Dimensions Collide: Destiny Bond

John was, to his displeasure, washing the dishes when a question seemingly came out of nowhere.

“Hey, Prota, how old are you?”

The question seemed random, but it wasn’t. It had been a month, and John had decided Prota needed new clothes. While the nightgown and cloak were satisfactory since she never went out, they were clothes that barely even fit her. He really should’ve thought of this earlier, but both parties involved weren’t exactly normal. John wasn’t used to a situation such as this, and Prota herself had always considered scraps of cloth more than satisfactory.

Thus, John embarked on a journey to a clothing store and asked for “clothes that would fit a small girl.” When the manager asked how old the girl was, John had been hit with the revelation that he didn’t know. That had led him to the question: how old was Prota, really? He’d always assumed she was around seven, maybe eight, and was just small for her size, but…

“Mm.” Prota held her hand up, revealing five fingers.

“Wh- you’re five?” John said, frowning. “Are you sure? How do you know? Do you know what five is?”

“Five,” Prota repeated, seemingly annoyed by John’s last question, then buried her face into the couch cushions, ending the conversation. John sighed and went back to cleaning the dishes.

Why was a five year old roaming the streets like that? How was she not dead?

“It’s a story, John,” he muttered to himself. “It happens all the time. Hell, this happens on Earth all the time, right? Why are we getting so worked up about this?”

“It’s a lot more different when it’s right in front of you, isn’t it?” Zero’s voice echoed in John’s head.

“...tch. Just because she looks real doesn’t make her any less fake. I made that mistake once, didn’t I? I thought I was real at some point. Look how that turned out.”

Despite his words, he’d been unconsciously clenching the dish in his hand harder and harder, to the point where it shattered in his hand, giving his palm a deep cut.

“Ah, shit!” John gasped, watching as the water was slowly stained red. He washed the blood off, grabbing his wrist while cursing to himself over and over. The cut stung, but he ignored the pain as he looked for a bandage to wrap his hand with while applying pressure to the area to stop the bleeding.

“Fuck me,” John grunted, finding a roll of bandages in his closet. “On second thought, don’t.”

He wrapped his hand as if he’d done it a thousand times, then rummaged through the closet and found a small bottle. He shook out one of the dozens of pills and popped it into his mouth.

“Damn, this hurts,” he sighed as the pain numbed. He put on a rubber glove and went back to doing the dishes.

“For something that isn’t real, that sure did quite the number on you.”

