"Twenty-three staffles, twelve mors, and nine stiks!" boasted uncle Salstone for what was - by my count - at least the thirteenth time in the past fifteen minutes. "I made more in that one sale than most of the other shops in Rosefelt do in a day!"
I rolled my eyes behind my uncle as we walked back to the house. My uncle's shop was well kept, but it was fairly small. There were plenty of big shops in the central markets that made more than twenty-three staffles an hour, much less a day. But since the only reason I knew this was because I had snuck out to watch the various performers that frequented that market, I decided it would be best to keep my thoughts to myself. Instead, I focused on my Sight.
By "Sight" I'm not talking about my vision, but the innate ability that all people have to harness the material energy of our soul to do various things. The material energy that the soul is made from is referred to as marks. Marks exist everywhere, even in non-living things such as rocks or air, albeit in minuscule amounts. Marks can also be transferred into non-living things to make tools and appliances such as the blow-stones that my uncle sold in his shop. But it takes great skill to manufacture mark-powered items and they are usually quite expensive, so most people simply use their instinctual Sight.
Sights are potentially limitless in variety, use, and power. Everyone is capable of using at least one type of Sight naturally from a very young age, and most Sights can be learned. There are six types of Sights: Strengths, Projections, Morphs, Forms, Shifts, and Specials.
Strengths allow the user to strengthen, harden, and generally enhance either their own body or a rem (A "rem" is anything that doesn't have a physical brain) they are in contact with.
Projections are used to fire mark energy from a user's body however they like. This energy can take various forms, such as heat, light, or kinetic energy that takes a quasi-solid form, though regardless of the type of energy is Projected, they all dissipate back into marks after a couple seconds depending on their density.
Morph Sights can change the physical structure of a part or all of the user's body to become softer, harder, larger, denser, etc., but it cannot change the mass or the basic chemical structure of anything. An exception is that a Morph user can ingest materials that they are then able to use to permanently change part of their body with, though this is difficult and dangerous if done incorrectly. Morphs can also change the shape of rems that the user is touching.
Forms allow a person to change the chemical structure of matter to make various things not limited to rems (this is how mark powered items are made). Forms cannot change the physical shape of something, though they can break down parts of it to get a desired shape at the cost of losing what is broken down.
Shift type Sights allow the user to move any rem through the air, as well as potentially teleport both rems and willing cognae (Things with a brain). Shift Sights cannot move any unwilling Cognae, nor any rem that cognae is in physical contact with.
Special Sights are any Sight that does not fall into any of the other types of Sights, such as imbuing a rem with marks to make a mark-powered item, or using a Sight to sense the presence of cognae in a certain range.
I've always been able to use Morphs, though I was rarely able to practice since it was strictly banned by my aunt and uncle for me to use any Sights. The one time I tried to show my aunt my Sight when I was ten she screamed as if I had just amputated my hand instead of simply turning it into a rough dog-like shape. She beat me and sent me into my room without meals for two whole days. Once she finally let me out, she made clear in no uncertain terms that if I were ever to practice my Sight again, she would throw me out onto the street.
But I couldn't just give up this gift. It seemed to me that the one thing I was any good at were my Sights, which was a shame since Commons like myself didn't have very many marks to use for our Sights. While most people had around fifty to sixty marks stored at their maximum, Commons never had more than ten, and as little as five. But Morphs didn't typically use up too many marks by themselves, so as long as I was careful, I didn't have to worry too much about turning Soulless.
And that right there is the crux of the problem. The Soulless. A Soulless can simply be thought of as a person without a soul. They continue living, but the thing that gave them individuality and humanity is gone, so they simply go on instinct without thinking or feeling. The Soulless only want two things, to eat and to reproduce. Where and how they do those two things are not important to them. In fact, the existence of the Soulless is the driving force behind the theory that marks make up what we call the "soul". People saw that once a person uses all of their marks, they lose the ability to reason and revert to base instincts. From there they decided that marks must be some sort of energy that give humans our, well, humanity.
