree to, the one he lived by. It was a powerful tool, built on trust and mutual benefit. Now, he was applying that same meticulous calculation to saving a life, his smirk remaining fixed as he weighed the odds.

He finally reached his massive stall, The Hugo Corp, its timber and canvas structure dwarfing those around it. His small army of employees, already bustling, looked up, their faces lighting up at the sight of him and the basket of warm breakfast in his hands. He greeted them all, his smirk warm and genuine, before delegating tasks for the day. He glanced towards The Copper Cactus, its front door still resolutely closed. Tash would be waiting. Anxious. He quickened his pace. The plan was set. Now, he just had to convince Motley and Tash.

Motley meticulously aligned the last chair with its table, his movements automatic. The soft clinking of tin mugs as Tash arranged them on the counter, and the low, comforting hiss of the steam-powered coffee machine, formed a quiet symphony in The Copper Cactus. The air was thick with the rich, inviting aroma of fresh coffee, already brewing for Motley, Tash, and the soon-to-arrive Hugo. They worked in deafening silence, a palpable, anxious weight hanging between them. Motley wiped down the gleaming counter for the third time, finding no dust, yet his cloth moved with a desperate diligence. Hearthglow. The name echoed in his mind, a beacon in the uncertainty. Despite the doom he faced in Dustfall, a thrill, sharp and undeniable, surged through him. He was going home. He would finally learn something, anything, about himself.

He swept the packed earth floor in long, even strokes, the broom's bristles kicking up barely a whisper of Dustfall's ever-present sand. I wonder when my birthday is. He pictured himself in Hearthglow, using his Chronos Eye on strangers, on anyone, like he had on Tash, waiting for the surge of memories, for a connection to himself. Actually, I wonder how old I am.

He meticulously rearranged the chairs at each table, ensuring every one was perfectly aligned. Do I have parents there? Friends? He pictured himself using his power, seeing flashes of laughter, of shared meals, of quiet moments from a life he couldn't remember.

Without a spoken word, his and Tash's tasks flowed, a seamless ballet of cleaning and organising. He'd stack the clean mugs, and she'd reach for them without looking, her movements synchronised with his own. The Copper Cactus, under their combined efforts, gleamed, every surface buffed, every item in its precise place. He was going home. He would finally know.

Tash straightened from the coffee machine, her gaze drawn across the quiet cafe to Motley. He moved with practised ease, but his posture held a subtle stiffness, his eyes distant. He’d been unusually quiet all morning, lost in his thoughts. A knot of concern tightened in her chest. If Motley has no destination for himself, no viable escape, his chances of dying increase tenfold. The thought was cold, sharp. She’d done all the morning tasks; she should try to comfort him.

Tash walked over to the table Motley was finishing, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand, holding her own in the other. "Here you go," she said softly, offering him the warmth.

"Oh, thank you," Motley replied, taking the mug. He blew gently on the dark liquid. "I needed this this morning." He offered a sheepish smile.

Tash's gaze was knowing. "You also couldn't sleep?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"I did, I think," Motley mumbled, taking a careful sip. The bitter warmth settled in his gut. "But it wasn't restful. I woke up still tired."

A soft knock sounded on the front door. "That must be Hugo," Tash said, already moving, a subtle surge of energy in her step. She unlocked and pulled the heavy door open. Hugo appeared in the doorway, his usual smirk firmly in place. "Good morning," he greeted.

Tash stepped to the side, a gesture of welcome. "I have a mug of coffee already made for you."

"Good morning," Hugo greeted, stepping into The Copper Cactus. The usual cheerful smirk faltered on his lips as he instantly picked up on the tension in the room. He glanced from Tash to Motley, sensing the palpable anxiety. He chuckled, a soft, reassuring sound. "Relax, we have a plan, and I'm confident."

He watched Tash's shoulders visibly drop, a heavy, unseen burden lifting from her as a genuine smile broke across her face. It was as if she'd suddenly shed a twenty-kilogram weight. Hugo then looked to Motley, but saw no change in his rigid posture or distant expression.

"Good morning, Hugo," Motley finally managed, his voice flat.

"How are you doing?" Hugo asked, his tone softening.

