Champion of House Vestra

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Written: Feb 11, 2024

Edited: Apr 12, 2024

Thalion

  Who could've known that raising a sister was so expensive?

  At this point, everything boils down to numbers. It's been a year since our mother died. Nine months since our father left us for whiskey. Three months since we lost the house. Never mind the fact that you're throwing a fourteen-year-old and his younger sister out on the streets. Give yourself a pat on the back officer, you're doing the world a great justice. 

  They call us Delai, debt-collectors. We do the dirty work for the police. Nothing that steals the spotlight, but there are jobs that the police don't want to do. To keep their hands clean. We carry out their orders, by any means possible. It's a thankless job but it does come with the perk of going to bed with a full stomach. Possible drawbacks include depression, nightmares, and other not pretty effects. But there's food.

  You'd think my sister was a princess with the way I worship her. 

  I leaned against the walls of the dark alley. It was a scene straight out of a novel, black cobble street, slippery with rain and moonlight. A broken streetlight flickers overhead. It's murder waiting to happen. Any idiot who walks through here at this hour, an hour for thieves and murderers, deserve what happens to them. At least that's what I tell myself.

  Midnight, they'll be here at midnight.

  The idiot won't come. If he comes, he's an idiot. He probably deserves it. I tell myself that, repeating it in my head. They're an idiot, an idiot for coming. An idiot. They deserve it. I repeat that as I watch a figure hurry past me. An idiot. I slip after them. They deserve it. I flick out my blade. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. 

  His breathe hitches a bit when he sees me. I incline my hand as a sort of greeting. He returns one hesitantly, then he sees the flash of sliver as I hastily hide my hand; his eyes widening. Oops. I look at him and he looks at me. And we're just staring at each other. Now what? Finally, he comes to his senses and jerks his head away. Too late. 

  There's a lot of blood. A lot. His hand raises to his throat, a deep gash leaking blood. The liquid turns his fingers slippery as he grabbed at his throat. His eyes. He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Blood pooled in his mouth, turning his teeth red, and trickled down his chin. 

  He was genuinely terrified of me. 

  The man crumbled to his knees, kneeled over, and it was over. So incredibly fast; he was alive one moment and a corpse the next. My stomach heaved and I'm seriously about to see my breakfast again. Nope, absolutely not. I swallow.

  "Sir," I manage through clenched teeth, "Your debt is now considered repaid,"

  The guy gave me no answer. Corpses are stubborn like that. 

  I left him there, drowning in his own blood. He wasn't my problem. I live life by two rules; It's none of my problem or it's none of your problem. This is clearly the latter. 

  The wooden door creaked open. It's pitch darkness in here. I stared into the abyss.

  "He's dead," I say to no one in particular. There's a racket, someone struggling and crashing. A heavy vase shatters. Someone curses. Silence.

  "Come back tomorrow," The voice huffs. I bite my lip. I was hoping to be paid now.

  "But sir-"