– Zion Water

We meet again. I hope you’ve been doing well.

In this part, Carson will head to John first.

And what about Virgil? You’ll see.

After that realization, Carson hurried back upstairs. He stopped in front of John’s bedroom. The door wasn’t locked, and it opened with a creak. The room’s well-kept shelves tempted Carson’s instinct to steal something—only if the door didn’t creak, and someone wasn’t there already.

And there he was, John, who remained on his desk. His eyes remained locked on the journal, as if he didn’t hear Carson barging into his room.

Carson took a few silent steps forward, and John wasn’t even writing. He was simply holding a pen, staring blankly at the pages—he hadn’t moved at all. “John?”

John flinched as he hit Carson with his elbow, closing his journal with a flip. “Why didn’t you knock?”

Carson shrugged. “Dunno, I thought you’d hear the creak?”

“Huh, this again…” John rubbed his eyes, sighing. “What’d you want from me?”

“Remember the guy you mentioned yesterday—the one who’s messing around here five years ago?” Carson set his hands on John’s desk, looking at him in the eyes. “Will you tell me about them?”

“You meant the Crescent Squad?”

Carson was silent for a ‌moment. He didn’t recall hearing any Crescent-like names before, not even from the Sun Rage bandits, or from Ace himself. “Crescent what?”

“Crescent Squad. The bastards who were running around this eastern, attacking people here, from what I’ve heard that time. I couldn’t remember much about those guys.”

“I see, that’s useful…” Carson slumped down. “Where’d you hear that name?”

“The Ironport folks, I heard they ran away to the grasslands—Oh, wait. I think I’ve got something that might interest you.” John got out of his chair, and looked for something from a large bookshelf. Once John tiptoed and grabbed something from the top row, he turned back to Carson, holding something well-hidden in his fist. “Would you please stay outside for a moment?”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t let the Caldings see where I keep things. Now go.” John shoved Carson outside of the room, locked the door, then dragged a large shelf over to cover the window.

Once the sight of John was covered, Carson did a vulgar hand gesture at the window and leaned against the door. Since he couldn’t hear anything more subtle happening inside John’s bedroom, aside from large items being dragged around, he waited.

And he tried recalling his own memories during that attack again. He couldn’t remember a lot of stuff either, he admitted. Except for a lot of strangers running around with their magics, and waking up again with the Sun Rage bandits—it was a new start to his life, they said. Between his old life with his family, and his new life as a Sun Rage bandit—he couldn’t remember anything between those two events. And now that he’s away from the Sun Rage bandits, he’s going to find out about that missing gap, definitely.

After a short while of not hearing sounds in the room, Carson heard them again—followed by the footsteps approaching the door. He shifted away from the door, as John came out of the room in a dusty state, with a clean jacket in his hand. When John unfolded it, a crescent-like pin remained on its chest pocket. Its size was close to what Carson would wear.

“Is this their cloth?” Carson asked.

“Mhm, found them lying around inside of the house when we got back here. Never tell the Magic Council I didn’t turn this in—and you better not wave this thing around, or sell it to anyone.” John shoved the cloth in Carson’s hand. And he backed away inside, sneezing into a napkin he ripped out from his pocket. “Damn allergy.”

He mumbled something along the lines of checking on Virgil, and headed towards the closet. Once John got his clothes and towel, he went downstairs with Carson. As they headed past the living room, they found Virgil sleeping on the dining table.

“I’ll just clean myself up before bed. Do him a favor to not wake him up,” John said, before heading inside the bathroom.

And now, Carson was alone with Virgil. He noticed a sandwich lying on the table, picked that up, and bit into it. He knew Virgil wasn’t the type to poison this decent food.

But should Carson just leave Virgil there?