Book 1 Chapter 18: Last Moments in Dustfall

Chronos Eye? What was that? He had never heard of such a power. It had to be a lie. Zeb’s mind raced, a cold, hard knot forming in his gut. He had trained his whole life in combat, years and years sparring daily with multiple adults, even as a child. Without his Unarmed Combat power, he could beat every person in Dustfall. With it, he was virtually unmatched. Yet, Motley had matched him, blow for blow, move for move, on the docks. Motley must also have Unarmed Combat. It was the only thing that made sense.

"Interesting," the President's voice cut through Zeb's thoughts. He looked up. The President was now standing beside his chair, pacing slowly. Mumbling sounds, too long and too fast for Zeb to make out, came from within the deep shadow of the hood.

Zeb suddenly heard the muffled mumbling grow louder, a low, rapid argument coming from within the dark hood of the President. Then, just as abruptly, the mumbling ceased, and the President turned his head, his gaze sweeping over Zeb with a chilling intensity. "You are a lucky man, Motley," the President said, his voice resonating with that familiar, unnatural clarity. Zeb stiffened, utterly silent. What? Wait. What was happening?

"Apparently, it is too early for you to die," the President added, a faint sigh escaping him as he finally sat back down in his chair. Zeb watched on, his efforts, his duty, his entire understanding of the situation, slipping through his fingers like dust.

Then, he could feel the President's gaze, cold and direct, land fully on him. "Cancel the execution," the President demanded. "Motley is free to go." He added, almost as an afterthought, "But. You are exiled from Dustfall. I never want to see your face again." Motley and Zeb stood there, both stunned, unmoving statues under the sudden, impossible change.

"But, he is tainted, he is a threat," Zeb suddenly blurted out, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Are you defying my order, Zeb?" The President's voice rumbled, each word a physical blow, vibrating through the vast room.

"N-no, President... Sorry," Zeb stammered, his body instinctively bowing.

"You did a good job catching Motley," the President said, his voice returning to its flat, commanding tone, "but my word is law. Free him. Make sure he leaves. Then get back to usual duties." The President's words were final.

Zeb was lost. His world shattered around him. But, but, wait, no, his mind reeled, frantically trying to make sense of what had just happened. He subconsciously reached into his pocket and pulled out his key. He turned to Motley, his movements stiff, and unshackled the man's wrists and ankles. As his eyes met Motley's, he did not see the sharp, defiant gaze he expected, or the coiled viper. Instead, Motley's face mirrored his own: complete shock.

Motley stood there, completely still, his mind a blank, shocked void. A cold wind blew through him, raising goosebumps on his skin, and he looked up at The Copper Cactus's front door. The sign read 'Open'. When did I get here?

He vaguely remembered Zeb unshackling his arms, being led outside the President's building, walking past the platform where the axe still gleamed. He recalled Zeb's flat announcement to the dispersing crowd: the execution was called off due to false claims that Motley was tainted. He remembered the multitude of eyes on him as he walked the streets, drawn by an unseen force towards this door. But now, here, he just stood, his feet rooted to the spot. Something held him back from opening the door, from seeing Tash. Was it guilt for the immense stress he'd put her through? He was free to go; he had nothing here anymore, nothing at the cafe. He could just walk away.

But his feet had led him here, even as his mind remained a silent, empty canvas. I should… I should… Motley’s hand balled into a fist. I should at least say goodbye. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach as he slowly raised his fist to knock.

Then, the door suddenly swung inward. Tash stood in the doorway, absolutely stunned. Motley saw her chin quiver, her eyes well with unshed tears. All the nerves, the guilt, the conflicting thoughts about leaving, instantly vanished from his mind. He smiled. "May I come in?" he asked.

Tash dove into his arms, hugging him fiercely. Motley let out a pained groan. "My ribs."

Tash loosened her grip a bit, but did not let go. Motley hugged her back, and they stayed like this for a few seconds, a silent embrace of disbelief and relief. Over Tash’s shoulder, Motley saw Hugo sitting at a table in the cafe, watching them with a mug in hand, his usual smile in place.

Tash finally let go. "I have so many questions," she said, her voice thick with emotion. She then looked Motley over, taking in his appearance—the same dirty, rumpled clothes he'd worn to the docks. "But first, please shower and change."

