Chapter 10: Astrid's POV
2011 Words
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Almost two months later...
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"Aitana, you need to pay this month's rent," The landlord's voice cut through the thin walls of my rented room like a dull knife. I kept my back to the door, fingers pausing over the dagger I'd been sharpening.
"Aitana? Girl? You hear me?" His knuckles rapped again, harder this time.
"I heard you," I said flatly.
A pause. Then the floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight. "Well? What are you waiting for? You got the money or not?"
I exhaled through my nose and turned, scooping up the small pouch of money from the rickety table. The door opened just enough for me to slide the p*****t through the crack—never wide enough to give him a full view inside. Never enough to see the weapons laid out on the bed, or the maps pinned to the walls.
His grubby fingers snatched the pouch, and I heard the familiar clink of coins being counted. "Hmph. Late again."
"Still paid."
Another pause. I could practically hear him debating whether to push his luck. In the end, he just grunted and stomped away, his footsteps heavy on the creaking stairs.
I locked the door behind him and returned to my work.
Two months.
Two months since the attack.
Two months since I'd left the outcasts behind.
I still remembered everyone and wondered how they were. Adrineh was injured, but I was certain Ariana took care of her. Niles... he didn't want me to go, but I could never turn back.
Ever.
If I had stayed here for two months, it's because I don't care if my father comes and kills everyone; they would all deserve it. The landlord here was an asshole, who tried to get in my pants at first—a forty or fifty-something-year-old greasy man trying to have s*x with an eighteen-year-old girl.
He became hostile when he realized I would not be easy prey. I know how to fight, so putting him in his place was easy.
I'm trying to find a way to help his wife, who is suffering by his side, but every time I've tried talking to her, she quickly scurries away.
I looked at the map. I think I have a lead.
If I can find this person, I can get my phoenix back and destroy my father.
I picked up my leather jacket and left the room. I know how to move around without anybody noticing, so of course, the landlord wouldn't find out I was not in my room.
Either way, I have some protection spells around in case he does barge in. He won't know what hit him, and it will keep everything I have there safe.
It was a coincidence that I would find a lead here. This city was almost a ghost city. The only things you saw at night were drug addicts tumbling on the street walls.
The night air clung to my skin like a second layer, thick with the scent of damp concrete and something fouler—the drugs most likely, or perhaps somebody died again.
This city was a corpse, picked clean by vultures. The kind of place where people came to disappear.
Perfect for me.
I moved through the back alleys like smoke, my boots silent against the cracked pavement. Above me, flickering streetlights buzzed like dying insects, casting long shadows that seemed to twitch and writhe.
A groan came from a nearby alley. Some junkie, probably. I didn’t bother looking.
I had a destination.
The bar didn’t have a name. Just a rusted metal door and a flickering neon sign that read OPEN in sputtering red letters.
I pushed inside without hesitation.
The air hit me like a physical blow—thick with sweat, cheap liquor, and the metallic tang of blood. A few heads turned my way, eyes glinting in the dim light, but no one bothered me.
They knew better.
I slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar, where the shadows clung thickest. The bartender—a grizzled man with a scar bisecting his lip—didn’t ask what I wanted.
He just slid a glass of amber liquid toward me.
Of course, they didn't ask your age here. It didn't matter, even if they did, people would likely give you a fake ID, so why bother?
Still, I didn’t touch it.
"I’m looking for someone," I said, low enough that only he could hear.
The bartender wiped a glass with a rag that might have been clean once. "Ain’t we all."
I placed a single silver coin on the counter. It glinted under the dim light, the surface marked with a tiny, intricate flame.
His hand stilled.
Then, slowly, he leaned in. "You’re either very brave or very stupid."
"Neither," I said. "I’m just done waiting."
He exhaled through his nose, then jerked his chin toward a door at the back of the bar. "Third booth. Don’t make a scene."
I left the coin on the counter and stood.
The back room was even darker than the bar, the air thick with the cloying scent of incense. Booths lined the walls, their high backs offering the illusion of privacy.
Third booth.
A figure hunched there, shrouded in a hooded cloak. As I approached, a gnarled hand emerged from the folds of fabric, beckoning me closer.
I slid into the seat across from them.
"What do you want?" the figure asked in a raspy voice, as if they hadn't used them in ages.
I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm sure you already know what I want. Don't you?"
A dry chuckle. "Aren't you a smart little phoenix?"
I clenched my jaw. This was all the confirmation I needed. He knew what I was.
