It's often said that as you grow older the world around you starts to lose its colors if this is true then what if someone lives long enough, will their world turn grey...
...
Rain drummed along the tavern's ceiling, filling the room with a thin gray haze and a musty smell that made the decently sized room feel a bit cramped. Lamps placed along the walls hissed with bright white aether-flame, lighting up the gloomy atmosphere. The tables were filled with all sorts of people arguing about the recent aether-stone prices, border tariffs or politics. In the corner alongside the bar-counter the sound of a violin tried to rise above the chatter but was ultimately drowned by the constant chatter.
Then the door burst open.
A teenage boy of about sixteen fumbled inside, his boots wet with rain, hands clutching a letter high above his head. "I did it!"
He shouted- "I got in! The new military academy picked me."
Half the patrons turned, a few groaned, others laughed and whistled.
"Good for you, brat" called the bartender, polishing a glass with a rag blackened by years of work. "Weren't you parroting last month that you'll stop soldiering to become a poet?"
"Poetry can wait till peace" the boy said, still catching his breath. "General Maren himself signed my approval. I'll be the greatest strategist Andia has ever had."
The bartender quipped "Then you'd best start by strategizing how to pay for that broken chair you owe me."
Laughter rippled throughout the room. The boy blushed, then fired back with mock indignation, bantering the way sons do with fathers who aren't theirs. Someone bought him a mug of ale he took a big swig and then toasted them all, talking too fast, his blue eyes filled with light and a promise of the future.
Outside, the heavy rain turned into a light drizzle.
When at last he turned to leave, he shouted over his shoulder, "I'll see you all when I've become the greatest strategist, Edwin Flint. Don't forget my name."
When he turned back, he ran straight into a man standing in front of him.
The impact knocked Edwin back. "Ah-sorry, sir" he said, looking up.
The stranger stood taller than him by a head, the first thing Edwin noticed was that the man's eyes were gray, not the gray of steel but of old ashes, dull and unreflective. They didn't stand out at a glance but had this sense of gravity behind them that was hard to ignore. Beneath the hood of a travel-worn cloak, the face was pale, almost colorless, as though time itself had leeched it dry.
"Sorry I was a bit distracted" Edwin murmured, for some reason feeling a bit uneasy.
The man blinked once, slowly. Then just slowly nodded his head stepping aside to let Edwin pass.
The tavern light caught on the edge of his cloak, revealing strange symbols half mechanical, half sigil, like diagrams from forgotten alchemical texts. For an instant Edwin felt a mysterious pull at him, as if the space around the stranger resisted him, like he was facing an ancient relic.
"Are you new to Kareth?" Edwin asked, trying to overcome his instinct.
The man's eyes shifted toward him, his voice calm and strangely empty. "No. Only passing by..."
Something about that answer made Edwin dubious, passing by where? Kareth was one of the largest cities of Andia and yet the man said it as if cities were only stations on a track that never ended.
"Well," Edwin said, forcing his inquisitive thoughts back, "good luck, traveler. May the skies stay clear for you."
He started down the steps, but his curiosity and instincts tugged at him again.
"Hey—if you don't mind me asking, what's your name?"
The man paused at that question, staring straight at Edwin. The lasting silent stare was starting to make Edwin feel very uneasy, when the man finally replied
"Apollo"
Edwin finally relaxed he grinned and said "I'm Edwin. Maybe when I'm a strategist I'll see you again. You look like you've seen plenty of wars."
"I've seen enough" Apollo said.
They ended up walking in the same direction. The street outside was crowded with aether powered carriages moving busily along the road, various metal pipes hissed from the sides of buildings, releasing bursts of steam occasionally. Numerous posters were plastered over the walls: ENLIST FOR GLORY – DEFEND THE WESTERN FRONT.
Edwin glanced at one and puffed out his chest.
"Soon that'll be me," he said. "They say the new rifles can channel aether directly and fire without any gunpowder. I have always dreamed about using real magic tech now I'll finally get my chance."
Apollo's gaze followed the poster. "Magic..." he repeated quietly, as though it triggered some bitter nostalgia "You still call it that?"
"Of course, though the professors call it 'aether energy' but it's still magic just refined." Edwin grinned. "You should visit the labs at the academy, they say they've even stored raw aether so anyone can use it."
Apollo's face remained unreadable, but something flickered behind his eyes, a shadow of recognition or regret. "Stored" he murmured. "Ah so that's what comes next."
Edwin just laughed, unsure why the words unsettled him. "You sound like an old scholar, were you a researcher in the army once?"
"Once..." Apollo said "probably..."
They turned a corner as the city opened into the main square, where the clock-tower loomed above a marketplace closing for the night. Rain pooled between the cobbles forming clear puddles which reflected the light from gas-lamps.
Edwin kept glancing at Apollo, there was something about the man's movement it was too smooth, too silent following a perfect rhythm like an alchemical relic going through motions.
"So..." Edwin said, half teasing, "if you're a veteran, do you have any advice for a future master strategist"
Apollo suddenly paused causing Erwin to nearly trip over, that's when he realized Apollo had halted mid-stride.
Apollo looked up at the clock-tower, watching its hands ticking toward midnight.
"Don't chase after wars..." he said finally. "They'll find you soon enough."
Edwin frowned. "I don't understand, what do you mean?"
"You'll know soon enough..." Apollo said.
"Every era thinks its wars will end differently but they never do..."
The clock struck twelve and a deep, metallic gong reverberated through the rain. For an instant Edwin saw, or he thought he saw, the rain around Apollo shimmer with faint light. The smell of ozone touched the air, and beneath it, something older like burned wood, wet soil, blood.
He blinked, and it was gone.
"You talk like you've seen it happen" Edwin said, trying to diffuse the oppressive atmosphere.
Apollo's eyes seem have wandered into the past as he shakes his head and says "I wish I hadn't..."
Then turning towards the alley bordering the square he gives Edwin a final look
"Goodnight, Edwin"
Edwin had a swarm of questions in his mind, but the words were caught in his throat. Apollo stepped into the alley as the mist swallowed him. Only the faint echo of his boots remained, which eventually faded, leaving the soft hissing of steam and the ticking of the tower.
Edwin stood there for a long time, hands in his pocket clutching his letter the paper damp at the edges. He tried to shake off the unease which took hold of him telling himself that it was just his nerves, and Apollo was just messing with him, tomorrow he would leave for the academy. He had no reason to think of Apollo again.
Above, lightning flared behind the clouds, illuminating the skyline with factories, smokestacks, and for an instant, a figure on the roof opposite the alley, the same cloak, unmoving, eyes like dull ash and then the darkness reclaimed the city.
On a rooftop, Apollo traced down his hood glinting in the weak gaslight, unfastened a small, tarnished locket from around his neck and opened it staring at the empty slot, whatever had once been there a portrait, symbol or memory was long gone.
He closed it again, "Ambition..." he whispered, as if reciting some long-forgotten spell lost in deep though.
Watching the distant clock-tower, its gears clicking within the light haze. In its rhythm he heard an echo of the past, of marching feet, the thunder of cannons, voices chanting names that belonged to centuries already buried for a moment his hand tightened on the locket, as though trying to hold back time itself.
The rain fell harder again, steam rose from the pipes, wrapping around him like a cloak. When a patrol carriage rumbled past, its searchlight swept past the roof top, but Apollo was long gone.