TWO WORLDS. ONE NEVER-ENDING CYCLE.
The year is 396 of the Ninth Era. The Twenty Year War has ended, giving rise to a new age of fear, oppression, and doubt. The survivors of this devastating conflict seek to make sense of an uncertain future... wh...
"No," Aurin said, and put the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. "I'll take it now."
"Well... suit yourself." Torumud looked Aurin up and down, and cranked the car jack, lowering the Destrier. "What're you gonna do after?'
"What do you mean?"
"After this job. Are you gonna go back to Azimuth? Look for some more work? Maybe make good with Eighto again?"
The idea of an "after" hadn't even crossed Aurin's mind. In fact, it was hard to imagine any sort of future existing past the next few moments. His past self would be surprised that he'd even made it to the age of twenty-six, let alone make it out of the Sea of Bones. Karma seemed to give him a wide berth, and justice obviously didn't exist.
"I'll play it by ear," Aurin replied.
"You, uh... you do that, lad." Torumud smiled, and reached to pat Aurin on the shoulder... his hand hovered for a moment, and then he retracted it. He dropped a key fob into Aurin's hand. "Well, uh, see ya when I see ya, I guess."
"Yep," Aurin said and opened the car door. He placed the black briefcase in the passenger seat and turned the ignition. The Destrier's engines turned over, and whirring, the old hover-car lifted off the floor of the garage, kicking up dust and making Torumud's greasy apron billow.
"Hey, you forgetting something?" Torumud shouted, and gestured toward the white suitcase, sitting on an old computer chair.
"Keep it," Aurin said, and peeled out of the garage, hanging a left on the street.
Once he was gone, Torumud eyed the briefcase with curiosity. With a grumble, he picked it up, and set it on his workbench. He undid the latch in the front, and upon seeing what was inside, his jaw dropped, awestruck. He glanced out the garage, but Aurin was already long gone.
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With growing apathy, Angela poked a fork at her lunch; a tray of roasted moa, mashed yams, and string beans. The food probably smelled delicious, but Angela had long ago lost a sense of smell. The din of the cafeteria was all around her, and students milled about from the tables.
"And that is why I will never have a torta from a street vendor again." Grey's voice came into earshot, followed by Azeris and Elric.
"That was truly disgusting," Azeris said.
"It would have cost you nothing to not shared that story with us." Elric sighed. "Now it's too late. That time is long gone."
With their food trays, the three of them sat down at the table with Angela: Grey, next to her, and Elric next to Azeris. Angela looked up at them, wondering, not for the first time, why they chose to keep sitting near her. It wasn't as if she had much to add to their banter.
"I gotta say, guys..." Elric began. He was lean, strong, and tall, with a head of close-cropped brown hair. In the middle of his freckled face was a nose that had been broken at least more than once. "I'm really, really excited to be graduating soon. Have you guys given any thought to what you're going to do?"
