Book 1 Chapter 7: Encounter

Zeb Hipgrave strode from his house, his boots making a familiar rhythm on the packed earth of Dustfall’s streets. It was the same path he took every morning, a ritual etched into his very being. Stall owners, already hawking their wares in the pre-dawn light, waved and called out greetings. Zeb offered polite waves in return, his gaze, however, constantly sweeping. He took in the usual sights, but his eyes were always searching, dissecting, looking for any subtle shift, any person or object out of place. He was sharp, honed by years of training, a vigilance that was less a habit and more an instinct. At twenty-five, he was the youngest Guard Captain Dustfall had ever known, a fact he wore with quiet pride. This city, these streets, these people—they were his. It was his home, and he would protect it and everyone within its walls.

The Copper Cactus came into sight, its warm light spilling onto the street. A small smile touched Zeb's lips. The promise of Tash's coffee, its bitter warmth and comforting sweetness, lured him in, and he quickened his pace. He finally reached the front door, taking a sharp breath, and with a conscious effort, forced his smile away, replacing it with his usual stoic mask. He had an appearance to uphold, a duty. He reached out, pushed open the door, and the familiar, comforting aroma of roasted beans and warm pastries greeted his nose.

Then, he stopped.

An unusual aura slammed into him, instant and overwhelming. Zeb felt danger, stark and palpable, chilling him to the bone. His eyes immediately shifted, drawn by an invisible current to its source. The man was right there, at the table closest to the door, diligently wiping down its surface. He was subtly taller than Zeb himself, his broad shoulders filling the space, his black hair stark against the white apron.

Zeb's piercing gaze, honed by years of hunting inconsistencies, slammed into the eyes of the man at the table. He braced himself, expecting to meet the cold, dangerous glint of a hardened fighter—the killer's aura that had screamed from the stranger's presence just moments before. Instead, he found eyes wide with genuine shock, a vulnerability that utterly disarmed him. They were soft, almost kind, a stark contrast to the potent sense of danger that still thrummed in the air. The discrepancy tightened a knot of suspicion in Zeb's gut. It was a familiar, disquieting contradiction he had learned to trust.

Motley's gaze locked with the man's. A jolt, sharp and electric, surged through him. This was Zeb. The feeling he got from the man, a coiled, dangerous energy, was unlike anyone else he'd encountered in Dustfall. And his intuition was instantly confirmed by the voice that boomed in his mind, delivering a cold, undeniable cascade of facts:

The target is Zeb Hipgrave. 

Age: 22. 

Race: Human. 

Power: Yes, Unarmed Combat. 

Memories: None to access.

A slight shock, utterly involuntary, flitted across Motley's face. He knew who this man was, knew his name, his age, even his secret. And Zeb had a power. Unarmed Combat. The irony, the hypocrisy, of the city's Captain of the Guard possessing the very "taint" he so rigorously sought to suppress, hit Motley like a physical blow.

Zeb, however, noticed only the sudden shift in Motley's expression. His own eyes narrowed, curiosity mingling with his inherent suspicion. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice low, stepping slightly closer. Their noses were almost touching, the scent of fresh coffee and something sharp, metallic, like polished brass, filling the tiny space between them. "I've never seen you before."

Motley suddenly let out a soft breath, his body instantly relaxing. The immense tension that had coiled within him, far more than he'd realised he'd tensed up, seemed to dissipate with the exhale. His eyes focused on Zeb's, and as they did, Zeb's eyes suddenly widened before narrowing again. "My name is Motley," he stated, his voice calm, "I was recently hired by Tash to help her out." Their gazes stayed locked on each other, neither budging. What am I doing? Motley thought, a surge of alarm. This is bad, act professional. Remember what Tash said: "Customer safety and satisfaction, Motley, that's above everything else."

Motley abruptly stepped back and to the side, giving Zeb a clear path in. He then nodded and offered a practiced smile. "Welcome. Please come in and find a seat. I'm sure Tash already has your coffee being made as we speak." Motley turned and walked away.

Zeb's piercing gaze never left Motley as he moved, taking a seat at the table Motley was cleaning. Motley, feeling the Captain's eyes burning into his back, decided to put some distance between them. The sink, he thought, a task that allowed him to face away. There was a satisfying stack of tin mugs waiting to be cleaned. As he began washing, he could almost feel Zeb's scrutiny like a physical weight, his instincts screaming that if he turned, even a fraction, to confirm Zeb's stare, the Captain would interpret it as suspicious. So, he kept his back straight, his movements deliberate, forcing a calm he didn't feel.

