Evening sunlight streamed through the tan plastic blinds of the old factory window. Weiren sat in an uncomfortable black chair in his boss's office, waiting for the scolding he was sure to receive. A week had passed since Puren's death. That morning, Weiren had woken up on the floor, numb. Still clutched in his hand had been the yellow packet, said to contain the mystery of Galen's fall. On opening it, Weiren found only gibberish; nonsensical letters and numbers arranged on a page. A code of some sort, he figured, though he had no clue how to go about deciphering it. It seemed he had a choice to make still: get rid of the documents and go on living his quiet factory life, or do the stupid thing, that is to fulfill his brother's dying wish and deliver the document to the fair wind, whatever that was supposed to mean.
As he contemplated what he should do, he remembered his brother's sacrifice in the end, to save the very stranger that Weiren had sacrificed to save his own hide. Shame gnawed at him from the corners of his mind. Every night when he slept the man appeared in his dream, mocking him, blaming him for what happened to Puren. After all, if Weiren had stepped in to help the man, he would not have been hobbling down the street that night as he was. "I did what I had to do," Weiren comforted himself. The sound of the office door opening and shutting behind him shook him back to reality.
"Weiren!" His boss Mr. Borris said, sounding cheerful as ever as he slapped a box down on the desk in front of him. "Do you see what's wrong with this picture?"
To the ordinary eye, it just looked like a box with tape on it. Weiren knew better. If you looked a little closer, you would see that, starting in the middle, Weiren's tape job veered a degree or two to the right. It was clear he hadn't been operating with his usual level of excellence.
"Now Weiren, I know you're a good man, who takes pride in his work. You're not in trouble, but I am worried about you. This isn't like you at all. Is everything alright?"
"Um," Weiren began shuffling his feet, "I mean, yeah I guess so. Just, family troubles." He couldn't really tell his boss what had happened now could he? Luckily Mr. Borris seemed to understand, though exactly what he understood, Weiren was not sure.
"Ahh family!" He said knowingly, "Y'know Weiren, there are a lot of things tape can fix in this world," he sighed, "and a lot of things it can't."
'Was that supposed to be deep?' Weiren wondered silently to himself.
"Tell you what Weiren, we'll let this slide for now. I was thinking actually a change of pace might do you some good; help you clear your head. There's an opening in the warehouse division, y'know sorting, storing, that sort of thing."
"Thank you sir, but I like the job I have now."
"Understandable Weiren, box taping is a magical profession if there ever was one, but we also have our pride before the public. Until you can get your tape angle straight, you'll have to either take some leave, unpaid of course, or work in the warehouse for a bit."
"Understood," Weiren said with a sigh. At least he hadn't lost his job. Mr. Borris was, of course, as much a resident of Galen as anyone else, and his low wages and shady business practices reflected no less, but as far as employers go, he was among the kinder and more understanding Weiren had worked for.
"Anything else you need from me. Weiren? Otherwise Fergus, the warehouse manager, will get to work training you."
"I do have one question," Weiren shifted uncomfortably. He had spent much the past few days trying to figure out Puren's riddle about where he was supposed to take the document. Not that he was actually going to do it, mind you! That would be crazy! And yet, his brothers desperate face haunted him; the least he could do was ask, "Do the words "fair wind" mean anything to you?"
"Fair wind? Of course Weiren, a fair wind is a good wind blowing in a favorable direction. We have little of those around here if I do say so myself."
"I know their definition Mr. Borris, but do they mean anything to you, anything specific?"
Suddenly Mr. Borris usually cheerful face grew dark. After a pause he spoke in a low, foreboding voice, "Weiren, I don't know why you're asking me this, but I ought to warn you of the seriousness of getting involved in things you ought not to be involved in. Keep asking these kinds of questions and people might start to think you're up to no good."
Weiren shrunk back into his seat a bit. Mr. Borris noticed and sighed, relaxing a bit and spinning in his armchair, "I suppose you meant no harm by the question Weiren, knowing you. There are rumors, Weiren, whispers on the wind, telling tales of 'justice' and 'light'." He said these words with a degree of snark.
He continued, "A thief goes missing, a drug lord shows up beaten and bound in front of the Enforcer's office, and even the Enforcers themselves sometimes lose a member under mysterious circumstances. Fair winds are blowing they say. If you ask me it's a load of nonsense. I say they're a bunch of criminals, this fair wind; whatever it is, whoever they are. Vigilantes, insurrectionist scum, with no regard for order and the law. They're dangerous, Weiren, dangerous to associate with, dangerous to know about, and that's why I seriously suggest you do not to bring this up again, with me or anyone else. Understood."
"Understood."
"Now then," Mr. Borris stood up, his cheerful demeanor back as though it had never left, "Let's get you situated in your new work home."
