Journey of the Son of Ares

"He's been gone for longer than expected," Gadreel remarked as he walked down the city streets of the capital with Sherridan by his side. It was getting late, and the streets were starting to empty.

"Well, he is supposed to still be a teenager. He needs time to train. If you're right and think he will try to wipe out the Numen branch of Boeria, he won't just need to be 'not the obvious suspect' but also strong enough to do it," Sherridan commented.

Gadreel looked up at the cloudless, light-blue sky. "Oh, he's strong enough. He's the son of Ares. And he has companions as well."

"Are you really sure he's who you think he is?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. The bounty description was understandably wrong about his age. Also, nobody except the royals of the Great Zalfarian Empire has golden hair, so it's rather obvious that it's him. Nobody who's a part of the most prestigious bloodline in the world would be in stealing from insignificant noble houses if they weren't the secret love child of the Hero of Zalfari."

Sherridan snorted. "Well, if he's so strong, why is he hiding?"

Gadreel moved his eyes around as he answered, "He's preparing for something bigger. I'm just not quite sure what that is."

"You think he could be preparing to start a war against Numen?"

Gadreel yawned. "Could be."

Then something grabbed his leg. He pulled away in an instant with a murderous look in his eyes. It was just a homeless man sitting in a lotus position.

"Hey, you've got some nice clothes there, youngin," the vagabond blathered. "Got some spare change?"

Gadreel put a hand up to stop Sherridan from disappearing the man. "What do you plan to do with the money I give you? Be honest," Gadreel said.

The vagabond laughed hoarsely, his fingers going through his scruffy beard. "I'll buy me some ale."

Gadreel revealed a wide smile and put a hand on Sherridan's shoulder. "Could you go get us some alcohol, dear? The best money can buy."

Sherridan snorted once again, and in the next moment, she was gone. Gadreel heaved a sigh and went to sit down next to the vagabond, who was rubbing his eyes. He was probably wondering if he actually just saw the purple-haired woman disappear.

"I appreciate it, youngin," the vagabond said. "You're a real blessing."

Gadreel laughed. "A blessing, eh? Don't hear that often."

"Oh, I'm sure you do. You're one generous boy."

Gadreel swung his head from side to side. "I give and I take. Nothing noble or ignoble about it, the way I see it."

"A philosopher you are," the vagabond said with a cough.

Gadreel dug the single most important bronze coin out of his pocket and started fiddling with it. "I hear that a lot these days."

"Wouldn't have expected, lookin' at yer fancy self."

Gadreel looked down. He was just wearing some slacks and a white shirt. He didn't have his golden earrings on, either.

"What do you mean?" Gadreel asked the vagabond to elaborate.

"I've heard philosophers to be the 'live in a barrel without clothes' type. Sinful earthly possessions and all that."

"Oh, yeah. I've heard about a guy like that, too. His name started with a D, I believe. You him?"

"Me?" The vagabond burst into laughter or a coughing fit. Gadreel couldn't really tell. He wouldn't have been surprised if the man dropped dead right then. "No, I'm not him," the vagabond said.

"Oh, yeah, you're missing the barrel," Gadreel pondered with his hand on his chin.

Again, the vagabond laughed. Gadreel was a pretty funny guy in his own opinion, but the vagabond was exaggerating.

"I'm not this way because of thoughts, but the lack of thoughts, youngin."

"Makes sense," Gadreel said and turned to face the direction where Sherridan had gone. "Ah, there comes our alcohol."

Gadreel lifted his hand, and in the next moment, there was a fine bottle of whiskey in it. "Thank you," Gadreel said before removing the lid of the bottle.

He then poured the whiskey into his hand, where two fine glasses made of pure essence appeared in an instant. He then handed one glass to the vagabond and handed the whiskey back to Sherridan who sat in front of him and the vagabond, forming a triangle.

"You're a magician," the vagabond said with a shaky voice.

"I dabble," Gadreel said with a chuckle.

Sherridan materialized her own glass and poured out some whiskey. "What are we drinking to?"

"To alcoholism," the vagabond suggested.

"To honesty," Gadreel said with a smile.

"To alcoholism and honesty, it is," Sherridan said, raising her glass.

"Cheers!" the vagabond said.

Gadreel then proceeded to wordlessly down the glass. What followed was a coughing streak that lasted for about a minute.

Sherridan watched with a smile, and when it finally ended, she said, "You're supposed to sip that."

