Chapter 196 - Not All Fairy Tales Start Pleasantly

Fate was not kind to Reed Evergreen — that was the first lesson that Isca learned about him. 

If anything, it was an understatement to say that simply "not kind" to him. It had beat the living hell of out him and left him for dead. Felt more like a higher power had put a hit on him, in a sadistic sort of way. 

It had taken a long time, roughly a month for Isca to begin the daunting task of worming into Reed's past. There was only so much she could ask, considering the developing relationship between them. Isca would need to spend more time with him before she fully earned his trust...

Most biographical jobs were usually not this hard, since the clients were more than willing to talk about their pasts. Truth be told, there was always a degree of narcissism in the very act of commissioning a biography. Didn't matter if the person was famous, a genius, or someone important.

The issue for Isca was that her client did not fit the usual mold. He hated the spotlight more than anything in the world. In fact, he despised it so much, he chose to live at the bottom of the sea. 

When Isca asked him why he had chosen to build a home in the most remote place in the world, Reed simply responded with a single, heavy word.

"Silence." 

For him, living on the surface was unbearable. 

At one point in time, he would've been able to tolerate it, but not anymore. 

"I can hear them, you know. Your soft mumbling, your secret whispers, your dreams and fears, and vile curses... I can hear all of you. But down here, far removed from the surface, with miles of seawater between myself and the world, I can find a small measure of... peace," said Reed. 

Was that a metaphorical expression or a literal one?

With the power he possessed, Isca was convinced that it could very well be the literal truth. And for that reason, she felt it best not to pry any further, for her own sanity... if not for the world's sake. 

It was one of the many reasons why Reed had changed the venue of their meetings to his home, among other reasons. 

Privacy, for one. What they were talking about not only concerned Reed's life but also extremely delicate topics could not be overheard by the wrong people.

There was also the little fact that any form of association with Reed was dangerous for a normal person like Isca. Holding meetings in her little apartment, even with careful planning and the utmost secrecy was not enough to assuage Reed's innermost doubts. 

Though he was widely admired, for the most part, there were radical elements in Mulia that considered him an existential threat to all life. People who held this belief were almost always affiliated with the Safeguard Coalition — a political party with only one objective. 

To destroy Reed by any means. To remove the new god who rules Mulia indirectly. 

Their combat doctrine was that if Reed could be hurt with neither the sword nor the pen, then they would strike for what would hurt him most without explicitly striking at him. 

Such was the fate of those who became too close to him. They would be stalked like prey in the shadows until an opportunity arose. Because of this, everyone who Reed knew was put into a protection program for their safety. It was an unfortunate price that they had to pay, but there was nothing they could about it.

Naturally, Isca was informed about this during their first meeting. The distinct possibility existed that she would become a target too, upon which certain insurances would be enacted...

In any case, Reed would only speak to her within the confines of his own home, making it somewhat troublesome for Isca, as she had no say when their meetings would occur.

There was no clearly defined schedule, and even worse, Reed had a habit of not respecting certain... boundaries. In short, there had been many separate instances of her discovering him in her home like a phantom, frightening the living hell out of her. 

He was, after all, a soundless, shadowless specter of a giant. The sight of such a terrifying visage could spook even the dead if they were caught unawares, much less an ordinary girl. 

A humorous turn of events, that the one who was feared nowadays was once the coward in his youth. 

Amongst the earliest anecdotes Reed had recounted to Isca were those of a perpetually anxious child, terrified of what the day would have in store for him. And for good reason, for he had not enjoyed the comfort of a pleasant childhood like most in modern-day Mulia. 

He had been scrawniest and in turn, the feeblest of the orphaned litter that had been left at the Church of Saint Walbur. 

It had taken a lot of effort on Isca's part to wrest out what little Reed had explained about his childhood, as it was not a topic he wished to recall under any circ.u.mstances. 

"I shouldn't have to explain that children can be quite cruel, yes? Well, it's even worse when it comes to orphaned children. They carry a deep hatred that cannot be sated... and it can manifest itself in terrible ways," said Reed in a heavy voice. 

The unpleasant flavor of dirt mixed in with his own blood — the all too familiar taste of defeat was how he had described his interactions with the other children. 

Anger and frustration were common among the children, as was the use of violence as a form of catharsis. What little could be fought for among the orphans was often the source of heated arguments and by extension, bloody fights.

For toys, loose change, the best blankets and pillows, and anything else that they could get their hands on. 

Though sometimes, they often fought just for the sake of fighting. To vent their fury on an unfortunate punching bag for no real reason.

