The Onion Prince
By Day of Azure
Chapter One: Not This Way
Aden's arms were beginning to ache. Every rise and strike of the heavy hammer only seemed to add to the dull pain that had begun to form in them, and it had spread from the muscles in his upper arms to his shoulders and neck. He'd completed his 15th broadsword for an order that Beatrix had placed for the Warrior's Festival, and he had worked late into the night. A deep black blue filled his home's windows where daylight had dwelled a few hours earlier. Even with his workaholic tendencies, Aden knew when he was due for a break.
He slowly placed the black top of the hammer flat upon the floor, its long wooden handle resting against the workshop's unpainted walls. Aden leaned against the walls for support as well. Sweat had formed in small beads across his face and exposed skin, and his naked chest heaved with an exhaustion that could only come from hours of hard work. He slid down the wall and sprawled across the hardwood floor in a single, lazy motion. His limbs separated and grew limp. It was a wonderful feeling, and he felt he'd earned it.
The lit fluorescent bulb that hung in the ceiling lamp above him-a flimsy, homemade appliance with a plastic shade that hung from a chain-was beginning to burn its outline into Aden's vision. His lids flung shut and his senses heightened in the darkness. The deep, long breaths were beginning to slow and were returning to the quiet, steady inhales of a still person. He was oddly comfortable here: on his back, on the wooden floor of his workshop in a borrowed home on an island of people he'd only begun to know in the dead of night. But this sense of serenity was rare to Aden, so he did his best not to threaten it with questions or analysis.
The quiet moment was shattered by a rustling noise that came from the direction of the home's southeast window. Aden brought the upper half of his body upward so that it met his waist at a 90 degree angle. There were birds, winds and a multitude of other harmless sources that might cause a rustling in the dead of night, but he was alert and on guard nonetheless. Before he had time to rise to his feet, a loud crack that reminded him of splitting wood came from the same direction. It was followed by a loud thud, some more rustling, and footsteps that quickly grew softer with each passing second as though they were fleeing.
There was no time to spare searching for his shirt, which had been carelessly thrown onto the floor amongst scraps of wood and metal whittled down to sizes and shapes that rendered them unusable. Mikoto had thwarted more than a handful of planned burglaries in her time on the island and was always reminding residents to stay vigilant. It would be a sleepless night if he were to let a potential intruder flee after giving themselves away so carelessly.
He scrambled to his feet and darted towards the front door, his body adorned in only a worn pair of work jeans and his house slippers. He flung it open and slammed it so hard that it sent a small vibration through the walls of his house, and he felt it in the ground through his nearly-bare feet. The moon was but a thin sliver in the sky with little light to offer, and he could barely make out the cracks between the cobblestones that paved the Inn area.
Directly across from his home was the general store, and on the floor above that the residence of twins Sierra and Bismark. Two candles in tall, iron holders burned in the first floor windows and they added a crucial touch of light to the area, for which Aden felt quite thankful. There was no visible sign of life from where he was standing, so he closed his eyes and listened closely, a skill had served him well during his ventures at sea. He picked up the faint sound of footsteps and made himself as still and quiet as possible.
He could make out their point of origin as it moved further from him. The sound of the steps was coming from behind his home, which aside from the small back yard on his property consisted of a steep cliff that overlooked a deep part of the ocean surrounding Fenith Island. The only possibility this left was for the intruder to be running down a narrow path that lead to the island's smallest and most popular beach, and the only other accessible land located behind Aden's home.
With his destination determined, he sprinted around the corner of his home and down the path. On the right side there was a high rising cliff made of rock that appeared pitch black in the darkness. The left side of the path overlooked the ocean and was dotted with pieces of simple, black iron fence that stood four and a half feet high. He could see the beach with its sand glowing white in the moonlight and the dark water that lapped at it in gentle, steady waves. It grew closer with each stride down the path, and although the footsteps had dissipated into silence and there was no person visible in the distance in front of him, Aden could swear he felt eyes following his movements.
The slapping of his slippers against the concrete pavement silenced as he took his first steps onto the beach. A quick survey of his surroundings revealed nothing but silhouettes of palm trees and the pitch black shadows cast by the surrounding earth. It was a small stretch of beach, as the rocky cliffs that covered Fenith encircled it on both sides, leaving no potential exits aside from the path Aden had taken to reach it. The object of his pursuit had slim chances of escaping.
"I promise not to harm you. There's no place left for you to run, so you're best off revealing yourself." Despite the fear and excitement that thundered within him, Aden did his best to speak in a calm voice that was just loud enough for any lurkers in the shadows to hear. His promise was genuine, too. He might have to restrain them and haul them into Mikoto's for whatever punishment she might have in store, but he had never intentionally brought physical harm to a human being without being harmed first, and he didn't intend to change that as long as he could help it.