Meanwhile, Tash finished preparing Zeb's coffee. She lifted the steaming mug, the brass and copper machine hissing its morning song. She carried it over to Zeb's table, placing it down with a bit more force than strictly necessary. The slight clink of ceramic against wood was enough to break Zeb from his silent staring contest with Motley's back. He looked up at Tash, his eyes meeting hers. Her face was perfectly composed, utterly devoid of emotion, a stoic mask that Zeb knew all too well from his own upbringing. That look, cold and unyielding, told him more than any shout could: he was in trouble with Tash.

"What in Chronos' name were you doing with my new employee?" Tash demanded in a hushed tone, her voice barely a whisper that only Zeb could hear, yet it carried the weight of a thunderclap. She didn't want to make a scene in front of her other patrons.

Zeb, however, avoided her gaze, his own eyes already drawn back to Motley's broad back at the sink. "Who the fuck is that man?" he retorted, his voice low and sharp, mirroring her own hushed intensity. "Where is he from? Why is he here? I've never seen him before."

"He's a local," Tash replied quickly, a brief, rehearsed summary tumbling out. "Used to work as a guard at the closest mine. Got caught up in the battle, got injured. I fixed him up, and he's helping me out while he recovers. Safer job than his last."

Zeb let out a sharp exhale through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did he tell you that?" he murmured, his eyes narrowing as they bore into Motley's back once more. "It's an obvious lie. I don't trust him."

Tash, wanting to break the escalating tension and the uncomfortable scrutiny, offered a wry, almost teasing smile. "Are you jealous, Zebby?"

Zeb's cheeks flushed faintly. He snapped his gaze back to Tash, his eyes wide. "No!" he hissed, immediately bringing his mug to his lips. "Shut up." He took a long, defensive sip of his coffee.

Motley remained at the sink, the warm water swirling around the tin mugs, his movements slower than usual. He drew out the task, wanting to stretch his time in this makeshift safe zone. Every fibre of his being thrummed with unease. He felt his life, and now Tash's, resting precariously on the edge of a blade. One wrong move, one glance too long, one misspoken word, and he knew Zeb's suspicion could morph into a death sentence. He had rehearsed this confrontation countless times in the sleepless hours since Tash had explained his new identity. He would lie, be vague, and appear unremarkable. In one particular nightmare scenario, he'd imagined Zeb dragging him from the cafe, Tash screaming, the crowd staring.

But what had just happened was far worse than anything his fractured mind could conjure. Zeb Hipgrave was dangerous in a way Motley had never truly conceived. The raw, coiled power he sensed from the man, the piercing scrutiny that saw through his flimsy facade—it was unlike anything he'd ever felt. Was it because they both had powers? No, Tash had one too, and the air didn't crackle with static when she was near. This was something else.

Then, just as suddenly, the air in the cafe thinned. The oppressive tension vanished, replaced by the distant chatter of patrons, the comforting aroma of coffee, and the familiar feel of the wet mug in his hand, the cold cloth in the other. Motley risked a glance. Zeb was gone.

Motley let out a slow, shaky breath. The weight of Zeb's scrutiny had lifted, replaced by the mundane sounds of the cafe. There were only a few patrons now: a couple huddled at a corner table, two men perched on stools near the coffee machine. Tash was beside him, reaching for a half-empty jar of cactus juice on the shelf above the sink.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of the steam machinery.

Motley looked at her, then back down at his hands, submerged in the warm sink water. He swallowed, the words catching in his throat. "I have something to tell you," he whispered back, his voice strained. "But not here, not now. After work... okay?"

Tash's brow furrowed with concern, but she didn't press. "Okay, after work," she agreed, her voice quiet. She turned, walking to the counter to pour some cactus juice into a man's mug.

A few hours passed after Zeb's departure, but the subtle unease in The Copper Cactus hadn't entirely dissipated. Tash observed Motley. He was different now, a shift in his demeanor that went beyond the usual new-employee jitters. She watched him as he cleaned up after the couple that had sat at the corner table. She knew the interaction with Zeb would be a concern; the Captain was sharp. But she also knew Zeb. She trusted that their shared history and her fabricated backstory for Motley would be enough to soften his concern. Yet, something had happened. Tash felt it, a lingering chill in the air around Motley.