Motley gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry." He walked past her, the fresh, rich aroma of coffee hitting his nose. He inhaled deeply, a wide, unburdened smile spreading across his face. He took a second, letting his gaze sweep over the cafe, taking in every familiar, comforting detail of The Copper Cactus before continuing to the back rooms and towards the shower.

Tash watched him go, still in disbelief. The scent of coffee and lingering fear hung in the air. She walked slowly back to the table and sat down beside Hugo, who remained in his chair, mug still in hand. For the last few hours, they had been mourning the man who had just arrived at her cafe—a man they thought was doomed, a man they were powerless to save. Both of them had refused to go to the public execution. So many questions raced through her mind, swirling like dust in a desert wind.

"That was the last person I expected to see when I saw the shadow waiting at the door," Hugo murmured, breaking the silence. He took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze distant, replaying the unbelievable scene. "I expected Zeb's guards. I expected... a cart. Not him. Not like that." He shook his head, a genuine bafflement on his face.

"How?" Tash whispered, her voice raw. "How is he free? Why would the President...?" She looked at the closed door of the trauma room, then back at Hugo.

Hugo leaned back, stroking his neat beard. "My sources inside the President's building are excellent, Tash. Faultless. The execution was scheduled. The platform was ready. The executioner was paid." He looked at her. "Something shifted. 

The back door opened, catching Tash and Hugo's attention. Motley walked back into the cafe, looking visibly refreshed, freshly washed and wearing clean clothes that Tash had provided. "That feels so much better," Motley said, a genuine sigh of contentment escaping him as he walked up to their table and sat beside Hugo.

Hugo reached out and gave Motley a soft, reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I'm happy to see you here," he said, a warmth in his voice.

Tash, restless with anticipation, shifted in her chair. "Please tell us what happened."

Motley nodded, then began to recount everything. His voice was low, raw with the memory, but steady. He described being captured, the cold, despairing hours in the jail cell, his brief, unsettling interaction with Mikey, and then the terrifying journey in shackles to the President's courtyard. He spoke of the sheer, overwhelming presence of the President, the feeling of his words taking hold, and the chilling moment when "Chronos Eye" was forced from his mouth. "After that," Motley continued, his gaze distant as he recalled the impossible scene, "the President seemed to pace and talk to himself, his voice muffled, almost arguing with someone unseen. Then he just said, 'It is too early for you to die.' And then... he told me I was free to go. The execution was called off."

Motley paused, taking a moment to catch his breath. He'd been speaking for almost an hour, recounting the nightmare. He looked at Hugo, then around the quiet cafe. "I'm banished from the city, though. I don't know how much time I can stay here for."

Hugo considered this, stroking his neat beard. "They might want you gone by this morning at the latest. The President rarely makes such a public spectacle without ensuring his orders are immediately followed."

"You can sleep here for tonight," Tash added, her voice soft but firm, "and then we can walk with you to the front gates."

Hugo looked from Tash to Motley. "We will follow the same plan. I will still come with you to Hearthglow."

Motley looked at Hugo, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his face. "I would like that."

Hugo's gaze then shifted to Tash, a knowing look in his eyes that Tash met for only a second before breaking eye contact, turning away. Hugo, sensing her discomfort, let his thoughts drift to Motley's incredible story. This is something much bigger happening. He didn't want to voice his concerns, not yet. The air between them all became silent, Hugo lost in thought, Tash looking a bit uncomfortable in her chair, and Motley simply enjoying their company, basking in the newfound warmth of his freedom.

"I want to..." Tash finally began, her voice hesitant. Then she looked at Motley, a false defiance entering her eyes. "I mean, I noticed your injuries, and I can't have you wandering out in the desert like that."

Motley turned to look at Hugo, then back at Tash. Hugo smiled, knowingly.

"I will come with you two," Tash finished, her voice firm.

"What about your cafe?" Motley instantly asked, genuine concern in his voice. "I mean, I'd love your company, of course. But," he hesitated, choosing his next words carefully, "you have a business here, and customers who rely on you."

Tash looked down at her hands, tracing the lines on her palm. She had already come to this conclusion, deep within herself. A small part of her had always felt this way, a restless stirring she'd always pushed back, hidden behind the comfort of her cafe, the routine of her practice, the reliance of her customers. But recent events—Zeb's unforgivable choice, the President's chilling display of power, Motley's raw vulnerability—had given this hidden part more and more life. It had grown, becoming more prominent, more undeniable in her heart. Even though it was now her epiphany, the words were hard to say, heavy with loss and new beginnings.