“Shut up.”

~~~

The next day, Prota agreed to go shopping with John. It had come as a surprise to John, who hadn’t expected her to change her mind so quickly, but the reason for the change in attitude was actually his fault. She’d been led to believe that he’d hurt his hand because of her. It hadn’t been her fault, of course, and it didn’t really make sense, but it was what she believed nonetheless.

The two walked down the street, unbothered by strangers walking by. Prota was still wearing the cloak John had given her, given the cool temperature outside. The cloth was actually imbued with temperature control, allowing the wearer to stay comfortable no matter the temperature. The hood overshadowed her face, making it hard to see her face, but she seemed to like it that way.

“Alright,” John said as they stopped in front of the store. “Here we are. Don’t worry about talking. I’ll take care of it, ok?”

A small bell chimed as Prota was welcomed with the smell of aged wood and pine. The place was small but neatly arranged, all articles of clothing visible from anywhere in the store. Racks and hangers were made of brass or bronze, gold coating various knobs and handles of oak doors and drawers. The floor was polished to a shine, reflecting the light of the chandeliers overhead.

“Ah, Mr. Quarta,” the man at the desk said. His attire reflected the quality of the store; a sharp dress shirt and black vest with gold buttons, his hair neatly combed back, his face fresh and clean.

“Have you found the age of the child you were shopping for?”

“Well, she’s here, actually. I think this helps a bit more, no?” John said, a casual smile resting on his face.

Prota looked at him. The smile was definitely disarming. It was relaxed, friendly… but it still seemed fake. His eyes still seemed empty. Ever since their talk, she couldn’t help but see it. Every time he smiled, frowned, or anything, really, his eyes always held the same blank look they always did. It was possible that they might briefly light up with emotion, but they always faded back within seconds.

The store manager noticed none of this.

“Ah, a fine young lady. May I inquire as to your relationship…?”

“She’s… my sister,” John said. The hesitation was brief, and the store manager didn’t notice it.

“Very well then! Let’s get you measured, shall we?”

“...you don’t think it’s suspicious at all?” John muttered under his breath. “Damn.”

The man went behind his desk and came back with some measuring tape, his dress shoes clicking as he walked across the polished floor. Prota stood, silent, but she wasn’t really looking forward to what was coming next.

“Alright. First, would you mind removing that cloak?” the man asked.

Prota looked up helplessly at John.

“Um. We don’t need exact measurements. Do you mind if she leaves that on?”

“Of course.”

The man was being incredibly accommodating, and would continue to be so as Prota stepped back the instant he approached her.

“Is this her first time?” the man said, confused. “I do need to take her measurements.”

“She’s a bit shy,” John offered. “She’s a kid, though, so she’ll grow. You couldn’t just eyeball it or something?”

“Mm… I suppose. You do bring up a good point, and with her size, and the size of that cloak… yes, it’s quite doable.”

“That would be great,” John said with an awkward smile.

Thankfully, the rest of the visit went without any further issues. Since he didn’t really have a sense of fashion, hJohn ended up picking a lot of blue and white, mostly going with what the man helping him said to do. He paid for the clothes, and they left the store, John’s wallet a little bit lighter.

“Alright, let’s go get something to eat,” he said, carrying the bags. Prota nodded eagerly. She hadn’t been too excited about the clothes, but it seemed that as soon as food was involved, she was ready.

They went down the streets, avoiding crowded areas as much as possible. John seemed to navigate the area as if he had a map, taking tons of small alleys and quiet paths to avoid the hustle and bustle of the main streets, and they eventually wound up in a small but clean lane of sorts. There were various small shops, stalls selling produce or food, with kids and pets running around the area.

“Ah, John!” a voice called out. Prota looked over to see an old lady standing in a stall, a grill going behind her, with various cuts of meat hanging from the roof. “What brings you to this old, crappy street?”

“Old crappy street my ass,” John snorted. “Look at this place and say that again.”

“You sure you’re not gaining any weight from all the meat?” the old lady grinned, pointing her butcher knife at John. “A young man like you needs to stay healthy! You need more veggies in your diet!”

“I’m healthy enough, so shut it. Two strips of smoked meat.”

“Two?” the old lady said. She turned her head to look at Prota standing next to him. “Ah, who’s the little one?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You young’uns are so rude these days,” she grumbled and got to getting the order ready. “No conversation to be had, hm?”

“Go get a seat over there,” John said to Prota, ignoring the old lady and pointing at a bench nearby. She nodded and went over obediently, but as she looked back, she saw John talking in hushed tones to the granny. John made some exaggerated hand movements, and the old lady nodded. They seemed to reach some kind of agreement as they both nodded, and John went back to Prota.

“Hey, Prota. Do you see that old lady? In the event that something happens, she’s someone you can trust. Come to her if anything happens, ok?”

This was something unexpected, but Prota nodded. To be honest, it made her a little scared. Why was John even talking about something happening? Surely a plan like this would never need to be used, right? Well, now that she thought about it, there’d been that incident with the guards, so maybe it wasn’t that bad of an idea after all.

“Here you go!” the granny said, coming over with two plates of smoking hot meat. The smell caused Prota’s mouth to turn into a small waterfall as she stared at the food with shining eyes. She began to reach for her fork and knife without a second thought.

“Ah, and for the little one,” the granny winked, sliding over a paper bag. Prota reached out and looked in and was rewarded with the sight of a half dozen cookies.

“A secret recipe. Don’t you go letting John eat these, you hear?”

“Huh? Where’s my gift?”

“You’re going to get fat,” the granny scolded, backhanding his stomach.

“How am I going to get fat off of just that?”

“You need to grow up into a healthy young man.”

“You’re an old bat, you know that?”

“And you’re just a small brat. Now get eating, I have a stall to run.”

The old lady turned to Prota, a kind twinkle in her eyes. “Little one. Take care of yourself, ok? He may be an idiot, but John is someone you can trust.”

As Prota finished off her food, she decided the old lady was someone she liked. Reaching into the paper bag, she pulled out a cookie and bit in. It immediately melted in her mouth like butter, a perfect blend of creamy and sweet. It was subtle enough that the flavours weren’t overwhelming but strong enough that it filled one’s senses. Her eyes shone as she devoured the rest, then closed the bag up, saving the rest for later.

“They’re good, huh?” John smiled.

He looked up at the sky, the sun directly above.

“We should head back soon,” he observed. “I have to open the bar in… eh, we’ve got ourselves about an hour or two. No problem. Wanna walk around a bit more?”

The two took their paper plates to a nearby garbage bin and tossed them out, then turned around to head back home. On the way, John brushed shoulders with a man wearing a long tattered robe.

John looked back. “My bad.”

“No, no, that was my fault. Have a good day,” the man said.

“Yeah, you too.”

John and Prota continued on their way, Prota oblivious to what had just transpired. John wasn’t nearly as lucky. A sense of unease settled into his chest as he resisted the urge to look back.

“Ah… something annoying is going to happen.”