"So, going to help me?" I leaned forward. "Ancestor?"
You guessed right. I found the first phoenix.
A month ago, I came across a book. I wasn't sure if I could trust the information inside it, but since I didn't have another clue, I decided to trust my instincts.
It told the tale about the first phoenix, which would be a great, great, great, great, and many more great, grandfather to me. It said that the first phoenix was created as an act of sacrifice. A man, deeply in love with a woman, sacrificed himself after she died in the hands of an awful man. He was enraged, and thus, before he died, he asked the gods for help.
He would give them whatever they wanted if they allowed him to be reborn to avenge his beloved. It didn't matter if it burned his flesh or if he had to face immense pain; he would endure it all.
The gods admired his sacrifice, so they decided to give him the power he sought. In exchange, he could never lose control. If he did, he would turn into ash, only to be reborn over and over again.
That was how the first phoenix was born. Or at least, what the tale says.
It sounds like a bedtime story for kids, but after all, stories always have a bit of truth deep within them.
The hooded figure went completely still. For a long moment, the only sound was the distant clinking of glasses from the bar and the muffled laughter of patrons. Then, slowly, the figure reached up and pushed back the hood.
A face weathered by centuries stared back at me. His eyes burned with the same golden fire I'd once felt in my veins, though now they were dimmed, like embers clinging to life.
"You're sharper than I expected," he murmured. His voice was still rough.
"And you should be dead," I stated blankly. "How old are you again?"
A dry laugh. "Death is... complicated, for our kind."
"Then why hide?" I leaned forward. "You and I might be the last phoenixes alive, yet you decided to leave your people. The spirit left us one by one, and the ones who were 'blessed' enough to have it were feared and bullied."
He sighed. "You have no idea how the spirit works. Do you?"
I soffed. "Of course, I don't know. There isn't much information about phoenixes. I've looked, believe me, you might be my only source of information, making things more complicated."
"How so?" He asked.
I uncrossed my hands and instead pressed only one against my cheek. "How am I going to confirm everything you say? It is certainly complicated, but you are my only lead."
He chuckled softly. "That is problematic indeed," he paused. "You want to kill your father."
It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
"Of course I do, he killed my mother and somehow is using dark spirits with flames," I said.
His face suddenly paled. I didn't understand exactly why, but when I was going to ask him, a sound caught my attention.
The door of the establishment burst open. The crash of splintering wood echoed through the bar. The chatter died instantly as two bodies fell to the bar's floor.
A fight.
There was always a fight in this...
When I turned around, I realized the man had escaped.
Fuck!
It was hard to find him, and now, because of a stupid distraction, I lost him!
I cussed under my breath and stood up immediately. I had to find him; if I let him go, then I won't have the answers I want! Besides, that reaction he had when I told him about the creatures my father used to attack the hideout... It couldn't be a coincidence.
Whatever my father was doing, he had to stop, and the only person who knows what those things are is him.
"f**k, Seth, you didn't have to push them like that," I heard a soft, velvety voice, that made my knees weak say.
When I am after something, I don't lose focus.
Never.
But after I heard that voice... I couldn't help myself.
My head turned instantly, and I saw two men, identical to each other, entering the bar. My breath got caught in my throat from how handsome they were. I've never seen men that came in that size or form!
They were wolves, that much I could tell, even when I lived in the hideout. I've never seen men so ripped.
I tried to divert my gaze, but couldn't peel my eyes away from those two gods.
Oh, that was the worst part. One of them was enough to make any girl lose their mind, but there were two!
"They asked for it," The man I suspected was Seth answered nonchalantly.
When he realized the bar remained quiet, he looked around and rolled his eyes. "What? I'm sure you are used to seeing this, stoop staring!" he ordered.
Their voices were so commanding that nobody dared disobey them. All the drunks, even the ones who would cause trouble, shut up and focused on their drinks.
"Seth," The first man groaned. "I told you..."
He suddenly shut up. I couldn't help but wonder why that was.
Had they sensed something? It was plausible, as I've never seen wolves in this area. If they were here, they would be after someone.
Could that someone be me?
I quickly shook those thoughts away. I never had problems with the wolves, and I am sure my father is not working with them. I should be...
Suddenly, I felt someone yank my arm, pulling me closer. My instincts kicked in, and I punched the person square in the face. The only problem was that my punch never landed. Instead, someone had caught it in their large palm.
When I looked at who dared challenge me...
"Hello, beautiful," It was one of the men who just entered the bar!
- Writer