She looked over at him again. He was distant, like a hollowed-out shell, his movements mechanical as he wiped down the table. His gaze was unfocused, simply tracing the same spot he had already cleaned moments before. "Motley," Tash called, her voice quiet.

He didn't respond. He just kept wiping.

"Motley!" she called again, louder this time, a sudden urgency in her tone.

He broke out of his daze, looking up at her. Tash's breath hitched. His face was devoid of expression, his eyes flat, lifeless. They held no warmth, no spark, nothing like the raw vulnerability she'd seen moments before Zeb's arrival.

"Motley..." Her voice softened, thick with genuine concern. "Take a break, okay? Wash your face in the washroom and have some food, okay?"

A very small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face, and he walked slowly towards the backdoor, disappearing from her sight.

Tash watched the back door for a few seconds after Motley's departure, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach. Then, with a sigh, she turned back to her duties, but her thoughts remained fixed on him. Well, it has been a long day, she mused, her gaze sweeping over the cafe. He's still a healing patient. Maybe I pushed him too much?

She paused, considering her remaining patrons. Two figures sat at the stools near the counter, quietly sipping their drinks, lost in their own thoughts. Tash cleared her throat, breaking the quiet hum of the cafe. "Can I get you guys anything else?"

The customer closest to her looked up, offering a polite smile. "We're good for now, thank you, Tash."

"I'll be back," Tash murmured, leaving the coffee machine and heading towards the backdoor, intending to check on Motley. Just as her hand reached for the knob, the front door jingled softly, announcing a new arrival. Tash turned, a polite greeting already forming on her lips. "Hey, welcome, I'll be right—" Her words caught in her throat as she saw Hugo entering the cafe, the familiar, ever-present smirk playing on his lips.

"Hello, Tash, it's nice to see you again," Hugo greeted, his gaze briefly sweeping past her to the two remaining customers. Before Tash could respond, he turned fully to them, his small smile widening. "Gentlemen, I have some urgent business with Tash. Would it be too much trouble for you two to step out for a few minutes? I won't take up too much of your time."

The two men, clearly recognising the famed merchant, lit up with surprised smiles. "Hugo! Of course, sir!" the closer one exclaimed, quickly sliding off his stool. They both approached Hugo, eagerness in their eyes. "Always a pleasure to see you, Hugo!"

Hugo shook each of their hands warmly, a quick, firm grip. "Likewise, my good man. Perhaps stop by the stall later today? There might be a fresh shipment of something... unique." He offered a wink, and the men grinned, promising they would. They exchanged quick goodbyes with Tash, their steps almost buoyant as they left The Copper Cactus.

Hugo waited until the jingling of the front door faded and the two men were out of sight. He didn't break eye contact with Tash, his earlier geniality replaced by a focused intensity. Then, without a word, he slowly removed the silver badge from his front right pocket. Its polished surface caught the cafe's dim light, reflecting it with an almost ethereal glow, drawing the eye with its undeniable, magical brilliance.

"You left this with me as payment, remember?" Hugo said to Tash, a knowing glint in his eye.

Tash walked towards him, her gaze fixed on the badge in his hand, a confused frown pulling at her brows. "Is this badge not enough for payment?" she asked, her voice tinged with surprise.

Hugo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Remember that tab I have for all the past requests and information you've ever wanted?"

"Yes?" Tash responded, unsure where this was going.

"Where are we up to now? Was it four months of free coffee?"

"Three," Tash corrected instantly, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face at his playful exaggeration.

Hugo's smile widened. "Well, even if it was four or five, this badge would cover that." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the quiet cafe. "And much, much more." He extended his hand, holding the badge out for Tash to take.

Just then, the back door creaked open. Hugo, with a speed that belied his small stature, instantly snatched the badge back and vanished it into his pocket, quick as lightning. Motley walked through the doorway, looking a bit better than before, though his face remained somewhat dazed. He noticed Tash standing with a man who was about half his own height.

"Motley," Tash said, her voice soft as she saw him. Upon hearing that name, a knowing look crossed Hugo's face, his eyes alight with finally meeting in person the challenge of his most recent, delightful puzzle. "How are you feeling?" Tash continued.

Motley walked over to them, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. "I'm feeling a lot better, thank you. I needed that break to clear my head," he admitted, a little embarrassed by the dazed state Tash had found him in just hours earlier.