A weak smile crossed Motley's face. "I'm just tired. I look forward to hearing your plan."

"Let's get some coffee in you first," Hugo said, walking to the counter and accepting the mug Tash offered him. "Then we can talk."

Hugo, Tash, and Motley sat around one of The Copper Cactus's meticulously arranged tables, each with a steaming mug of coffee. Hugo leaned forward, his usual smirk tempered by a serious glint in his eye. "My Inner Circle and I had an emergency meeting last night," he began, his voice low and confidential. He recounted how his trusted network had helped him strategise, exploring various desperate avenues for escape. He meticulously detailed their process, the dead ends, the discarded ideas, building the suspense with practised ease, but carefully omitted the name of their chosen destination.

"And its final destination," Hugo finally announced, a familiar theatricality entering his tone, "is Sylviana."

"Sylviana?" Tash tested the unfamiliar word on her tongue. "I've never heard of it."

"Good," Hugo replied, his smirk returning, a quick, satisfied flash. "It's a small city, quite open. No walls, just wide, rolling fields extending beyond every home, each with its farm. It's said to be a beautiful, relaxed place." He chuckled, a dry, self-aware sound. "Personally, I wouldn't like living there. There's no gossip."

Tash leaned back in her chair, contemplating the plan. After a moment, she nodded, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "This is perfect. We can make this happen. What time does the boat leave tonight?"

"One chime before midnight," Hugo answered, his smile widening as he saw Tash's relief. He then turned to Motley, but his expression hadn't changed. Motley was staring into his mug, slowly turning it between his hands.

Sylviana does sound nice, Motley thought, the description of the quiet, open city a stark contrast to Dustfall. I wonder how close it is to Hearthglow. He pictured the barren desert, stretching for weeks on foot. Would there be anyone in Sylviana who knows me? His mind drifted back to the skull, to its chilling command: "Travel to Hearthglow. There you will learn to truly wield your Chronos Eye. There... is where your roots lie. That is your home." A good plan, a safe plan, yes. But was it his plan? Or should he take a different path, a path towards the truth, towards Hearthglow?

"Motley," Hugo demanded, his voice sharp, cutting through Motley's thoughts.

"Yeah?" Motley said, finally looking up from his mug.

"Finally! I've called out to you a few times," Hugo said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Did you hear the plan?"

"It's a good plan. Sylviana sounds like a nice place. I think I'd enjoy it," Motley replied, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. Maybe I can still go to Sylviana and then go to Hearthglow, he thought to himself, a new possibility forming.

"You sound happy, but your face says something else," Hugo said, his voice softening, his eyes scrutinising Motley's expression. "What's on your mind, Motley?"

Motley looked from Hugo to Tash, then around the empty cafe. What time is it? He thought, taking a sip of his coffee. It was cold. "I'm sorry, guys," Motley said, his decision solidifying. I should tell them... some of the truth. Maybe they can help. Maybe they know where. He let out a sigh.

"I had a memory come back," Motley began, looking between Tash and Hugo. He noted the almost animalistic hunger in Tash's eyes, like a predator spotting prey, and the gleam in Hugo's eyes, already dreaming of profits from this information. "Do you know where Hearthglow is?" he asked, the name feeling both foreign and profoundly right on his tongue.

Tash instantly looked disappointed, her shoulders slumping for a brief second before she quickly regathered herself. "Again, I've never heard of that place."

You can't be serious! Hugo thought, his mind racing. This can't be a coincidence, right? He cleared his throat, catching Motley's attention.

He looks serious, Motley thought, observing Hugo's sudden shift. He straightened in his chair. "Before I share anything, what does Hearthglow mean to you? Why do you remember that name?"

Motley smiled, a genuine, unburdened expression. He knew Hearthglow was his home, his true home. "It is my home," he said softly, the words leaving his mouth with a truth he never thought he'd feel.

"You're serious," Hugo said, his voice quiet, his gaze unwavering. "I can see it on you."

"Yeah," Motley mumbled, looking down at his mug, a flush of embarrassment rising. He wasn't used to such raw vulnerability.