~~~

“I’m going to need a raise in pay.”

“What? Aren’t we paying you enough already?”

“Oh? Is the Wynton family so poor that they can’t afford to pay a single mercenary?”

The fat noble grit his teeth, resting his chin in his palm as he sat upon his throne. It was the same noble that John had dealt with a while back. The physical scars of their little fight were gone, but the scars of the man’s pride would not fade away.

“Tch… at least tell me why.”

The hooded man John had brushed past earlier frowned, flipping a sharp knife in his hands.

“That man is different. I’m telling you, he’s dangerous.”

“He doesn’t even have a mana core! How preposterous! You expect me to believe such gibberish?”

“No. I never said he’s strong,” the mercenary said. “I said that he’s dangerous. My instincts were screaming at me to do something about him.”

“Pah! You’re telling me the famous Aiden Freyen is scared because of his instinct?”

“Oi.” Aiden pointed his knife at the noble. “Watch your mouth. Have you ever been in combat?”

“Well… why does that matter?”

“Then you wouldn’t know. There are those who don’t have a need for bloodlust because their apathy for life simply doesn’t exist. Those people are the scariest. Their emotions don’t get in the way of their job. That man is most definitely not normal. It’s possible he’s killed dozens. Maybe even hundreds.”

“Hmph. You expect me to believe that a bartender. A bartender?! Has killed hundreds?!” The noble’s face was turning red. “Do you take me for a fool? I could have you executed right here, right now!”

“I’m not mocking you. Do what you will. I’m not risking something like this without an increase in pay.”

“Kh… fine. How much are we talking about?”