"That's where I came into the fold," said Reed and added, "As the weakest of the litter, I was the easiest to fight. After all, why would one ever look for someone stronger than them to pick a fight?" 

Days of abuse turned into weeks of torment and eventually, months of agony. Unable to tolerate their endless bullying, Reed ran to where they could not reach him. A place that had been locked away from the children by the priests.

A sealed section of the church existed where old records were kept. An archive of religious texts, old books, and a vast collection of dust mites. 

"The old archives were my personal sanctuary. Even now, I'm eternally grateful that one of the window locks was broken. That rusty lock had fallen off the window ages ago, but no one ever noticed, or rather, cared enough to replace it," said Reed. 

A blessing in disguise. 

Henceforth, his days would be spent in solitude. It was also where the misguided belief that it was better to be alone had arisen. No one could blame him though, for in his case, spending his days among old books and scrolls was vastly better than getting bullied by his peers. 

"They called me a variety of colorful names from then on, but the most common were 'rat' and 'ghost'. You know, for my diminished stature and habit of disappearing on them." 

As a result, he picked up a skill and hobby that none of his peers cared for at their age — reading. 

If not to pass away the lonesome hours in the dusty old archive, then to run away from reality and find comfort in fantasy. 

"And that was how I spent the majority of my days. I read books until the sun went down, only stopping when I had chores to complete," said Reed, reminiscing on the better parts of his childhood. 

"Hell, I used to spend what little money I would find on the streets to buy cheap wax candles or more expensive whale oil — just so I could read past sundown..." 

His early life was rather tragic for a child, even if Reed reassured Isca that it was not so bad after he discovered his passion for literature. 

Bleaker still, were his older days as an apprentice scribe for an up-and-coming secretary official. Compared to the childish squabbles of his early years, the latter half of his days as a young man were another type of depressing. 

"As a scribe, I learned two things from my former mentor — how to write elegantly and how men could be bent into submission with only a few words..." 

Reed's master was a man who had been given a unique station, one not so dissimilar from that of an inquirer for the state. His job was simple enough; he would ask questions for a living. 

The Inquirer.

Despite her insistence, Reed never divulged his name. Why? She did not know.

The Inquirer asked very strange questions. Reed soon learned that, as his job was to make copies of every letter that came in and out of his office. As the keeper of the records, it was his task that every correspondence was copied and indexed for archival. 

"I was a little too young to understand what I was reading at first but as I got older, it all started to make sense to me. Both the job I had been given and the man who was my mentor." 

He was a shadow on the wall, peering into the lives of people who mattered in the city. State officials, heads of large businesses, prestigious academics, and anyone else who had even the slightest bit of influence. 

The letters that came into the office Reed worked at were stolen secrets, as Reed had described them. Compromising letters that could ruin a person's life should they ever fall into the wrong hands... which is why they were kept safe with the Inquirer. 

"That was my job until I ended up here," said Reed with a look of disgust. "My nine-to-five was storing secrets for the state to use against its people should they ever step out of line." 

Reed heartily laughed and said, "Not once had I spoken out against my mentor for fear of the horrors that would await me if I did. Not that it mattered since Karma ended up taking me out in the end. At least, that's what I think happened to me..." 

How he had unfortunately stumbled into a skirmish between two gangs the night of his death. He was no fool; he was distinctly aware of the unspoken lines in the city as someone who was in the know when it came to the crimes that happened in the city. 

The route he had always taken home was safe because it was a part of the State's territory, as it was guarded heavily by the police.

And yet on the night of his sixteenth birthday, he'd been caught in the middle of a shoot-out on turf that was supposed to be off-limits to those two gangs...

A foul fate for a despicable pissant who had been unable to even struggle a little bit against the ruinous ending that came to him.

That was the first part of life, as a sinner charged with death for his indifferent complicity. 

By his own mentor. 

"I was discarded," said Reed. "For being a coward. I think — no, I know that my mentor was the one who called that hit on me. He saw the weakness in my eyes, my hesitation to seriously partake in his profession. And so, his failure of a protege died in an unfortunate accident, bless his soul." 

Suffice to say, it was probably one of the bleakest stories Isca had ever heard. One of a boy trapped in a prison of despair, railroaded by Fate into a life that she could only describe as a cruel joke by god. 

Worse still, she would have to pen it down and make it presentable; palatable enough for general consumption without making light of the truth. A difficult job, to be certain. 

A test? By him? Or by Fate? She couldn't tell. 

That was probably for the best... all things considered.

It was the one secret she preferred not to know.