GOD'S DESCENDANT

ONE

The nauseating scent of sweat from early morning work and loud murmurs from people squeezing each other to make it through the other end, filling the air with heat and humidity, even the ground threatens to cook us alive leaving no sign of the rain from yesterday. First day sales has its own ups and downs. It makes the entire village crowded and markets packed, but it also offers splendid deals and limited offers only to be battled in the scorching heat of May. Many people love it, many merchants despise it, I however, couldn't care less.
                                     The market seems to be inflating as more and more come. Leaning against the wall under the shade, I glanced at a woman on my left overwhelmed with the crowd. She loses track of which is which and falls down on her knees and screams as the three masked men ambush her, snatching her purse and basket and drags her necklace off her neck. She watched them runaway using their agility to their advantage, leaving the woman crying as she screams "thief" over and over. She holds her neck and hisses in pain, feeling the sting of wound and seeing her hand with a damp of blood. Her screams promptly drowns as the crowd gets bigger. I don't bat an eye. After all, anyone smart enough would know, the deals are only bait to lure more people and ensure a thief's blending act of escape.
                                    I let myself be taken away by the crowd stream. My hands appear as fast as they disappear. Snatching a basket to blend in and not raise suspicion as I start to fill it with a bronze-plated bracelet from a woman's wrist, the design and color are sloppy, effortless to see that it's merely a replica of the true stone but the only thing plebeians can afford and some small paper bills and coin purses and matches hanging out of three men's pockets as if practically begging to be stolen, finish it with several types of fruits and some freshly baked bread above, nothing too heavy nor big, just enough to not get caught.
                                     By the time I'm done, my basket is weighing with edibles and gimcrack, not bad for a few minutes work. I was walking with the rest when a sharp beam of light made me blink from pain. A basket filled with only a single book sticking out the edges, the hardcover is pitch black with only the teardrop shaped ruby surrounded by diamonds on its spine winking at the sun, bringing light and attraction to it. I swallow hard, astonished by its beauty, and tempted by its possible value in the market. But the person holding it caught my eyes.
                                  Her eyes are brown but she's anything but a normal servant. Her uniform looks different, it's not as sloppy as other servants and she looks clean above all else. If she's above average she certainly looks the part, she looks more expensive than any of us. A woman, dressed in brown with an almost porcelain skin and blonde hair secured in an elegant tight bun. The most shocking part is that servants aren't supposed to have jewelry they're not even allowed to hold nor look at one, yet she does. Her chest is brimming with a circular pendant of a metal sculpture of a sword piercing through the sun. In the blink of an eye I realize what it was. The royal palace's symbol. She's a royal servant. A plebeian serving at the palace. The palace doesn't give pendants to just anyone, she must be the head. The head of all servants in the palace. A parlour. It's the first time I've seen one, and the people staring at her from afar make it obvious they share the same bewilderment as me. It's rare for someone as high as them to step down here. A parlour and a servant, they're both servants and serve the same people but the difference is painfully evident.
                                  I was about to flee out of the scene before temptation consumes and makes me do something stupid, when four horrifying beings appeared, frightening the villagers with their mere presence. They all step aside clearing a path for the blue and black uniforms, standing out from the crowd. Despite the cramped space people know better than to provoke even one of them. Their suits of armor and glinting eyes as sharp as their tall spears glistening below the sun, and their fearsome red silk mask stating their ranks. Ivonos guards, one of the three elite guards of the kingdom, red silk means third. The third ranking guards in Iveyard, the weakest amongst the three but the most well-known around here in Arken. They're the only ones this entire city has ever seen because they're the only ones it needs to be afraid. Afraid of what lies beyond them. The other two guards remain to be unseen, but its mere existence is a threat on its own.
                               They stopped and stomped their feet, alerting the parlour still pre-occupied in looking at a flower stall, smelling a pair of tulips as the merchant holds his breath. She turned around and lowered her head, offering a bow while the Ivonos men just stood still and accepted it, even the most highest heads of servants bow down to such power. The parlour turned around once again, her back now facing them as she continues to walk around with two Ivonos at her side and the other two guarding her from the front and back.
Not wanting any part of it, I sneak my way out of the crowd watching a parade-like show of both honor and terror. I couldn't care less who comes and goes in this town of all places, I come here for one reason and one reason only.