After climbing back up the edge of the riverbed, Elías trudged his way back toward the village of Eddervosté,
his damp robes clinging to his skin and his legs heavy with fatigue. But he did not care, for the scroll was tucked securely inside his robes, pressed against his chest as though it were his very heart.
Elías had lingered too long by the bed of the river, lost in thoughts of the clay and its mythical potential.
The sky above him was beginning to lighten, the deep blues of night softening into gray. The roosters would soon announce the dawn, and with it, the day's obligations.
When he had finally reached his father's cottage, Elías slipped inside as quietly as humanly possible. His father was still asleep, sprawled out across his bed, with the faint stink of wine still lingering in the morning air.
Elías moved stealthily up the stairs, and into the corner of his room, lifting a loose plank from under his bed, and sliding the rolled-up scroll beneath it. He patted the wood gently, as though reassuring himself it was safe, then sat down for a brief moment to catch his breath.
But rest would not come for him today.
As the sun continued to rise, the weight of the day ahead pressed down heavily upon him, and soon enough, the distant crowing of the roosters reminded him of his daily duties.
With a resigned sigh, he pulled himself up, splashed his face with water from a cracked basin, and left the cottage for the town's Inn, where he worked stocking coal in the boiler room;
The broiler room was often sweltering, even in the early hours of the morning as the thick haze of smoke hung in the air, and the scent of roasting meat clung to every surface. Elías's task was simple yet grueling: ..Keep the fire stoked and ensure the spits turned evenly. It was a job no one wanted, and it paid very little, but it provided just enough to keep his father's stash of cheap booze and wine flowing, and most days, that was enough to avoid the wrath of his father's prosthetic fists.
As Elías worked, feeding logs into the roaring flames, the sound of laughter echoed down the narrow stairwell leading to the broiler room. He froze, his stomach sinking as he recognized voices all too familiar.
It was the other young adult workers; Jonas, Darris, and Lallia. Ever since they were kids, the three of them always made a point to torment Elías whenever they could spare the time, especially from their duties upstairs.
"Well, if it isn't the little ashn' boy!" Jonas sneered as he appeared in the doorway, his burly body and broad shoulders blocking out the light. Behind him was flanked Darris, whose wiry frame gave him the look of a dying weasel, and Lallia, whose sharp tongue was as infamous as her constant mocking laugh.
"Keeping the fires warm for us, are you, dear Elías?" Darris added, with a grin as cold as ice. "*Hahaha* Good. We wouldn't want your beloved father freezing his stumps off tonight now would we."
Lilla snickered, leaning against the doorframe. "Speaking of which, how's dear old dad? Still trying to drink himself into thinking he's got legs? *Hahaha*"
Elias kept his head down, focusing on the fire. He knew better than to respond to them, for any retort would only fuel their taunts.
"Oi, sh*t-stain We're talking to you," Jonas said, stepping closer to Elías as he grabbed a dirty spatula with half-cooked meat on it, and held it near Elias's face. "Hey, You ever think you'll end up like this.. Just some half-done piece of flesh waitin' to be gobbled up?
Hells, Maybe that's why your mom kicked it, eh? Couldn't stand the sheer sight of you!" he exclaims before throwing that utensil in Elías's face.
Elias flinched at first, his hands clenched into fists. ..But he didn't move, he didn't even dare speak, because he knew..
that if he did, it would only make things worse. The fire crackled, its heat biting at his skin, but the sting of their words was worse.
"Leave him, Jonas," Lilla said with mock pity. "Poor thing's got enough to deal with. What with being the village freak and all." She laughed, and the others joined in, their voices bouncing off the stone walls.
They left him there after a while, their laughter fading as they climbed back up the stairs to the Inn's main floor.
Elías remained by the fire, his chest heaving as he fought back tears. But he couldn't afford to cry.. not here, not now.
When the morning shift ended, Elías grabbed his father's daily brews, and dragged himself home, his body aching from the heat and his spirit weighed down by the cruelty he endured. As he stepped into the cottage, his father stirred, his bloodshot eyes glaring at him.
"You're late, again!" the old man growled, his voice rough with drink. He reached for his cup, realized it was empty, and scowled. "What'd you bring me?"
Elias set the two bottles of wine he'd purchased on the table without a word to his father. Immediately his father grabbed one of the bottles with his remaining hand, muttering under his breath as he uncorked The bottle with his teeth.
The man's artificial limbs, crude and poorly fitted due to wear and tear, clanked against the table as he moved.
"What, You think you're better than me?!" his father spat suddenly, his eyes narrowing. "Sneaking out at night like that, like some kinda thief? You think I don't know what you're up to boy?"
"I.. I wasn't sneaking out," Elias stammered, his heart pounding as he searched for an excuse his father would believe, ..but it was of no avail.
"Liar!" his father roared, swinging one of his prosthetic legs toward him. The metal heel caught Elías across the shoulder, sending him stumbling backward. "You're nothing but a liar and a curse, boy.
You should've died that day along with your mother!"
Paris began to form behind his eyes, but Elias didn't respond… He couldn't.
He simply picked himself up back to his feet, retreating to his room upstairs as his father continued to rant and rave.
Elías's shoulder throbbed, but he did his best to endure the pain, his thoughts drifting once more to the scroll beneath his bed. **Someday..,** he thought, clutching his arms around himself.
**..Someday soon, I'll create something that will make them all regret the way they've treated me! After that I'll leave this accursed village and finally, I'll be free.**