"Well, well, well," Hugo said, catching Motley's attention. He stepped forward, a wide grin spreading across his face. "If it isn't the man of the hour." He extended a hand. "My name is Hugo. It's a pleasure to meet you—I mean, see you again, cousin," he added with a wink.

Motley's smile widened. This was Hugo, the man who had pulled strings, forged documents, and given him a name. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Motley replied, shaking his hand firmly. The vision Motley had conjured of the renowned information broker was drastically different from the reality. He'd envisioned a powerful figure in a crisp black suit, perhaps with a gold-tipped cane, commanding a sea of bowing subordinates. Sure, Hugo gave off an aura of quiet confidence and importance, but his actual appearance was far more... simple. He was clearly well-kept, and his round, gold-rimmed glasses looked expensive, but there was a groundedness to him that belied Motley's imagined grandiosity.

"Tash never mentioned how handsome you are," Hugo said, still holding Motley's hand, his smile widening. "I do hope to have some one-on-one time with you soon. How about a beer? On me, of course."

Motley was stunned, unable to find the words to respond to both the compliment and the unexpected invitation. Tash cleared her throat, catching both men's attention. Their hands unclasped.

"Give it a day or two to see how Motley fares with his duties before going on a date," Tash interjected, her voice flat.

"Date?" Motley blurted, genuinely shocked.

Hugo chuckled at Motley's stunned reaction. "Getting back on track," Tash said, pointedly.

"Yes, the badge," Hugo added, his expression shifting from playful to slightly more serious.

"Can you please explain?" Tash asked, her voice low.

Hugo paused for a few seconds, his hand reached back inside his pocket, pulled out the badge, gaze sweeping over its shine. "That badge holds a lot of value. To the right buyer, we could fetch... ten thousand gold pieces."

Tash's knees instantly went weak. Her eyes widened, disbelief warring with a dawning comprehension. Ten thousand gold pieces. The sum was staggering, unfathomable. Motley, having no idea what was going on, watched Tash's sudden, profound reaction and knew, instinctively, that whatever this badge was, it was serious.

"Umm... what is this badge?" Motley asked, his voice barely a whisper, looking between the two of them.

Tash looked at Hugo, waiting. After a second, Hugo gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. Tash turned to Motley, her gaze steady. "When I found you, you were wearing this badge. We believe it shows rank in the Solarian army. Right?" she added, glancing back at Hugo. He nodded. "I went to Hugo to find out some information about it, to learn more about you."

Motley's eyes immediately dropped to the badge on the table. Its silver surface pulsed with an ethereal, living light, drawing his gaze, compelling him. The intricately carved feral wolf seemed to snarl, its silver eyes gleaming with a predatory intelligence, circled by the dense, meticulously detailed pine forest. It was magnificent, undeniably powerful, and unnervingly familiar. A deep, almost painful thrum vibrated in his chest, a sensation that told him, with a chilling certainty, there was something vital, something hidden and profoundly important to him, locked within its very essence. It felt like a part of him.

"That is mine?" Motley asked, his voice hushed, still staring at the object.

Tash looked up at Hugo, their eyes meeting. She saw the sudden, unsettling seriousness in his face. Hugo slowly shook his head, a single, defiant "No." It caught Tash completely off guard.

"Um. Well," Tash stammered, trying to find the best words, the ground suddenly shifting beneath her.

Hugo cut in, his voice formal, almost like a lawyer in a courtroom. "My dear Tash, as per our established protocols, this item, being goods rendered for services exchanged, has entered a state of transitional consideration. The transfer of proprietary interest is complete, certainly. However, the full fulfillment of contractual obligations for the rendered goods—that is, the information you requested concerning the specifics of the Solarian ranking system—is currently pending. Therefore, while the badge is indeed accounted for within The Hugo Corp's assets, its ultimate disposition, and thus its return, remains contingent upon the satisfactory delivery of the full service package." He offered a small, apologetic shrug, his eyes never leaving the badge.

Motley's eyes broke away from the badge, landing on Hugo in utter confusion. "The badge is Tash's," Hugo clarified, "but will become my property eventually."

"It will stay here with us in the meantime," Tash added quickly, her voice firm.

A silence hung in the room for a few seconds. Hugo suddenly broke it with a sharp clap of his hands, his cheerful, playful smirk reappearing on his face. "Well, I am off now!" He turned, already walking towards the front door. "I have business with a good merchant and... Silverback poison."

"Silverback poison?" Tash exclaimed, her voice sharp with alarm, calling out to Hugo's retreating back as he exited the cafe.