"Oh, thanks for the heads-up," Gadreel said, wiping his mouth.

"You don't drink much, do you, youngin?"

"Not really, no. There's no thrill in it for me."

"You one strange fella,"

"That he is," Sherridan commented.

"You married?" the vagabond asked.

"Kind of," Sherridan responded. "We spend our days in each other's company, even though we mostly hate each other. We also continue to stay together for some inexplicable reason. What is marriage if not that?"

Gadreel laughed and pointed his thump at Sherridan, "She's my bodyguard. I'm in a dangerous profession, and despite my magician skills, I need protection."

"How'd you meet?"

"My former boss paid her to assassinate me," Gadreel said. "I talked her out of it with my silver tongue, of course." Gadreel stuck his tongue out and pointed to it. The vagabond leaned closer and squinted. Gadreel put his tongue back in his mouth and finished his story, "She's been under my employment ever since."

The vagabond ran his fingers through his scruffy beard with narrowed eyes. "I didn't see no silver on yer tongue."

Gadreel rubbed his forehead. "It's an idiom. It means I'm good at talking."

"You talk, and she fights?" the vagabond asked and turned to Sherridan. "You're the man of the house, then," the vagabond said, sipping his whiskey for the first time.

Sherridan flexed and pecked her biceps one at a time. The vagabond's eyes went wide. Sherridan probably thought he was impressed with her non-existent muscles, but quickly realized it was the whiskey.

"Good alcohol?" Gadreel asked.

"You kidding?" the vagabond said. "It's like God himself pissed into my cup."

Gadreel laughed. "Glad you like it."

"I love it!" the vagabond declared for all to hear. "If you can afford this, no sweat; I don't get why you don't drink it all the time."

"Probably so that he won't turn into you." Sherridan laughed on her turn.

"As I said, Alcohol really doesn't bring me joy," Gadreel explained.

"Then what do you live for?" the vagabond asked.

"I made a promise when I was young," Gadreel answered. He could see Sherridan roll her eyes.

"You're still young," the vagabond said.

"Younger," Gadreel specified and poured more whiskey.

"Well, what was this promise?"

Gadreel leaned closer with a serious expression. "That's none of your business." Then the sound of a guitar being played in the distance hit Gadreel's ears. Immediately, Gadreel exploded with joy. He grinned at the man and handed him the whiskey. "Here, you can have the rest. I got to go."

"Ah, right. Thank you," the vagabond said with a startled but respectful nod.

Gadreel jumped to his feet, stopping the materialization of the cups, and ran off. Sherridan followed.

They soon came up to a man about Gadreel's age. He wasn't a beggar by any means. He looked like a university student.

"What are you doing out here?" Gadreel asked.

The young man looked up and stopped playing. "Uh, I'm playing the guitar."

"Really? That's crazy," Gadreel said and extended his hand. "Give it here."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Your guitar. Give me your guitar."

"What? No."

"Come on. Give it. I won't steal it, I promise. You know, I've never broken a promise in my whole life," Gadreel said, but seeing as the young man was still holding onto his guitar, he added a little incentive. He took a 10-gold banknote out of his pocket and handed it to the young man. "Here, I'm buying the guitar."

"Are you serious? Ah, here. Take it." The young man handed the guitar over after getting the banknote in his hands. "Why did you want the guitar?"

Gadreel looked at the young man like he was an idiot. "To play a song, of course." He then sat down and began.

First, he warmed up a little by moving his fingers through the strings and letting the tunes climb. When he was done warming up, he left silence linger for a moment before beautiful tunes emerged into reality.

It started high and went low before climbing peacefully into a metaphorical flight of stairs that it glided back and forth in before spinning around and spreading out like a blooming flower. The last ten seconds of the music were strictly major. Then it all ended in a minor tone. However, at that point, the minor tone didn't sound so sad. It was fitting. Perfect.

The song lasted a couple of minutes, but by the time Gadreel finished playing, tens of people had gathered around to listen.

Gadreel looked at the guitar with an expression that maybe looked like it had substance, but really it was empty. Then he lifted his head, and a round of applause resounded.

"That was beautiful," the young man said in awe.

"Not as beautiful as it once was," Gadreel said without turning his gaze.

He stood up with a charming smile and bowed to the audience before handing the guitar back to the young man.

"Didn't you buy it?" the young man asked.

"I did, and now I'm donating it back to you," he said, letting go of the guitar and walking away into the crowd.