The air was thick with tension, as though something under pressure was about to burst. Aden could sense it and continued to turn his head sharply back and forth as to allow for a thorough survey of his surroundings. His right hand had found the handle of his Katana and was now clutching it with urgency. It was true that he had no intentions of harming anyone, but Aden was no pacifist. Ancient temples, monster-filled islands, thieves and intruders had left him no choice but to become comfortable with the art of self-defense.
Just when he'd been considering roaming through the patches of shadow to search himself, a blurry figure burst forth from the darkness against the wall of the cliff and zipped by Aden's side and towards the path at his back that led back into town, back into a place of many hiding spots and eventual freedom for a thief. It was rather unlucky for this "thief" that his desperate try at escape proved no match for Aden's reflexes and strength. Aden turned on his heels, formed a good grip on the person's arm, and in one, swift motion brought them to the ground with a heavy sounding thud.
"Bismark?" Aden's intense rage morphed into confusion, which then dissolved into a kind of sympathy. The soft spoken shop keeper was nearly trembling on the ground before him. His knees were bent and his head was down in something that resembled a fetal position. His breaths were sharp and loud and reminded Aden more of gasping repeatedly than breathing. The large, golden eyes that darted nervously in every direction but that of Aden's perplexed face looked wet with held back tears.
It was instantly apparent to Aden that Bismark was no thief or home intruder. He had undoubtedly been peering into Aden's window, and Aden's discovery of him he left him frightened enough to flee, but why? What the people of Fenith whispered to one another in secret was true: Bismark was anti-social, mysterious and strange. But Aden knew him better than most, and he also knew it was true that Bismark was kind, reliable and worthy of trust. "Bismark?" he repeated, this time his tone gentle and patient instead of teeming with shock.
"I'm sorry," he spoke at last, his voice tiny and barely audible. "I'm so sorry." His second apology came out with more expression, and his voice sounded broken with sobs that were about to emerge.
The situation was beginning to sink in to Aden. He lowered himself onto one knee, where his eyes could meet Bismark's on an even level. "What are you sorry about? Why were you outside my window in the dead of night?" He was doing his best to keep his questions sounding more curious than accusatory. It appeared to be in vain though, as Bismark's whimpers exploded into the sounds of weeping, and Aden was taken aback. "Hey, don't cry. I promise I'm not angry. I won't report you to Gerald or Mikoto, either. I'd just like to know what you were doing, and why you ran off so quickly."
He extended an arm and lightly brushed away the long, brown bangs that clung to Bismark's sweaty forehead. He thought of Sonja for a moment, of how clumsy and sensitive she was as a child and how he'd pat her head to comfort her for every bruise and scrape. There was something childlike about Bismark, even when he wasn't reduced to crying in a fetal ball on the ground. Aden guessed it might be way he smiled at simple things like French fries , or perhaps the innocence he seemed to possess, or maybe it was the way his words and actions always meant exactly what they seemed to be; Bismark didn't hide lies or schemes or manipulation in his words like most adults.
"Don't!" Bismark recoiled after the hand had been stroking his head for a few seconds. Hurt showed in Aden's expression for just a moment, long enough for Bismark to catch it and fill with guilt at the sight. The gesture had been too kind and too gentle, it reminded the shy boy of what he wanted most and what he could never have, and that hurt worse than any act of aggression ever could. He wished Aden would furiously arrest him. He wished he were capable of looking him in the eyes and telling him that he was a thief or a crook and had been plotting a break-in. He wished the tree branch had never buckled beneath his weight so he wouldn't have to.
"Bismark, calm down! It's alright!" Aden was shouting now, despite what he knew was the best way to handle the situation. Bismark was losing it. The grown boy, the dependable general store manager renowned for his long hours and meticulous work, was weeping like a child and couldn't seem to relax enough to make a coherent statement. He seemed unstable in his present state, and it was causing Aden to feel both frustrated and frightened.
"I'm sorry Aden," he managed to get out. "It's just that I…I didn't want you to find out this way." A flood continued to poor from his eyes. He raised his head and met Aden's eyes for the first time since their encounter had begun. "I never wanted you to know. You can't know how I…I…"
Even for a face coated in moonlight, Bismark looked pale. His words had stopped coming mid-sentence and his vision had drifted away from Aden's face and was taking in the stars and the moon directly above him. It was such a beautiful sight that he barely noticed when his back had hit the sand, and the blackness that was forming around the edges of his view seemed natural, logical, as though his mind had chosen to end the act and close the curtain. "Bismark!" Aden cried out, and Bismark could hear it from a distance. Aden yelling his name, fearful and with great concern. Somewhere inside he smiled. After that, it was only unconsciousness.