Alfred stumbled through the city streets, each step heavy with the weight of his recent departure. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of sorrow and rage constricting his breath. He kept his head down, trying to stifle the turmoil within, aware of the watchful eyes of the imperial soldiers that lined the boulevards. This city, once a beacon of art and music in their country, Forentia, now stood as a hollow shell of its former self. The vibrant murals that once adorned the walls were now pale bricks and the melodies that had floated through the air were replaced by the empire's propaganda playing on repeat.
As Alfred turned a corner, he froze, his breath hitching. Before him was a squad of stern-faced imperial soldiers who were clearly cut from a different cloth than the rest. These men were magi, super soldiers who were born with mana that allows them to use conduit gear to channel their innate destructive powers. They were easily discernable by the mechanical legs they wore which allowed them to effortlessly navigate through the skies at unmatched speeds. Though magi exist in other countries as well, the amount that are cultivated in the empire easily outnumbers their rivals. Alfred halted, letting the squad of imperial magi pass, unable to tear his gaze from their formidable conduit gear. Each one carried specialized weaponry tailored to their combat style. It was precisely because of their unique strength, talent, and these weapons that brought most of the eastern continent to heel and millions to their deaths. As a result, magi are such a critical human resource that they are almost always fighting on the frontlines.
So what were they doing here?
"Alfred?"
Alfred's attention shifted to the voice calling out to him. An older gentleman with graying hair and a full beard stood before him, worry etched across his face. Alfred recognized the man as Charles, an old family friend who had served as a Forentian sergeant before the invasion. Despite his close relationship with Alfred's parents and his military background, Charles had always refused to affiliate himself with The Resistance when the subject was brought up.
"...Charles."
Charles subtly looked behind Alfred to make sure he wasn't being followed.
"What are you doing here? Where's your father?"
Alfred's brows furrowed with guilt as he shifted his eyes, unable to maintain eye contact with Charles. Sensing Alfred's silence and uneasiness, Charles realized the immense pain Alfred must be feeling after his mother's death. He could only imagine how much worse it was if Alfred knew her execution had been broadcasted worldwide.
"Sorry, I shouldn't be asking you so many questions after what just happened. Would you like to come to my pub for a little while? Just so you can have a safe space to reconvene yourself?"
Alfred accepted Charles' offer and followed him to his bar. Once there, he settled into a barstool while Charles locked the front door and flipped the sign to "Closed." The radio on the countertop, which Charles had left on, only cycled through songs and broadcasting stations glorifying the empire. Charles turned off the radio and walked over to the other side of the bar.
"What have you been doing all this time, Charles? I haven't seen you in years."
Charles takes a glass and starts to polish it before clearing his throat.
"Well, I opened up this pub... but that's not what you're really interested in hearing about, right?"
Alfred looked up at Charles with determined eyes, desperate to understand why this man, who had been his parents' most trusted ally and confidant and like a grandfather to him, had disappeared without a word when he was a young boy.
"Back then, your parents were becoming more radical with their plans involving The Resistance. Although I wasn't a Resistance member they would often come to me for advice." Charles voice started to waver, and his face became somber. "To tell you the truth, I was disturbed with our discussions. There were talks of terrorism and..."
Charles' eyes darkened with a fearful expression, his lips quivering as his voice trailed off into a barely audible mumble. He seemed lost in a memory, his body trembling slightly. Suddenly, Alfred slammed his fist onto the countertop, snapping Charles back from his dark thoughts. Alfred looked at him with seething anger.
"They were fighting for their freedom! How could you, a soldier whose country had been subjugated, refuse to help the people who carried our nation's last hope of liberation?"
Charles looked at Alfred in shock before returning his gaze to the polished glass solemnly. In a gentle voice, he tried to calm Alfred down.
"I respect your parents, Alfred. For being able to do what I couldn't."
Alfred unclasped his fists and looks down at the countertop. He was still disappointed with Charles, but he knew any more discussion about his choices would be meaningless. Besides, he couldn't bring himself to hate what little familial connection he had left. Not after everything. Charles placed a glass of alcohol in front of Alfred, who looked at it quizzically.
"A whiskey cocktail. Even though you're still a kid, I figured you could use a drink..."
Alfred hesitated, curiosity mingling with uncertainty, before bringing the glass to his lips. He slowly took a sip and immediately coughed it out in disgust. Charles laughed in amusement, his laughter breaking the tension in the pub and lightening the mood.
"You'll grow a taste for it soon enough, boy. Drink. Alcohol is getting more rare nowadays."
Alfred managed a tentative smile, thanking Charles for his consideration before cautiously taking another sip. Each swallow felt like drowning his tongue in motor oil, but he welcomed the warmth spreading through his body. As Alfred sipped, the jingle of keys being withdrawn from Charles' pocket caught his attention.
"Could I ask you to stay for tonight, Alfred? There's something I would like to show you, but you must keep it a secret."
Alfred tilted his head in confusion, pondering Charles' question carefully before nodding. He had nowhere else to go, and nothing left to lose but his conviction.
"Of course. You kept The Resistance a secret, so I won't talk about yours. What did you want to show me?"
Charles grinned widely and made his way over to the locked door next to the bar.
"You'll see. I think you'll like it very much." Charles selected a key from his keyring and unlocked the door, holding it open as he beckoned Alfred over. "Come and lend me a hand."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. The darkness beyond the door concealed whatever awaited him, leaving him uncertain. Yet, his intuition reassured him that he could trust Charles. Downing the remainder of his drink, he slid off the barstool and approached the open doorway.