"I do know where Hearthglow is, Motley." Hugo's words cut through Motley's discomfort, a sudden clarity in his tone. Everything clicked for Hugo now. He can use his power on the people in Hearthglow to finally discover who he is. For all his greed, a deeper thought emerged: For as much as I don't want to share this information, I can't take this opportunity away from Motley.

"You want to go there, right?" Hugo asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," Motley confirmed, meeting Hugo's gaze, his voice filled with a desperate certainty. "More than anything."

Tash's face brightened, understanding finally dawning on her. "You can finally overcome your amnesia!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a hopeful enthusiasm. Motley smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through him at her words.

"Firstly," Hugo interjected, his voice firm, drawing their attention to the cold realities of the journey. "It's right beside Solara. It will be a very long journey there." He gestured vaguely to the north, a vast distance implied by the sweep of his hand. "It's a hidden village in the dense forest of Mashstep Forest, located on the northern side of Solara, away from the desert itself. Honestly, I don't know if The President even knows that Hearthglow exists."

"I will get there," Motley stated, his voice quiet but laced with an unwavering determination.

"Motley could still escape through the docks, right, but not catch a boat?" Tash mused, her mind already racing through possibilities.

Hugo thought for a second, stroking his neat beard. "We could smuggle you onto a boat that goes north, and you can jump off and swim to land."

Motley was quiet for a second, then his brow furrowed. "I don't know if I can swim," he admitted, the reality of his lost skills surfacing.

Tash's eyes lit up. "No matter," she said, a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes. "There's a gap between the wall and under the docks that we can sneak you through, which leads directly into the desert."

Hugo went quiet, leaning back in his chair, his fingers idly stroking his neatly trimmed beard. The question of Motley's power, his connection to Hearthglow—it was all a complex puzzle.

"What other memories came back?" Tash asked, breaking the silence.

Motley thought for a second. "Just that. It was a brief glimpse that came to me last night." He still hated hiding the truth from Tash, the burden of the dream cabin and the Skull.

"Hearthglow," Tash said slowly, testing the word. "It does make sense that your hometown is close to Solara, as you were in their army."

"You're right," Motley agreed, a faint smile touching his lips.

"There's a small village about a day's walk north of Dustfall," Hugo said suddenly, his eyes sharp. "It doesn't have a name, but you'll know it when you see it. It's located around a small oasis, and there are only five huts there."

Motley and Tash looked at Hugo, a bit confused by his abrupt shift in topic.

"When you leave here, Motley," Hugo continued, his gaze direct, "go there and wait for me. I will come with you to Hearthglow."

Motley and Tash looked at each other, a mixture of shock and confusion on their faces. "I will find my way. I don't want to burden you," Motley said, looking back at Hugo.

"What about your business?" Tash interjected, her gaze unwavering. "It will be at least a month round trip."

"I have a good friend in Hearthglow," Hugo said, looking to Motley. "This is how I know of the place. I want to use this as a way to help you get there and to finally see my friend again."

"Thank you," Motley said, a genuine smile forming. "I would appreciate the company."

Hugo smiled back, a warmth in his eyes. "Then it is settled." He stood up. "Thank you for the coffee." Hugo turned to leave, but then, at the front door, he stopped and turned back to face Tash. "I will be back. I have a lot of coffee left on my tab," he winked, then exited the cafe, leaving Tash and Motley to process the sudden turn of events.

Ares, his colossal frame surprisingly nimble, moved behind the Bumble Bar, the air around him thick with the scent of spilled ale, roasted meat, and the metallic tang of steam. He worked beside Nemean, the bartender, a quiet anchor in the storm of orders. It was another busy night, the bar a cacophony as stall owners, guardsmen, miners, and various other authority figures from Dustfall jostled for space, eager to unwind after a long day's grind. Laughter, loud and uninhibited, boomed from a group already deep in their cups. The joyous clamour of cheerful conversations mingled with the rhythmic thud of thick mugs on timber tables, and every so often, a spontaneous chorus of a bawdy drinking song would erupt, sung with off-key gusto by dozens of slurred voices. "Pour us another, fill it high, for tonight we drink 'til we die!"

Ares was fulfilling a recent order for a dozen foaming beers when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, his dark eyes meeting the gaze of his second-in-command, a lean, sharp-faced man whose uniform was as impeccable as Nemean's. "He is here," the man said, his voice cutting through the din.

