Two: Second Choice, Second Chance
She was a child of the moon.
And he was her sun.
She shone brightly in the darkness, a cool silvery glow that was not rightfully hers. He gave himself willingly, generously to her, and she claimed him as her own. He loved her, and she loved him. That was how it was. That was how it has always been. That was how it was supposed to be.
Time labors on, and seasons change. And the sun and the moon remains the same.
But they were not the sun and the moon.
And she could never bind his heart.
The sun and moon ceased to exist. Everything suddenly turned into a dark, dreary mess; a never-ending downpour.
Oh, how she hated the rain.
She leaned on the stone pillars of the old gazebo, feeling the heavy rise and fall of her chest against her soaked strapless minidress. Drops of water fell from her sodden auburn hair to the ground, where it mingled with mud from her worn-out boots. With slightly shivering hands, she tugged at her old, frayed manteau, pulling it tighter around her slender body. She did not know how long she had been running, and she had no idea where she was. But she would figure everything out eventually, she reminded herself, once the clouds cleared.
Her eyes briefly roamed her newfound haven in a futile attempt to ascertain her safety. She could not even see an inch from her cart. An irritated "tsk" barely escaped her lips when a streak of light snaked through the night sky, abruptly betraying a figure of a man seated a few steps back.
She quickly drew out her two-handed axe, knowing that she did not stand a chance. The fleeting illumination revealed her companion to be a sniper, and although her brain quickly registered several bottles of beer surrounding the man, she was close enough to be a very easy target for a dagger. She gripped her axe tightly, all senses acute for any kind of movement. But he never stirred.
Finally, a voice rose above the pelting rain.
"You have some cigarettes? I'll pay."
There was another distant crack of lightning, and this time she was able to see his face. She recognized him instantly. She had seen those arrogant gray eyes only once before, but the tiny green marking just below his left jaw was unmistakable. Even in the shadows, she knew that it was a masterful depiction of a dragon: wings spread in flight, savage claws outstretched. It was the insignia of a guild that once attempted to overthrow them out of their fortress.
"No," she replied as she lowered her weapon, her wary eyes narrowed. "I don't smoke."
It was possible that the man did not recognize her. Or that he thought her a waste of time. Afterall, her popularity was not due to some remarkable feat of strength or prowess. She owned a decent share of talents herself, but instead she had been more commonly known as Nuernberg's First Lady, the SilverCross guildmaster's girlfriend. But she wasn't anymore; and although she had quit her post and is no longer part of the guild, she knew she shall forever remain loyal to it.
"I don't suppose you have beer either." He downed his last bottle. Evidence suggested that he had ingested more than the usual amount of alcohol, but his straight speech and calm, indifferent demeanor proved he was still sober. "Fucking rain," she heard him mutter with an annoyed grunt.
She leaned on a railing, studying the man's outline in the dark. Her frown smoothened and she felt her muscles ease up against her will. Oddly enough, she did not feel anxious with his presence or even annoyed at his sarcasm. If anything else, she actually felt relieved—an unfamiliar sense of comfort that made her grope her cart in search of something she did sell. Her fingers closed in on a medium-sized glass container and tossed it in the air.
The sniper's hand shot up and caught it by reflex. The iridescent contents of the vial reflected the flimsy moonbeams that managed to escape the thick storm clouds above. He eyed it suspiciously.
"It's called Odin's Drink," she told him as his cold gray eyes traveled to pierce her brown ones. "My own special concoction. Stronger than beer, less alcohol content. 1,700 bucks a pop."
He narrowed his eyes. "Too high."
"It's tricky to mix," she shrugged.
He took off the cork and lifted the flask to his nose.
"Bloodwater," he muttered, eyes flashing with surprised cognition for the briefest second.
"Parts of it." Her own eyebrow went up at his quick discovery of her secret ingredient. Bloodwater, once mixed with other substances, sheds off its natural chemical compositions and becomes practically undetectable. He must have possessed some exceptional olfactory power.
The sniper continued to watch her. "It's highly lethal."
"On its own, yes," she returned his gaze evenly. "But not when carefully mixed with certain items. An alchemist never spills her secrets. Like I told you, it's tricky, hence the price."
He took another whiff, lightly moving the bottle in a small circular pattern, as if he could determine the rest of its mysterious contents by doing so. She could almost hear the low creaking sound of his brain's internal gears as he mulled it over.