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The next few hours consisted of Fergus showing Weiren around the warehouse and explaining the job of warehouse sorter. Weiren was to take the boxes which had recently been packed, taped, and labeled and make sure they found their way to the proper isle, so the delivery team could locate them easily. They passed a number of other sorters who waved in welcome as they worked.
The warehouse was large and dusty, brick walls covered by a large tin roof. Weiren supposed it would take a while to learn his way around the isle after isle of cardboard boxes, though, helpfully, they were organized according to some kind of number system.
Weiren was surprised to find that packages from his own factory were not the only boxes stored in the warehouse. It seemed boxes from a few different locations were stored here to be shipped. In one corner was stacked large crates emblazoned with a large "E" and the wind symbol of Galen. Weiren wondered what could be in them.
After Fergus left him, Weiren set about to work on his own. Mr. Borris' grand plan to distract him with a different, more active job did not work as well as he might have hoped. Instead, the walking and moving seemed to stimulate Weiren's mind, filling it with thoughts Puren, the fair wind, and the choice he had to make. He hadn't seriously expected to successfully find such promising information so soon.
The fair winds Puren had spoken of, could they refer to a group of his vigilante friends? It seemed to likely. That didn't necessarily give Weiren any idea of how to find them. Not that he planned to. He wasn't some kind of idiot after all. Or maybe he did? Could he really ignore his brother's dying wish? Such thoughts tormented him through the endless, dreary task of moving boxes.
The bell rang out, and Weiren carried his growing anxiety with him out into the streets, barely noticing today as he brushed and bumped against the people in the crowds. Muscle memory carried him down the usual empty side roads twisting and turning toward home, kicking rocks as he went, and thinking. If he did decide to try and find them, and nobody is saying he will, but if he did, how would he go about doing so?
His thoughts were interrupted as he walked into a yellow rope, and a few steps beyond, dragging along with him the metal poles it hung from.
"Right, the blockage," he looked up dismayed at the pile of rubble, which still littered the way forward, though it was smaller now. He had been taking another route home from the factory for the past week while workers in yellow hard hats had buzzed about the pile like bees pulling it apart rock by rock. Distracted as he was however, he had ceded his will over to his legs, which had taken the most familiar roads home. He glanced over the ropes at the debris and thought to himself that he could probably make it through, but the fine for getting caught crossing a work zone was more trouble than it was worth to risk it.
Clicking his tongue in frustration, he looked back toward the dark alley he had taken last time, bad memories flooding once again into his mind. Weiren had half a mind just to go back, take the long way around this time and avoid the risk of running into Karlyle again.
Suddenly a frightened shout echoed from the alley; it seemed he had already found his next victim. Weiren remembered the sight of the man from that night, weeping on the streets, and his heart fell. "Not again," he thought to himself. "What does it matter Weiren, it's not your problem, just leave."
Weiren turned to run back the way he'd come, but slowed down after a few steps, looking back toward the alleyway. Puren's words from that night rang in his head, about standing up, and doing something about the injustice. Surely he would have stepped in to help if he were still here. A feeling of outrage Weiren hadn't felt in some time began to well up within him, adrenaline surging as he began to contemplate whether he should do something about it. It seemed a crack had appeared in the emotional wall he'd so carefully constructed for his own safety. Though everything within him screamed "Run!" Weiren's disobedient legs carried him trembling into the darkness.
Sure enough, around the same corner etched by trauma into Weiren's memory, he could hear Karlyle jeering and kicking, each kick punctuated by a cry or a groan.
"No. No. Don't be stupid Weiren, don't get yourself involved in this. You've made it this far by keeping your head down." He turned to go back. It was at that moment however that another idea solidified out of the chaos in Weiren's mind. How do you attract the attention of a shadowy group of vigilantes dedicated to fighting injustice? "If such a group really exists," he considered, "They must have some criteria for recruiting new members." The idea was mad, and yet it made a sort of sense. The last circumstantial barrier giving Weiren an excuse to avoid the choice he had to make melted in that moment, much to Weiren's frustration.
Perhaps it was the cries of the man in need which finally moved Weiren to action, or Puren's harsh critiques. Perhaps it was years of built up resentment and pain. Perhaps he was simply tired of doing nothing while evil winds raged around him, more likely a combination of all these and more. "Just until I deliver the message," he thought.
Still, fear gripped him. He couldn't bring himself to face Karlyle head on. Surely nobody would think it strange, however, if the flower pot two stories up were to blow off the balcony in the wind. This was Galen, after all.
As Weiren made his way down the alley toward his house, a second set of painful groans echoed off the narrow walls, joining that of the man who was being robbed. However reluctantly, he had made his choice. He would deliver Puren's message and fulfill his dying wish. He would find this fair wind, and what better way to attract the attention of these mysterious vigilantes than to become one himself?