君の闇私の光 (Your Dark My Light) © 2015 Gerald E Nigma
Chapter 1: Two Eyes
I remember this particular night. The air was dry, cold. No wind. Not much stirring in the streets. The moon was new. It was one of the darkest nights I’ve had. Not to mention I was alone, but I’ve been roaming the streets by myself for quite sometime now. Somehow this night felt different.
On a normal night I’d find myself walking until I could find a place to rest. Sometimes, it’s a place to eat. I’m not proud of the way I live, but it’s something I must do. To survive out here, is to know what weakness is. It hardens you. It breaks you. It becomes you. One thing that’s a constant about this way of living is that you always know who to count on. Yourself.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been wandering around. I lost track of time after the first months. Those were some trying times, they sure were. I couldn’t just act like nothing happened. I didn’t even know where to begin. All I knew was that I couldn’t stay. Whether it was out of fear or self-preservation, I knew I had to leave. I’m sure I could go back. My family’s estate was quite a ways from the city. Other than the hired help, everything was paid off. I’m the sole heir to it all.
I’m not done searching. In fact, what I’m searching for keeps slipping past me. I’ve heard rumors of a band of thieves acting as some sort of mafia. That’s whom I had originally thought killed my family, but as I uncovered some truths, they were just mere nobodies who were on the way down.
And then I heard rumors of families disappearing without a trace. I’d follow these rumors to the respective towns, but I could never find anything solid to go by. Each town just brought me more mystery and confusion. The trail was often cold. The only thing that all of these cases had in common was that these families were similar to mine. What’s the key to all of these disappearances? Why were they happening? I’m still unsure, but I must keep going.
It wasn’t until I reached Bakal, a mining town, that I had truly found something to follow. It seemed like some of the men who worked at the mines knew my father. They never asked about him though, but I was always told that he was an impressive fighter. When asked if my father had any enemies, all replies were the same, no one would dare to want to. I suppose this was of some reassurance, but that doesn’t mean someone didn’t want to.
When night fell, I roamed the streets. It was the first time I’ve ever been here. As I walked, I heard footsteps echoing behind me. But when I turned to look, there was no one in sight. These footsteps seemed to sound like they were getting closer. Yet, every time I stopped to look back, there was nothing. Maybe it was my own steps bouncing off the walls of the buildings, but I swear I felt like I was being watched.
I shrugged it off. I was alone. I have no money, nothing of value, and no one in particular to turn to. It’s just my imagination. Besides, it’s not like I couldn’t handle myself. My father trained me for circumstances like these. He wasn’t a stranger to a fight. After all, he was a renowned martial artist, having won title fights for money.
And that’s when I saw them. There were two eyes peering at me from just beyond the end of the street. In a dark corner they were staring me down, trying to gauge my movements. As I moved closer to them, they didn’t flinch. They stood still as if they’re expecting me to come nearer. Those two eyes. They felt… familiar.
As I drew closer I could make out a figure of a man. He was slender, yet muscular. Robed in a dark brown trench coat with what looks to be a suit underneath, he doesn’t seem dangerous. He looked to be in his late 30s, mid 40s. That’s about how old my father would be. Could he be an acquaintance? I never paid attention to my father’s affairs, but I don’t recall anyone coming by looking like this.
He steps out of of the darkness as I came to about 50 feet in front of him. He lunged toward me and threw a punch. I dodged it. He throws another and follows it up with a kick. I block the punch and dodge the kick. He strafes to my left. He’s quick. Another punch comes my way. I grab his arm for a throw, but he disarms me before I could finish the motion. Then he stops, looks at me and smiles.
“Not bad for a wanderer,” he stated, “but why is someone like you out on the streets like this?”
“Who are you?”, I asked, “and why did you attack me?”
“I’m surprised you don’t remember me,” he smirked, “it’s been a long time.”
“You didn’t answer my questions!” I exclaimed, “What do you want from me?”
“Hmph. My name is Vincencio Vega. I’m your uncle.” he replied, “I’m here to bring you back home.”