Everyone in the world of Roma is both afraid of becoming one of the Soulless, and the Soulless themselves. Generally speaking however, the Soulless are not much of a threat because they are usually weak from lack of food, and incapable of using Sights. Their instinct keeps them away from people for the most part because they sense people's hostility and fear towards them. Since they almost never travel together, they are unwilling to get too close to others. They will only go after lone wanderers, whether young children for food, or young and weak adults to force themselves on. Though usually they simply hunt small game for food, and finding food seems to be much more important to them than reproduction.
Since Commons have so few marks, we are naturally more inclined to become Soulless, but that alone isn't why most people, my aunt and uncle included, hate and fear Commons so much. It's because of our appearance. Once someone uses over half of their marks, their skin and hair slowly becomes pale. After 80% of a person's marks are consumed, their eyes will become tinted red progressively. By the time a person has completely lost all of their marks, every part of them will be completely white, except for their eyes, which will be a deep crimson with a pin-dot pupil. Once a person becomes Soulless, they can never regain their soul.
All Commons have pale skin and pink eyes, most likely because of our short supply of marks, so we always look like we are just one Sight away from turning into ravenous beasts. This scares people, and that fear always manifests itself as hatred and scorn. But still, I always tried to find time to practice my Sight, whether while I was alone working in the shop, or even just taking a dump out in the out house, there were all kinds of opportunities to practice. I was practicing a trick that I had been having trouble with by making small dense spikes on my knuckles quickly, then releasing the Sight to conserve marks. I was starting to get the hang of it by the time we made it back to the house.
As my uncle and I walked past the short gated fence that surrounded the small square stone building where we lived, my aunt Meera's short thick form waded out to greet us. Well, to greet my uncle anyway.
"How was work today dear?" She said, putting her arm around his elbow, which was just a bit higher than hers. My aunt and uncle, though they treated me like I was an annoying stain that they couldn't get rid of, weren't really bad people. They just knew how difficult life could get for them if people found out they were related to a Common. They would face similar persecution as I do just by relation. Best case scenario, my uncle would have to close his shop from lack of customers. Worst case, all of us would be run out of the city. It was a lot of pressure, and they tended to take out their stress on me. It's not like I didn't resent them for treating me like dirt, but I tried to be as little of a bother as possible.
"Twenty-three staffles, twelve mors, and nine stiks!" Said uncle Salstone proudly.
I just followed them quietly into the house. I was typically ignored while at home, so I just went to my room in the corner of the underground floor of the house. It was actually pretty comfortable despite how it may sound. The fact that it was slightly below ground-level kept the room relatively cool, which was nice in the summer months, and I was allowed to have a small Hotrock with me that I could tuck into my blanket to keep me warm during the winter. I just had to let it sit outside in the sun during the day to let it absorb marks to use at night. It was late at this point, so I would be going to bed to rest for the next day's work.
At least, that's what my aunt and uncle thought I was doing. Really, I was sneaking out again. My relations never visited my room, less out of a desire to give me privacy and more because they wanted to pretend I didn't exist when they didn't have to. There was a small grate in on corner of my room that let light and air in. I could close it using a little handle on the inside so that I could keep the rain out, but if I left it open then I could just squeeze through by Morphing my body to be extremely slick, like wet soap, then grabbing a pipe that I had placed outside and pulling myself out. Full body Morphs used a lot of marks, so I had to meditate for about half an hour to make sure I wasn't getting too low. As I sat in the corner outside, I reflected that I had really improved in the last year. Morphs were difficult to successfully pull off unless they had been extensively practiced ahead of time, even more so than other types of Sights. Because of my constant practice I could do a variety of Morphs, and I was getting better at activating and deactivating them on a dime so that I could save marks.
