Residential Area, Zone-A.
The bluish neon of the signboard flickered and lit up when Ewan completed the biometric scan and flipped the switch on. "Astylinds' Home: We Care", the shop stood out like a nail in the otherwise mundane residential block, the ringing chime by the door cracking its quiet. Today too, the lounge of the shop remained desolate; the counter desk and the monitor had even gathered days' worth of dust. Paint chipped off the ivory walls, a creamish hue tinted the rug that once boasted a vibrant white, dots of black ruined the aged artistic ceiling, and another thick but rusted metal door stood by the counter's side—it was the view that greeted Ewan's arrival each day, and its bleakness elicited his helpless sigh every time.
What a breath of fresh air would it be if the customers' line curved from the corner of the alley for his shop too; he envied those shops whose business boomed from an 'unintentional promotion'. Where were those mouthy angels who would proliferate the goodness of his shop… Alas, his shop only provided cleaning and grooming services for the Astylinds. He took care of them for his customers and charged them by days and levels. It was all he could do for now, given his lack of capital, and such a niche business model assured a small customer pool.
Only the Severynths who lived a casual lifestyle visited such shop's doorstep. They didn't prefer bloodshed and couldn't care less about advancing. They also didn't join the expeditions or became hunters. Those who did though, they took care of their own Astylinds—he had never even met one. Thus, the total share of the market remained humble, and Ewan had to struggle to dip his finger in the already crowded jar.
The spacious courtyard beyond the metal door allayed his mood a bit, covered in ankle-length grass dancing in the waves of wind, synced yet so different. Some patches withered brown, some still struggling lush. Several rusted metal cages with shiny spots dug into the soil by the edges. A curved pathway paved in smooth rocks sliced the yard in half. And on the other side and across the yard rested his house. A mansion, some might call it, and its existence anchored his confidence in life, at least he had a good roof over his head.
Tall thick metal fences covered this whole area—including his shop, the large middle courtyard, his house, the side lawns, and the backyard. The only entrance to this place was his shop's door, and its robust and sturdy alloy made any break-in a nigh impossibility.
Yet, with all the security, he had little any would want to steal, unless old electronics was the trend in the black market these days…
The hall of his home with the same ivory walls but wooden flooring welcomed him with a cold embrace, the draught carrying the stink from the stagnant and overfilled sink of the kitchen to the right—the clogged mess and the dirty dishes were long overdue. But his current state still couldn't muster the strength to deal with it as he hastened towards the stove and put the kettle on with fresh drinking water, chugging a mouthful to alleviate his hunger pang while the water boiled.
The single sol he 'borrowed' from the near naked couple in the desolate alleyway only afforded him three packets of noodles, it would last him three days. The rising trend of the prices had yet to plateau, and each time the news wrote something on the issue, his heart skipped a beat for he expected the worst. Today, the sol bought him three packets; tomorrow, it might not be enough for even one…
He lumbered across to the other side of the hall and collapsed on the long fluffy white sofa. His eyes struggled with the heavy eyelids, and his vision blurred. The hazy reflection on the tv even made the plastic fruit bowl on the table look appetizing. The shiny apple, the plump grapes, the ripe banana…his stomach growled in greed, and he almost drooled, struggling to hold on to his sanity.
If only the plants his Pa potted in the corners were edible…
Someone in his class once gossiped that our stomach could digest the book pages, he glanced at the filled bookcase by the window whose edges barely cleared the back of the sofa but still held back from experimenting. He had three days of respite now; his business just might recover enough for him to survive.
And he only had to subsist for a month or so anyway. If lady luck agreed with him, it could be even shorter. Be it the ancient sages, the Cerades, or the new summoners, the Severynths, both major paths of Asheva had the same beginning—the awakening of the soul. Though random, most Starons awakened their souls a few months before their eighteenth birthday—Ewan's was in a few months. He had no one to celebrate it with, but many would gather for the carnival, for the Frosthelm festival claimed the date on the calendar.
He could awaken any day now; the thought slightly brightened his drab mood. Once he crossed that line and contracted an Astylind, he wouldn't be a mortal anymore, he would graduate from being a Kyron. The newfound strength from the feedback would widen his means to earn, not to mention his need for food would go down too. But above all, he could finally become a Severynth.
The kettle whistled in the kitchen and broke him away from his lethargic excitement—the water had boiled, he had to put in the noodles now.
….
His room, the largest of the four on the ground floor, lay across the hall and towards the backyard; a stairway with polished wooden railing curved over them and reached for the first floor. The lack of regular visits staled everything beyond the stairs, and now only the balcony remained fresh—when he timed it right, he could even 'observe' some beautiful girls who lived in this neighborhood from up there. The evening was such an opportune time, but he reigned in the bastardly want for now and headed for his room to eat, switching on his computer while gobbling his first mouthful of cheap but moreish noodles. Whatever they added to make it so good…
The pre- and post-symptoms of the awakening stayed the same on the colony's intranet, yet he read them again and sniffed his body. There came no sickening sweet smell though, not even a hint of it that could make him gladly misread his situation—as always, he just smelled of his charcoal-based shower gel. Everyone said the smell would linger for days, but he still worried about missing it…
Little disappointed and finally feeling the weight of food in his stomach, he visited the forum that flooded his history and read those olden rumors again. The forum was dying but those rumors still gathered traffic—they talked of gaining eternity on the path of Asheva. Some claimed a slightly longer and healthier lifespan while others mentioned surpassing the age of the moons.
No confirmation or denial existed on the network, even his teachers refused to comment on it and brushed it off. But even if it was false news, it dazzled Ewan. Because he chanced upon this information, he dreamed again—a dream of eternity.
If he had to die one day anyway, it didn't matter whether it was now or eighty years later. He slogged for his Pa's promise, but years would wear it thin; one day, his thread would snap. Such thoughts often crossed his mind back then. But this single piece of news filled him with hope and made him yearn for a future, it dragged him out of the ditch.
Today or tomorrow, he would awaken for sure, his Pa already confirmed it. Even if the aptitude of his awakened soul were to be subpar, he would still be happy. Because unlike those who couldn't awaken at all, he could at least begin his journey as an Asheva, on the path of Severynth—the humble path that made their plane, Airadia, the overlord of its star system.
Ewan slurped his lukewarm noodles again and went on to the semi-official site for Severynths—it bore the mark of an 'O' wearing a gray beret, the insignia of Obria's defense force, but the officials hadn't confirmed their involvement. Nonetheless, it was the go-to place for anything Asheva related. And today, the countdown for the release of the newer database of
Before he could see the timer hit single digits though, his doorbell clanged.