"This is no longer my home," Tash whispered, her voice barely audible.

"We would appreciate your help, Tash," Hugo said, his voice soft, recognising the weight of her decision.

"I agree," Motley added, offering a slight smile. "I don't quite trust Hugo to rebandage my wound."

Hugo chuckled, a warm sound. Tash looked up from her hands, a genuine smile spreading across her face as her eyes met Motley's, then Hugo's. "Thank you," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

The three of them sat, their voices low, planning their improbable future. Hugo, with his vast knowledge of the desert's hidden routes and elusive oases, meticulously mapped out their journey. Tash, ever pragmatic, detailed the supplies they could take from The Copper Cactus's stores, already mentally calculating quantities of dried fruits, preserved meats, and precious water. She questioned Hugo about potential restocking points throughout the desert, her mind already on their long-term survival. Motley just listened, watching his newfound friends, a profound sense of peace settling over him. He smiled, a genuine, unburdened expression. He was alive. He had a future.

Hugo awoke with a groan. The early morning light filtering through his curtains was far too bright, and his head throbbed with the dull, rhythmic ache of too much Ironfire Whiskey. He sat bolt upright, the memory of his conversation with Ares, of the poignant goodbye, rushing back. Then, the realisation slammed into him: he was late. Terribly late. He had planned to rise hours earlier, to meet Motley at their designated rendezvous point north of Dustfall, a full day's walk from the city walls.

"I'm late, I'm late, forgive me, Motley!" he muttered, scrambling out of bed. He dressed in a blur, his movements clumsy, and practically fell out of his home and onto the street, racing through the quiet residential lanes.

He was about to pass The Copper Cactus when he saw Tash. She was sitting at the entrance, perched on one of her usual stools, the cafe door already open. But the windows behind her were dark, the tables within still unpacked. A cold dread began to coil in Hugo's gut. He saw a group of regulars approach her, exchange a few hushed words, then turn and walk away, their faces sombre. He decided to take a few seconds longer to offer some comfort. He did not realise how close they were.

"Good morning, Tash," Hugo said, his voice softer than usual, masking his internal panic.

Tash slowly looked up. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her usually neat blonde hair a wild mess around her face, and her clothes were rumpled. She looked terrible. "Are you—" Hugo began, his voice laced with concern.

"They took him," Tash interrupted, her voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet carrying a profound weight of despair that hit Hugo like a physical blow.

Hugo sat down beside Tash, the thought of being late completely vanishing from his mind. He sat close, shoulder to shoulder, and felt her weight as she leaned into him, her body limp with despair. "Zeb was there," Tash whispered, her voice raw. "Zeb caught him."

"I'm so sorry, Tash," Hugo murmured, his voice thick with genuine sorrow. He had so many questions, a thousand frantic queries about what had happened, why Motley hadn't escaped, how Zeb had known. But he didn't push. He just sat there, watching the now bustling crowd of people pass by outside, starting their usual day, utterly oblivious to the raw grief that consumed them.

"Come on," Hugo said softly, after a long moment. "Let's go inside." He felt Tash slowly push herself off him. They both stood and moved into the dim, quiet interior of The Copper Cactus, leaving the indifferent morning light behind.

Hugo went behind the counter and poured them both a glass of water. He brought them over to the table Tash sat at and joined her. "Here you go," Hugo said softly.

"Thank you," Tash responded, her voice distant, her gaze fixed on her hands clasped tightly under the table. Her eyes flicked back and forth, reliving the horrifying moments. Her jaw quivered, and her body was tense, rigid with suppressed emotion. Hugo did nothing, allowing her to digest the shock. He knew exactly what she was dealing with; his silent presence was comfort enough.

Tash cleared her throat, the sound raw. "I tried everything I could to stop Zeb. But he wouldn't listen. It was like he was in a trance, just utterly fixed on arresting Motley." She shivered, the memory vividly present. "I didn't recognise him at all, seeing his face, his eyes, his grim determination... It was the first time I ever feared him."

"I know that he was personally tasked to capture Motley by the President. I'm sure that he was influenced and clouded by his duty," Hugo said, his voice low.

"Even if that's true, he was so physical with Motley, and even with me when I tried to stop him." Tash rubbed at her side, the memory of the impact still sharp.