I've always enjoyed using my Sight, but I wasn't risking my home and safety to practice just for a hobby. I was practicing everyday to learn to defend myself. It wasn't unusual for a Common to be cornered on the street, even in broad daylight, and usually not even the guards would lift a finger to stop anything. Even on my frequent escapades through the city, I had to be careful to keep my skin and eyes concealed. I've had a few close calls, but so far I've been slippery and quick enough to escape anytime I had ever been accosted, with one notable exception. But it was for that one exception that I practiced so often and took these moments to go and meet Raul.
I saw a flash at the edge of my vision and glanced to the left. The lights of The Sands Arena had just flared up a bit, probably for dramatic effect as another fight began. I stared up at the massively tall building, wondering (not for the first time) just how tall it was. It had to be at least a hundred yards tall, but I thought that it could be easily more. Maybe even as much as a hundred and fifty yards, and the dome was probably over two hundred yards in diameter. Events took place in The Sands almost everyday, and things were especially extravagant on the day before Cline's Day. There had probably been several events going on throughout the day, including plays, concerts, sports, and fights.
Especially fights. There were more than fifty different kinds of combat events that took place in The Sands, including single combat, battle royals, capture the flag, and many more. More often than not there were severe wounds, including lacerations, burns, sometimes even amputations, but deaths were less common thanks to the medical staff, which were among the best in the world. They would have to be, given the bloody nature of The Sands.
I had always dreamed of participating in one of the events there, since they were open to anyone who had the courage to enter, was fit enough to pass the vigorous physical, and had the single mor that paid the entry fee. But I knew that I was kidding myself. Commons were notorious for dying in the arena for several reasons. First off, we can barely use Sights, so that already puts us at a disadvantage, but in addition to that, we are usually ganged up on. A Common in a battle royal of ten people might as well be a one versus nine slaughter. But even then, usually the medical staff would be enough to save the life of the Common, but the problem is that Commons often panic during the fights. When they panic, they start using their Sights too much and accidentally become Soulless. Since there is no known way to revert a Soulless back to how they were before, there is a longstanding rule in The Sands: Every other participant that is fighting, no matter what they were doing before, is to immediately kill the Soulless. It may seem ruthless, but to me it seems the most merciful option. I know that if I were to ever turn, I wouldn't want to live such a cursed existence.
In fact, the only group that's as shunned and despised as the Commons are the criminals. The central government established many decades ago that required participation in the Gladiatorial games is the preferred punishment for criminals guilty of violent crimes. Criminals make up around 30-40% of participants in every event, and it is not uncommon for them to band together during battle royals if they can manage it. They also tend to fight dirty, though the four referees that monitor the games do their best to keep an eye on them. The civilian participants often either avoid the criminals or target them specifically. This isn't to say all criminals are scumbags of the arena, some are just normal people who made mistakes, but they are certainly in the minority.
I sighed to myself. Even if I wasn't a Common, it would probably be too much for me. Everyone who participates in the events are in peak physical and mental shape, and they are almost all certified Scios, a person who uses Sights for combat purposes. Someone like me probably wouldn't last ten minutes in there. I may be learning to defend myself, but in my mind, self-defense and real fighting were two very different things. Better to keep things realistic.
Satisfied that I had restored enough marks to be safe, I started off towards the Bends. The Bends were among both the oldest and poorest parts of Rosefelt, with walkways only a few yards wide at the most and a couple feet at the least. The stone and dirt paths twisted and winded in no particular order, so it was hard to get anywhere if you didn't know your way around. No one was out at this late hour, but during the day there would be blankets laid out under tarps with small items for sale that had been gathered meticulously, and guarded with even more care. Wood paper, lead pencils, little trinkets, and the occasional outdated blow-stone or Hotrock would litter these blankets, with their owners hovering over their own small hoard lest anyone should attempt to sneak something.
But it was almost midnight, and I had no interest in the things that were sold here. I was on my way to my nightly combat lesson.