The first kick came with a laugh.
It sent him sprawling against the wall, steel ribs humming under the impact. The sound was swallowed by the rain leaking from the vents above...a constant, thin drizzle that turned the alley into a vein of smoke and light.
Oil shimmered across the cobblestone pavement, catching the lamplight like spilled gold. It polled around Alain's hands as he pushed himself upright, slow and steady, gray hair falling into his eyes.
A voice slurred above him.
"Gotta give it to you, ash-head. You people don't break easy."
He didn't answer at first. His breath came shallow; fog curled from his mouth, faintly red.
"You're drunk," he muttered. "Go home."
That earned him another kick.
Pain flared through his ribs. He swallowed the sound that rose to his throat. Their laughter filled the space where his voice should have been.
From the end of the alley, through the curtain of rain, someone watched. A girl.
Pale beneath the hood, still as porcelain. Her hand clutched something at her chest, a pendant glinting faintly with each strike that landed.
When the noble finally grew bored, his friends dragged him away. Their boots splashed through the gutter water, their laughter fading into the mist.
Alain straightened slowly. Blood dripped from his lip and disappeared into the oil at his feet.
He looked once toward the girl. "Shouldn't be out here if you don't belong here," he said, voice flat.
"...Wait!"
Her fingers trembled. The pendant slipped from her grasp, hitting the wet stone with a muted ring. By the time she looked up again, he was gone.
***
The bell above the door chimed once as Alain pushed it open. A small, brittle sound, out of place in a city currently washed by rain.
Warm air folded around him at once, damp and fragrant. Which made the rain's chill on his clothes stick on his skin even more.
Ether lamps lined the ceiling, their glass throbbing with soft gold light.
Beneath them, color existed again: crimson lilies beaded with condensation, blue-veined orchids whispering beneath the hum of rune filters.
Near the counter, a girl was watering a row of pale flowers streaked with violet. Her movements were slow and steady, a rhythm worn smooth by habit. Her white hair swayed naturally as she moved from flower to flower.
She turned at the sound of his step, eyes tracing the dried blood along his jaw.
"You're bleeding again."
Alain tried for a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine, Lia."
She sighed softly, not exasperated...just tired of hearing it.
Setting the watering can aside, she reached for the towel hanging by the counter.
When her fingers brushed his chin, he flinched. The sudden warmth had surprised him. She was careful, almost reverent, dabbing the blood like it might stain the air if she wasn't gentle enough.
"You always say that," she murmured.
He tried to look away, but she caught his jaw lightly, forcing him still for one last swipe. When she was done, she folded the towel neatly and set it aside.
"At least lie better next time."
Alain exhaled, the faintest laugh caught between guilt and relief. "I'll work on it."
Another voice cut through the room, low, rough, and threaded with dry amusement.
"What happened this time?"
Mara stepped out from behind a rack of lilies, shears in hand.
She was the shop's owner--part florist, part hub for half the city's rumors. The shop is well known amongst noble women and frequented by many. Rumors came as a little bonus.
"Is that you, Alain? You here with my replacements?"
Alain blinked, confused for half a second before remembering. "Right. About that."
"Don't tell me Henrick forgot. I paid for that order a week ago." Mara sighed.
"He didn't forget," Alain said quickly. "He said I'd handle it fine, no need for a replacement."
Mara narrowed her eyes. "Handle it how? You come empty-handed and tell me you're a plumber now?"
Alain rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "Not exactly. I can seal the joint with heat. It'll hold."
Mara's expression didn't change, but the corner of her mouth tightened.
"You're sure?"
Alain nodded once, "Henrick was. Said it'd hold."
She exhaled through her nose, setting the shears down.
"Fine. Just make it clean. If my house floods again, just know Henrick is getting a complaint letter from me."
"I'll take care of it," he said.
Lia's voice softened from across the counter.
"Need any help?"
Alain paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. Rain streaked the glass, the light outside dull and gray.