Hugo watched her. This was worse than he expected. His thoughts drifted back to a time before the President rose to power. This city, Dustfall, had been beautiful and calm then. The only violence they'd known was random bandit attacks, easily dealt with by a few guards. Years and years of peace had stretched out, making Dustfall a safe place, renowned for its trades and welcoming citizens.

Sure, on the surface, it was still like that. The markets bustled, and the Copper Cactus served its regulars. But now, an unsettling undercurrent of tension vibrated between all the locals. Ever since the President came into power, more wars had erupted, drawing closer and closer to Dustfall's walls. The fear of the "tainted" had swelled with each capture and now public banishment. It was widely believed to be the natural, tragic progression of their culture, the inevitable cost of Dustfall's unique location. But Hugo knew this was not usual. This was not the Dustfall he remembered. Dustfall was no longer safe. Well, maybe even Faph itself was no longer safe. He, too, was a power user, his unique abilities as hidden as Tash's. And now, he believed Tash had finally realised this as well.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Hugo," Tash said, her voice barely a whisper. "I feel... lost."

"I understand," Hugo replied softly, his gaze sympathetic. "Why don't you close for a few days and give yourself a break?"

"Yes," Tash mumbled, the word lost in the quiet of the cafe.

The afternoon bled into night. Hugo had left The Copper Cactus, leaving a quiet hum in his wake, but the purpose he'd brought remained. Motley helped Tash clean up the cafe, their movements synchronised as they put away supplies and secured the steam-powered machines. As they worked, they also packed. Motley's own bag, already filled with the meagre belongings he'd prepared for his initial escape attempt, was still ready. He helped Tash pack for herself now, folding her practical clothes and adding essential medical supplies from her hidden stores.

"I'm happy you're coming with us," Motley said, his voice soft.

Tash folded a tunic, her hands methodical. "Honestly, I'm excited," she admitted, a genuine smile touching her lips, making her hazel eyes sparkle. "I've never fully left Dustfall." Seeing her smile, truly smile again after the harrowing day, warmed Motley.

"Will our first stop be the same village around the oasis?" Motley asked, trying to confirm their immediate plans.

"Yes, I believe so," Tash confirmed, her gaze distant as she envisioned the desert. "Hugo knows someone there that might help us with transport."

"Transport?" Motley questioned.

"With our bags, it would be worth the cost to buy some camels," Tash said, finalising a packed bag and setting it aside.

"Umm. I don't think I have experience riding a camel," Motley confessed, a slight frown on his face. "I'm happy to walk."

Tash chuckled, a light, disbelieving sound. "Walk? No way. Camels will be a lot faster and safer. Imagine three people, loaded with supplies, trudging across that endless sand. It would take weeks, months even, to reach Hearthglow." Her gaze swept over his powerful, muscled frame. "And while I'm sure you could physically manage it, exhaustion isn't our friend out there. They're built for the desert, Motley. Their broad feet don't sink, and they can go days without water. We'd look less suspicious, too, just another pair of travellers, not desperate fugitives. Trust me, camels are essential."

"Okay, I trust you," Motley said, taken aback by the detailed explanation. He looked around, seeing their bags neatly packed by the front door. They were prepared, ready for the long journey. "We leave at first light?"

"As early as we can," Tash responded. "Hugo will be here as well, and we'll all leave together."

This was it. There was nothing that could stop Motley now. Tash and Motley then got ready for bed. Tash moved around the cafe, her movements now filled with a quiet sense of finality. She carefully wiped down the gleaming counter for the last time that night, arranged the stools, and emptied the pastry display, removing all remaining food and perishable goods from the cafe to prevent spoilage while they were away. She secured the steam-powered machine, its familiar hiss dying into a profound silence. Motley, meanwhile, carried their packed bags to the very front door, placing them silently beside the 'Closed' sign that hung facing outwards. The cafe, their temporary home, was utterly still, waiting.

Tash turned to him, a faint, weary smile on her lips. "Goodnight, Motley."

"Goodnight, Tash," he replied, his voice soft.

He walked into the back room, the familiar corridor to his makeshift bedroom now seeming longer, quieter. He pushed open the door and saw his bed, the soft, welcoming mattress, a comforting embrace he had missed. He collapsed onto it, instantly feeling the profound tiredness deep in his bones. This could be the last time in months he would be sleeping on a bed. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, his mind already drifting. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be the beginning of his new life.