"For what it's worth, I drink the stuff every single day, so does around a hundred other people. Here," she took another bottle from her cart, "I'll drink one with you." She uncorked the vial and lifted it towards him in a toast. "To…Thor and his mighty hammer. May he one day loose the stupid thing and never find it again." She brought the bottle to her lips and tipped all of its contents in. She closed her eyes, relishing the strong bittersweet taste and stinging sensation coursing down her throat, burning her stomach linings. Giddy tingles traveled throughout her body as the brew mixed with the fluids in her bloodstream.
He merely gave a repugnant snort.
"What, you don't believe rain came from a god's freaking mallet?" she smirked, wiping her mouth.
He shot her an unimpressed look. "I don't believe in gods period." He took a gulp of the drink himself, immediately wincing at the acrid taste. He kept still for several seconds, clearly sensing the series of reactions happening inside his body that was brought upon by the potion. He must have found the experience pleasurable, for he later wolfed down the rest of it.
"Well?" She wore a smug grin, her large brown eyes dancing with amusement. "What do you think?"
It took him a couple of seconds to answer. "How many have you got?"
A complacent snicker escaped her throat. "You like it that much, huh. Sorry, but I'm afraid you could have only one per day."
"The fuck."
She shrugged her cloaked shoulders. "Let's just say it's still undergoing some…modifications to suit human consumption. Any more than one dose within twenty-four hours and you're bound have some pretty long convulsions that might cause your air passages to constrict, not to mention overwork your heart. You'd probably drop dead in less than an hour."
He examined her for any sign of a hoax, but she was apparently serious.
"Don't worry," she continued, flashing him a genial smile. "As long as you follow the dosage, you'll be fine. I do believe it improves concentration and heightens all five senses to a significant degree. You might want to drink a bottle before going on hunts."
He continued to stare her down, his face expressionless. She stared back at him, a bit defiantly. Then something from behind her caught his eye. He looked quite surprised. She turned to follow his gaze.
It couldn't have been an hour since she took refuge inside the gazebo, but the night sky has magically evolved into morning. The sun was still low in the horizon, but a powdery blue dome has managed to replace the thick, velvety darkness. Several gray clouds still floated about, but the precipitated drops had somehow stopped falling.
And over the distant mountains, shades of red, yellow, green and indigo arched in the mist.
That must have been it, she realized, almost a year later, when he brought her back to that exact same reclusive spot.
"I found my first rainbow here with you."
Those were his words. His voice was suddenly quiet and heart-wrenchingly earnest, as if he hadn't been calling her names and spewing off expletives a minute before.
It was raining that night too. Rain had always been a regular theme in their so-called love affair, she thought with a wry smile.
She saw him enter a pub earlier that evening, just as she was leaving the shop across it. He looked the same at first glance: he sported the same hairstyle, the same sniper uniform, the same commanding air surrounded him.
But she could tell he'd changed.
His build was still strong and lightly muscular, but she could tell he lost some weight. There was a light stoop to his gait, although he still had that sort of arrogant bounce with each step. There were small bags underneath his cool gray eyes. His cheekbones had become more pronounced. A stubble had grown rather unattractively under his lower lip.
He looked so tired.
She waited for him to come out, chastising herself. With the way he retaliated, you knew you'd drive him to this state. But you left him anyway.
There seemed to be no right choice at that time. Ed was sick. He just lost Syntia, and his guild was falling apart. Their guild. In a blink of an eye, the sun's rays waned. She remembered how she used to mirror those rays—Ed's rays. For the first time ever, he needed her. Kel was stronger, more stable, she reasoned, Ed needed her more.
But she knew she could never justify her actions. What's done is done.
"I was nothing more than a second choice," his livid voice barely above a whisper, "a passing fancy you instantly dropped at his faintest call."
"Ed was my first, and you were my second," she said quietly, looking out at the mountains that once carried a symbol of hope. But there weren't any then. "First, second. They're just numbers. They're only there for order. They don't feel what I do, and they could never express it."
A familiar grunt. "They indicate priorities."
"Priorities change," she insisted.
"So does the heart," was the quick and hard reply.
What was she to say to that? She felt her own contract sharply in her chest.
Her life had always been a straight road, monotonous and well-sorted out. But ever since Ed left, bends suddenly appeared. Lots and lots of bends. And she seemed to be making all the wrong turns, a series of wrong decisions..
"I was hoping," she said finally, "for a second chance."
Perhaps it was another wrong decision. And yet she stubbornly hoped otherwise.
But he was right.
"Not everybody gets a second chance."
She closed her eyes and nodded slowly, a small empty smile on her lips. Picking up her cart, she started to walk away.
