Trinkets of Salvation

The sound of feet hitting the pavement was made more evident by the recent rinse of rain, which left a calm that could be seen in the droplets sprinkled over the concrete. He welcomed the change in weather, yet, it did beg the question if this unironic instance of nature mocking life was directed solely at him. Their purity was unequivocally the last occurrence of such a sentiment left; untouched by the tension that usually overwhelmed the heavy air.

His heart thundered in his chest, his lungs burned with the cold night air. A veil of mist swirled and reformed around his feet as he ran through the abandoned side streets, the water from the rain soaking the bottom of his pants. Turning a corner, he paused to catch his breath. He clutched at his chest, only partially from his exhausting escape. While he could feel the weight of sleep deprivation weighing on his body and mind, it was of little concern to him. All that mattered was that he could still find the solid metal core of the locket beneath his coat.

Joel pulled the chain of the locket to free it from the prison of cloth it was tangled in. With shaking hands, he missed the unlocking mechanism twice, his urgency sapping him of the dexterity he needed to open it. Finally, the third attempt opened the stubborn latch, and he felt some of his stress evaporate. Until the pain started. Even when he had known about its effects, how it would store a seemingly endless amount of energy, but the consequences for using it when empty...He thought he’d prepared, thought he could handle it but... The pain was indescribable. If there was a hell, he thought, it would pale in comparison to this.

He sucked in air through his teeth, but managed to avoid crying out in exchange for clenching his jaw so hard he thought he would crack a tooth. Still, Joel was thankful for the pain. It would help him draw out the last vestiges of strength he had, and allow him to outlast his pursuers. He knew that his name would be worth less than dirt after his betrayal, but Joel knew what justice was, and the Peace Guard had long since abandoned it. He couldn’t let them continue with their atrocities, but it was for that same reason he could not let them capture him. If the Peace Guard had abandoned Justice, then mercy had been gone from their ranks for centuries. He wouldn’t survive their self-righteous fury, and he was the only chance the world had of being freed from the locket. Of being free from tyranny.

The vicious Whitewater Run was close. He only had a little further to go to reach...not safety, never again would he be safe, but freedom. Joel could live with freedom. The sound of water crashing against water and rock rose gradually above the sound of his footsteps. But as he neared his goal, the buildings shrank, and the streets opened up. He was losing his cover. Then, all at once, the buildings stopped completely. Joel had run headlong into the courtyard of the Cyrellian Cathedral. The river called to him from the other side of the great tileworks of the cathedral, but he was not alone. Three dozen guards were filing into the courtyard from the main road of the city. They saw Joel as soon as Joel had seen them. The leader raised an alarm, and Joel let desperation drive him. The locket, still around his neck, bounced against his chest, its internal heat burning his flesh, but filling his legs with liquid fire.

He made it to the railing, and in one smooth motion, the ground fell away, and Joel was gone.