Aiden grinned. “See, now that’s a language I can understand.”

~~~

As soon as they got home, Prota tried on one of the dresses. They were pretty well sized, a little large, maybe, but that was fine. Now that she was wearing proper clothing, John was starting to realize that the basic cleaning up they’d done over the past month wasn’t enough.

“Hey. Can I at least brush your hair?”

“...” Prota backed off ever so slightly. John sighed.

“Look, can you at least tell me why you’re so scared? Come on, you know I won’t hurt you. If you’re scared of other people, sure, but is this really something to be afraid of?”

“Mm,” Prota muttered, looking down. Clearly, this was a story for another time.

“Well, it’s your hair, I guess,” John sighed. “I’m going down to open up. I’ll be back.”

Halfway down, he froze. There was someone outside. Someone strong. John’s mind flashed back to the man from earlier. Was it him? There was no way he’d have to deal with this so quickly. John had been expecting at least a week to prepare.

He opened the door to the bar, but didn’t flip the sign from “closed” to “open”. Instead, he stealthily went around the building, hoping to catch sight of where the aura was coming from. Staying in the shadows, he peeked from behind a corner to catch a glimpse of a shadowy figure dashing away. Why? Who was going for him? Did he have enemies? He couldn’t think of anything.

Fists clenched, he ran out, heading towards the last known location of this mysterious figure, but there was nothing there. Not a trace of a person remained. Was he not being lured out? Why?

“Wait. This doesn’t… no, no, why make a surprise attack? They’d just attack me directly. Then who… Prota.”

He turned around and dashed back into the bar, sprinting up the stairs, hoping he wasn’t too late. Slamming the door open, he found-

Nothing. Prota was still on the bed, looking at a book, and had been interrupted as John had slammed the door open. She tilted her head to the side, confused.

“...?”

There was no one in the room. It was just Prota.

“Prota. Follow me,” he said, his voice so serious that Prota didn’t even think twice about disobeying. A shiver went down her spine. What was going on? She followed him down the stairs as he kept looking left and right, constantly on guard for something, anything.

“It must be that guy from earlier,” John muttered. “The one I bumped shoulders with. There’s no way something like that would happen for no reason. There’s no such thing as ‘coincidence’ in a [Story].”

The two made it downstairs, and John opened a secret cabinet. Inside was a tunnel to a secret room, just large enough for a person to fit inside.

“Prota, get in-”

John’s sentence would never finish. A knife flashed past his face, drawing a thin line on his cheek that began to drip blood. John turned around quickly, making sure he stood between Prota and their assailant.

“You’ve got pretty good reaction time for a bartender.”

“You’ve got a good knife for a scumbag.”

The man from earlier. John hadn’t expected this to happen so quickly. Instead of a cloak, though, the man was dressed properly, equipped for the job he was about to do. Weapons and tools hung from his belt, his outfit loose and dark, perfect for combat and stealth. John grimaced. The bump hadn’t been enough to let him know earlier, but he knew now.

This man was experienced.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“It seems you didn’t let your guard down after seeing me leave. A pity.”

“...it’s a yes or no question, it’s not that hard to answer.”

“Yes, unfortunately. You don’t seem like someone that needs to be killed,” Aiden shrugged. “But pay is pay. Would you tell me your name? That is, before I kill you.”

“...seriously? You want to know my name? Who the fuck cares?”

“I’m an honourable mercenary. You deserve higher respect than livestock.”

“Cut the bullshit. You’re a killer for pay.” John was not amused. “Interesting job. Eh, I’ll humour you. John. You?”

“Aiden Freyen.”

“Hah… damn,” John sighed. He needed to draw out as much time as possible. “Hey, if you’re so honourable, you don’t mind letting the kid go?”

“Sorry,” Aiden said. “She’s just as much of a target as you are. Pay is pay, after all.”

John felt a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face. He wanted to reach up and wipe it off, but he couldn’t. A single move would break the tension and start the fight, and John was at a disadvantage here. There was a knife at his throat. Another knife was pointed at Prota, who was trembling so badly that she couldn’t move. She wouldn’t be able to do anything like this. At least her face hadn’t changed. Maybe Aiden wouldn’t notice her inability to move. He’d have to act fast.

Slowly but calmly, unseen by the assassin, John’s right hand flexed as his weapon fell into it. He kept it behind his back, trying to stall as much as possible.

“Mind telling me who hired you?”

“No can do.”

“Come on, if I’m about to die, I’d at least like to know who’s trying to kill me.”

“For a man who’s about to die, you’re awfully calm.”

“You’re saying that? As the guy about to kill me?”

With that, John’s arm came up, finger on the trigger, sights lined up with Aiden’s head. Just one pull. A simple squeeze, and there was a loud bang that rang through the bar, but it didn’t matter. John was just too slow. Aiden couldn’t dodge a bullet, but he’d seen John’s arm come up, and that was more than enough to get him moving.

“Whoah! You’re not entirely defenceless, huh?” Aiden exclaimed, readying himself once again. His stance was much more cautious this time around. “I was right about you.”

“It seems you’re not a bumbling idiot, either, if you can dodge a bullet,” John said, a bead of sweat dripping down his face.

In a flash, Aiden leapt forward, forcing John to fire. It didn’t do much. The assassin was too quick, changing his path ever so slightly as soon as John had raised his arm. John hadn’t expected it to kill. Instead, vit’d bought just enough for John to throw his gun aside and push Aiden’s arm away, causing the knife to graze his cheek instead of his neck. Aiden leapt back, his attempt thwarted once again.

“Oh?” Aiden raised his eyebrow. “You’re experienced in hand to hand fighting?”

“Something like that, yeah,” John said. “Why don’t you put the knives down and find out?”

Unfortunately, Aiden wasn’t someone to be so easily provoked. Taking a stance again, he held both knives out. This time though, his target was-

“Prota!” John yelled. Shit. Somehow, he’d completely forgotten that she could be targeted instead of him.

Push Aiden away. That was the plan, but in that instant, John’s left arm froze up, the cut in his hand shocking him with pain as the medication wore off. He clenched his teeth, pushing through, but the seconds of hesitation were more than enough to stop John’s original plan. Aiden would reach Prota first. With that in mind, there was only one option left.

“Dammit!” John cursed, changing trajectory. Instead of going toward the assassin, he started barreling toward Prota.

“No!” Prota yelled, seeing John’s intention. He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t. She should’ve told him. That it would-

“Sorry, Prota,” he gasped, leaping forward. Aiden’s knife was mere inches away, but John had made it in time.

In that instant, a bright light enveloped the room.