Chapter 2.6
âIâve heard those rumors too. That the Master of Orgel realized the Central Tower was broken and used it to blackmail Centralâso Central canât touch Orgel.â
âIsnât that pretty convincing? The rulers of the other cities seem to believe it too. The world sways without a center, just like this city. Who knows whatâll happen nextâŠâ
Xara trailed off and swallowed. Realizing his throat was dry, he looked over at Cyril. Meeting Xaraâs gaze as naturally as possible, Cyril offered a gentle smile.
âWould you like something to drink?â
âYes, even just some waterâŠâ
âUnderstood.â
As Cyril handed him a glass of ice water, Xara resumed speaking to Astor. Since continuing the topic any further would have led straight into doomsday talk, thankfully, their conversation quickly shifted to the Metronome Tower in the north.
It was about the great secret of the giant metronomeâspecifically, the rumor that the ornament at its tip was made of chimera skullâand how it was currently causing headaches due to an unprecedented snowstorm.
Cyril wiped the water off a glass with a clean cloth, furrowing his brow.
ă The Central Iron Tower broke down a long time ago, and only the King can repair it. ă
The King⊠probably referred to the dictator from before the Cataclysm.
He found it absurd that such talk was going around. The people of Central had been the first to reclaim the glories of the pre-Cataclysm world. It was full of the greediest, most self-serving people aliveâprobably the greediest in the world. There was no way a place like that would tolerate rumors undermining the power of Centralâs throne. Cyril couldnât help but let out a dry laugh.
âSo whenâs the rain supposed to start?â
Astor, perhaps tired of talking about the mysteries of the cities, muttered the question aloud like a monologue.
He hadnât expected anyone to answer, but someone did.
âWas it from 9:13? Or 9:23?â
The smooth voice didnât belong to Xara. Nor was it Cyrilâs.
Astor and Xara turned around.
They didnât know when he had gotten there, but the Uptown youth was standing there, smiling.
âI heard itâll fall at about 20 millimeters per hour for roughly three hours.â
It made sense. That level of precise forecast wasnât something you could get anywhere in Downtown. There was only one person here who could have answered that question.
Even as he instantly drew the attention of all three people, the young man showed no signs of discomfort and calmly continued.
âI heard itâll be a downpour. Looks like weâll be waiting a while. The purification process will take some time. So if youâve no reason to stay, it might be safest to leave early, sirsâŠâ
He probably wasnât someone in Uptown who often needed to be respectful in his speech. Every time he tried, there was a faint, lingering awkwardness. Even so, his tone and pronunciation were culturedâit didnât come across as unrefined at all.
Even as the moisture-heavy air swallowed other peopleâs voices, his words rang out clearly.
But to Cyril, more than the way he spoke, it was the youthâs gaze that felt meaningful.
Those deep ash-gray eyes were fixed straight on Cyril. As if whispering not to everyone presentâbut to Cyril alone.
âRainy days are ominous, after all.â
âThey are, yesâŠâ
At first, Cyril thought he might be imagining things. But the gaze was so direct, so blatant, that he couldnât pretend not to notice.
Bad feelings always turned out to be right. At least, that was how it was for Cyril.
Why else would an Uptown person show up here, in a plain, unremarkable underground bar Cyril bit the inside of his cheek lightly.
That Uptown youth had come here because of him. No doubt about it. And it wasnât for a good reason.
âDo you have business with me?â
Cyril asked with a composed face.
The youth simply smiled. A soft, ambiguous smileâneither yes nor no.
Have I met him somewhere before?
There was something strangely familiar about his demeanor. More than anything, it was the way those eyes looked at him. It reminded Cyril of someone. He paused, trying to recall. Those large, elongated gray eyes that stared at him like he was a fascinating puzzleâŠ
Thatâs where his thoughts stopped. The youth spoke.
âIt doesnât look like the other guests will leave anytime soon, and I didnât want to wait around. I did consider having another drink, but Iâm not fond of alcohol. It dulls the senses.â
ââŠI see.â
As he said, there were still a few customers left. With so many eyes and ears around, Cyril couldnât make any careless moves either.
What business could someone from Uptown nobility possibly have with him?
Trying to keep his mind calm, Cyril blinked.
The youthâs gaze dropped from Cyrilâs face, down his neck, and then to the golden ribbon hanging at his chest.
âA person.â
After a short silence, the youth suddenly muttered.
âA person?â
âI came here wondering if I could find one particular personâs whereabouts. Iâm looking for someone.â
His gaze ran over Cyrilâs neatly placed hands atop the bar counter before lifting again. Cyril instinctively leaned back, a sharp premonition running down his spine. The next moment, he let out a quiet breath. The young manâs right hand hovered over the exact spot Cyril had been standing just moments agoâjust near his shoulder and neck.