"Yeah," he said after a moment, "Keep me dry?"
Lia's lips curved faintly.
"You bet."
She set her watering can aside, wiped her hands on her apron, and followed him out.
***
The rain softened into mist as they stepped out behind the shop. Water ran from the eaves in thin, silver threads, tapping steadily against the cobblestone.
The gutter above them leaked at the seam, the drip sharp and constant, cutting through the quiet hum of the street.
"Same crack as last time," Alain said, tilting his head back.
"Henrick welds too fast," Lia replied. "It was bound to split."
He climbed the short ladder, one hand braced on the cold brick.
"Can you do your usual?"
Lia nodded. She raised her palm, slow and steady.
On the back of her right hand, the mark embedded on the back of her hand began to glow and fill with faint blue light.
ᛚ — Laguz. (Water)
The mark pulsed once, and the rain obeyed. Droplets twisted mid-fall, veering outwards in graceful arcs that met again beyond the roof's edge.
Within the circle of her calm, they were dry.
Alain whistled under his breath. "You make it look easy."
"And you make it look like you don't have one yourself," she quipped back.
He pressed his own left palm to the joint in the gutter. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the mark embedded on his hand glowed with bright orange-ish red light.
< — Kenaz. (Fire)
The rune burned brighter, heat threading into the metal until the hiss drowned out the rain. Steam coiled upward, soft at first, then glowing faintly where it met the blue curve of Lia's shield.
"Still burns too hot, you might have to come back with a proper welder," Lia murmured.
"It holds," he said.
"For now."
He smiled faintly. "You never trust my work."
"Because it keeps proving me right."
He drew his hand back; the heat faded, leaving a clean, sealed line of copper. Light faded slowly from the mark on his hand, its afterglow flickering once before disappearing.
Lia lowered her arm. The air relaxed, and the blue bubble curved the rain nicely into the gutter.
For a moment, they stood together, watching the water slide neatly from Lia's bubble to the repaired gutter.
"Not bad," Lia said. "You're almost good enough for a license."
Alain gave a short laugh. "Almost. Too bad we don't have the money to pay for one."
"Mara and Henrick might vouch for us."
He shook his head. "And say what? Their two apprentices, who were illegally using runes in the first place, should take the Authority's test?"
Lia leaned against the doorway, watching the gutter drip in a clean rhythm. "Still," she said, quieter now, "I can't imagine doing this forever."
Alain stayed by the ladder, his hands tucked into his coat pockets.
"Maybe that's the point. Not everyone gets to chase something better."
She glanced over. "You don't believe that."
"I believe in what's real," he said. "Food on the table. A roof that doesn't leak. The Hearth, warm through winter. That's enough."
She gave him a sidelong glance. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what?"
She smiled faintly, then fell quiet. The light from the shop spilled across the wet stone, catching on the droplets that slid off her sleeve.
She looked down at her hands, the right one marked by Laguz, still faintly glowing, and the other… hidden beneath her glove.
"Have you ever thought about it? About what happened to us."
He glanced over. "What?"
"When this appeared in our hands. It feels like we were given a second chance. You know, by some kind of higher being who pities us," she joked.
Alain snorted. "If a higher being was watching, it sure picked the wrong people."
"Maybe that's why," she said. "Maybe it doesn't care about right people and wrong people. Maybe it just wanted to see what we'd do with it."
He gave her a look. "You sound like Mara when she's trying to sell wilted flowers."
Lia laughed, brushing her hair back. "I'm serious. What if it wasn't just random? What if we were meant to do something with these?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know." She lifted her gloved hand, watching the rain catch against the leather. "Something that matters. Something better than patching gutters and selling flowers."
"Things happen for a reason, ya' know, Alain."
No answers except a sigh was given as Alain made his way down the ladder.
"Hey! Hey, Alain, wait up!"
"Yeah," he muttered. "Maybe that's what scares me."