The following day, Scylla and Charles accompanied Alfred to the train station. Alfred kept Scylla's sketched map close, tucked safely in his shirt pocket. Before the train's arrival, Charles leaned in discreetly, slipping a folded note into Alfred's hand.
"When you reach Markovia, write to us at this address. Use no other," Charles instructed.
Alfred unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the address. He recognized it instantly. It was to the outskirts of the empire—the impoverished colonies, a place teeming with survivors from recent invasions.
"The colonies?" Alfred asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's so far from the city. Won't it be a bother?"
Scylla shook her head, her voice steady but low. "The empire doesn't bother to monitor letters coming in or out of the colonies. They see the people there as harmless and easily controlled. We can use the colonies' weakness to our advantage."
Alfred nodded, seeing the logic, though a pang of guilt lingered. He glanced at Charles, concern etched on his face. "But, Charles… won't traveling there strain your health?"
Charles gave a faint, reassuring smile. "I'll manage. I promised your father I'd do everything I could to support you. Also," he added, squeezing Alfred's shoulder, "be vague in your letters. We'll read between the lines."
Alfred pocketed the note, pressing it against the map already in his shirt. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the anxiety he tried to mask. Scylla noticed and stepped closer, her voice softening.
"Don't worry, Alfie. I'll be helping Charles." she said, her gaze steady. "I'll find a way for us to communicate more freely. Until then, trust me."
The train's whistle echoed through the station, cutting through their conversation. The three of them fell silent, the anticipation of the moment settling heavily on their shoulders. Scylla sighed, her voice wavering slightly as she broke the silence.
"Take care of yourself, Alfie. Get there safely."
Alfred's chest tightened at the sight of their worried faces. Without thinking, he pulled them both into a tight embrace.
"Charles. Scylla. Thank you. For everything," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
As he turned to board the train, Charles's lip quivered.
"W-wait!" Charles's voice cracked as he called out, causing Alfred to halt and turn back. The desperation in Charles's eyes was raw and unfiltered.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Charles's voice wavered. "You're still just a child. It's not too late to turn back. You can still live a peaceful life."
The plea struck Alfred deeply. For a moment, doubt gnawed at him. He looked between Charles and Scylla, both waiting anxiously for his response. His heart twisted painfully.
What if I can't make a difference?
What if I fail to even make it to the border?
What would their deaths be for?
Being here, stifled and bounded, it would be a frustrating—regretful life he must live. And he simply can't. Not when the demons who stole everything from him still walk this Earth.
Even if it's just one, he wanted more than anything to rid the world of the imperials.
...
Rid the world of the… imperials?
Alfred's eyes flickered over to Scylla. Her eyes were filled with worry and suspense for his choice. The blood of the demons who murdered his mother coursed in her. Yet she risked so much, offering him her map, her help. Why? How much has Charles told her? Did she pity him? Or did she see something in him he didn't?
Alfred's stomach twisted into knots.
The train's whistle blew again. Flashes of his mother's lifeless feet dangling in the air crossed his vision and the sound of the whistle was replaced by distant cheers as his mother's neck broke from the noose. As if swayed by her ghost, Alfred couldn't untangle the bitterness from the gratitude. It burned, a mixture of rage and confusion that only deepened his resolve.
"Sorry, Charles. I have to."
Alfred managed a small wave as the train doors began to close. He saw Charles's eyes tearing up as he came to terms with Alfred's decision. Scylla raised a hand, saddened that a new friend had to leave after such a short time, but nonetheless happy that Alfred is chasing his ideals. Charles silently stood rooted to the platform, watching as the train pulled away.
Alfred slumped into an open seat, hugging his backpack tightly to his chest. The excitement he had initially felt about this journey was giving way to a gnawing unease. He stared out the window, watching the city blur past as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. His mind wandered back to Scylla and the contradiction she represented. He didn't know if he could ever trust her fully.
He was about to doze off when the sound of raised voices jerked him back to attention.
Two imperial soldiers were at the far end of the car accosting a young boy about Alfred's age. The boy had olive skin and curly hair, his accent marking him as someone from the colonies. The soldiers barked commands at him, yanking his arm roughly.
"Empty your pockets! Identification, now!" one of them snarled.
The boy complied, fumbling with shaking hands to produce his papers. They snatched them without care, rifling through his belongings and scattering them on the floor. The boy's lip quivered, his eyes darting around for help that wasn't coming. The soldiers smirked cruelly, their disdain evident.
Once satisfied, they shoved the boy aside and made their way down the car. Alfred's pulse quickened. He clutched his backpack tighter to block the outline of the map through the fabric of his shirt. If they searched him now, he would be absolutely fucked. He lowered his eyes, trying to make himself invisible. To his relief, they barely glanced at him as they passed.
As the soldiers exited at the next stop, Alfred exhaled shakily. He glanced back at the boy, now kneeling to collect his scattered belongings. His hands trembled as he picked up tattered papers and broken trinkets. Alfred's stomach churned. He knew the truth: if he had looked like that boy, he would have been treated the same way.
He hesitated, then got up and approached the boy.
"Here," Alfred said softly, kneeling to help. The boy looked up, his wide, tearful eyes full of surprise.
"Thank you," the boy whispered, his voice barely audible.
Alfred handed him the last of his belongings, feeling a swell of anger and resolve.
This was the world he had to change.
"Hey... kid."
The voice sent a chill down Alfred's spine. He turned slowly to see the same two imperial soldiers standing right behind him with intense glares aimed solely at him. Panic surged through Alfred and his mind raced.
No… they had left. Why are they back?
The soldiers loomed over him, their expressions twisted with irritation.