"Okay, I'm right on it," Ares rumbled, handing off the beer-laden tray. His second-in-command seamlessly took over Ares's duties, already moving to the next waiting customer. Ares made his way towards the stairs, the raucous sounds of the bar slowly diminishing with every step he took upwards. He emerged onto the top floor, a vast, open space now bathed in the warm, coiled lamplight. There, at the upstairs bar, alone sat Hugo.

"What can I do for you tonight?" Ares rumbled, moving around and behind the bar to stand in front of Hugo.

Hugo lifted his head, his smile weak, a mere shadow of its usual confidence. "A shot of Ironfire Whiskey," he managed, his voice thin.

Ares grabbed a small glass, placing it in front of Hugo. "Long day?" he asked, turning to reach for the large, dark bottle of Ironfire from the top shelf.

Hugo chuckled softly, a sound devoid of humour. "I wish it were that easy." He fell silent as Ares poured him a shot, the amber liquid glinting under the lamplight. Hugo took it, tipped his head back, and poured the whole shot down his throat in one swift motion. The strong liquid burned, a searing heat that clawed its way down his throat, stealing his breath. He slammed the small glass onto the counter. "Another," he choked out, his voice raw.

Ares poured, and Hugo drank it all again, the burn just as fierce. Ares turned, about to replace the bottle on the shelf, when Hugo broke the silence. "I'm going to Hearthglow," he whispered, the words barely audible above the distant riot from below.

Ares paused. He slowly turned to face Hugo, his colossal form still and unmoving. He searched Hugo's face, hoping to see a sly smirk, the tell-tale sign of a poor joke or an elaborate ruse. But Hugo was serious. His eyes, usually dancing with calculations, were etched with a profound weariness and a quiet resolve. Ares reached for a new glass, placing it in front of himself. He poured Hugo another shot, then one for himself. They both lifted their glasses, eyes locked, and finished them at the same time.

They placed their glasses back on the bench at the same time, the soft clink echoing in the sudden quiet of the top floor. Hugo sat lost in thought, while Ares, his massive frame utterly still, processed the news.

"It has been many, many years," Ares said softly, his voice a low rumble. "She might not remember you."

Hugo winced, the words striking a painful chord. He knew Ares might be right. "I want to see her," Hugo insisted, his voice barely a whisper.

"Why now?" Ares asked, pouring himself another shot. He then indicated the bottle to Hugo, but Hugo shook his head.

"The boy. Motley. It's his hometown."

"He's lying," Ares instantly responded, his eyes narrowing.

"No, he's not. I'm going to journey with him to Hearthglow."

Ares drank his shot in one gulp, then paused, processing. He looked at Hugo, then towards a distant window. "Do you want me to take over while you're gone?" Ares asked.

"Do you want me to take over while you're gone?" Ares asked.

Hugo smiled at these words; he could always rely on Ares. He unconsciously reached for his left hand, his thumb softly pressing where his outer finger would be. "Please do, Ares. I trust you the most."

Ares noticed Hugo's action, and a soft smile touched his lips, his mind drifting back to the day they first met, decades ago. "Anything for you, old friend. I will miss you though, please don't be long."

Ares reached for the Ironfire Whiskey again, pouring Hugo's last shot. This time, Hugo lifted the small glass, sipping at it, savouring the taste, letting the potent burn linger on his tongue. He leaned forward against the bar, his gaze distant, and shared a story about his day. Ares listened, his face softened by the dim lamplight and old affection, and a wide, genuine smile spread across his face as he watched Hugo, his best friend, truly happy listening to Hugo’s last story. When the shot was done, Hugo pushed off the bar, stumbling slightly as the whiskey finally hit him. Ares moved quickly, helping him to the door of the private floor. He watched Hugo walk out into the cool Dustfall night and disappear.

Ares stood there for a long moment, the quiet hum of the bar below slowly filling the void left by Hugo's absence. He'd miss their late-night talks, the constant flow of Hugo's schemes and ideas. A journey to a hidden village, across the vast desert, was no small thing, even for Hugo. Don't be long, old friend, he thought, a familiar ache of long goodbyes settling in his chest.