The once-calming breeze against Maeve's skin now warned her of the pitfall she imminently experienced. Legs facing, the girl admitted death, and closed her eyes, trying to fight her screaming and flailing limbs to no avail, but Maeve hit the ground not with a splat or a thump, but a whisper as the girl opened her eyes to find herself standing in the middle of the street, intact and unphased. Without thinking as to how, Maeve started running far from where she landed, especially when Knights appeared in the corner of her eye, now intently focused on her. She ran right, towards the direction her rescuers went, hoping to see if she could find them or if they were looking for her. Dodging incoming stalls, shacks, and stops, the district sprawled with ongoing business, the crowd making it difficult for the Knights to give worthy chase.
"Over here!" A familiar masculine voice called, piercing through the crowd not far from the girl's location. "You were supposed to hang on!"
Darting to her left into the alleyway which hosted the voice, there the man and the woman stood who saved her life just prior near a massive manhole.
"Ladies first," the man gestured towards the woman, lifting the lid. "We don't have all day."
The hazel-skinned woman smiled and glanced at Maeve. "Come on, you...uh…" She awkwardly paused. "Just come on."
The woman and Maeve hopped into the sewer, followed by the man, who landed into the murky shallow water with a splash, moving the lid to close. The woman pulled out a match and lit it against a piece of sandpaper tied to her wrist. Everywhere around them, six menacing people were revealed, surrounding them in the compact sewage outlet.
"Glad to see you back, Maraya," one of them nodded in approval. "Clint, too. Mission accomplished, let's go!" The group circled Maeve like a cult as they started deep into the sewer, Maeve's glowing eyes and coat openly distinguishing her from the damp and narrow pipes they tread. The low pink fades lining its edges as a dozen eyes piled onto her, staring at her for longer than she deemed comfortable, adding to her skepticism. The man they called "Clint" - a blonde, short but beefy fellow - led the way next to Maraya, who held the match as their guidance through the sewer.
"What was that back there?" Clint aggressively urged, turning wide-eyed to face Maeve as they walked. "How did you survive that fall? Who from the Depths are you, even?"
"That's enough, Clint," Maraya budged playfully, tilting her head with a sly smile at the man. "She harbours a crystal; what's explainable is lost and incomprehensible. It's far from my understanding; I mean look at her coat! It's glowing!"
Maeve irked at their banter about her by responding to them with suspicion enticing her face.
"Hey, don't blame me if I'm curious," Clint decompressed, easing his overexcitement. "Do you at least have a name?"
The only thought that emerged from her head was the whispering name from back at the tower. She had known of this identity, but she doubted it until the question finally graced her ears for the first time. "Maeve," She shyly responded, and the only glowing figure in the room isolated herself from what seemed like a well-situated group of people. Her grasp slipped. "Why did you rescue me?"
"You're a runner," Clint answered, keeping his eyes forward, although it was impossible to hide his enthusiasm. "We're all runners here."
'We've been eying you for some time," Maraya chimed. "We know who you are. You're a runner, just like us. We made the exact same choice you made: running from that choice."
Silhouettes stalked the starlit sky at almost every opportune moment Maeve departed with her choices. These strange people were her overwatch - the sanction that preyed upon the risks of her success; it naively exalted her. The group approached a piece of tarp in the end of the pipe and turned it over to uncover a large, open deposit in the sewer, hosting hundreds of people conversing and working to move crates of produce to different sheds, organized enough to house the Trade District's own underground civilization. Numerous tents engulfed the deposit, creating homes for the habitants where children eagerly poked their heads out of the tents.
"Welcome, Maeve," Maraya gleefully pronounced. "To the home of the Marauders."
Maeve's eyes widened at the sight; people gathered here with stolen goods, shared them with each other, traded, all underneath the Magistrate's and the Resistance's thumb. These people are beginning their new lives and creating them in complete secret, running from choice - just like her.
"Hey, Maeve!" Clint shouted from the crowd, holding a plump red apple. "Hungry?" He tossed it right into Maeve's open palms. She gazed at the ripened shiny red, and from its succulent size, Maeve's cautious bewilderment turned into awe as she smiled jubilantly and sank her teeth for a massive chomp into the apple, joyfully chewing it with contempt. Clint gestured Maeve towards him and Maeve followed, taking her time to chew her extravagant bite. As Maeve followed into the settlement the camp engulfed her with the many people who scavenged the Realm just like her, struggling to quench their thirst and collapsing at the sight of their malnourished legs, just like her. Their ignorance in the foresight to their future cured them of one in which choice dictated their essence - their livelihood. While each and every one of them ran, they ran together, and as they ran they found themselves home.
"In here, Maeve," Clint emerged from a large tent, beckoning her in. The girl meagerly followed Clint into the tent, and while its tarp had tears in the seam and the sleeping bag was thin as newspaper, it far surpassed the dump she used to call home. "Your tent. It's all yours." Clint started towards the exit, and while Clint was bending down in order to fit out the entrance, Maeve stood at her full height and fit perfectly.
"Wait!" Maeve stopped Clint at the door as he turned back to face her. "Why are you doing this, seriously? Be real straight with me."
Clint was already outside, standing near the entrance of her tent. "You have skills none of us have fully realized yet. Look over there," Maeve obeyed, observing the struggling child and his mother standing near far from them. His hand reached out to her face in desperation as the mother calmed him with a small flask of water, cleaning his face and hardly quenching his thirst. "We need someone like you, Maeve, who has the strength to defend us from whatever comes our way. We need help. Your training begins early tomorrow morning. Soon enough, you'll be a Marauder." Clint gently shut the tarp entrance, leaving Maeve alone, comfortably content - home.
