Favourite Attendant

"Who… who are you?"

Henry's voice cracked, ragged, and indecisive. 

The man snorted, a nasty tsk spurting from his mouth.

"Tch. Don't play dumb, Murphy. You know what the hell is happening.'"

He spoke with contempt, as though the notion of Murphy pretending to be confused was an insult to his intelligence.

"You've been here long enough that you know what you're supposed to be doing."

"Spare us the theatrics."

Henry flinched, holding his head as a sudden throb pulsed behind his eyes. It felt like an impending flood; something was trying to force its way in.

"Murphy?"

May's voice trembled. Instinctively, she leaned out, her hand coming in contact with his forehead.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't answer because he wasn't.

The pain grew, and with it, something else came: images, sounds, sensations.

Not his own. Not Henry's. But vivid, real, and overwhelming.

A child's laughter. The scent of warm bread. A woman's voice singing a lullaby in a language he didn't know yet, nevertheless comprehended.

He saw a boy, blind from birth, learning how sound and scent could guide him through the world. He experienced the warmth of a mother's arms around him, being led by the hand of a firm but gentle father, and the safety of an older sister named Mary.

And then… May.

She was small then. Always with her arm around his, always asking questions, always smiling. The youngest of the family. The brightest light.

The memories shifted.

Screams. Fire. The noise of something ripping through walls. The smell of blood.

The Newborns had come.

His mother fell first, trying to shield him. Then his father, attempting to defend himself with nothing more than a kitchen knife.

Mary had attempted to run with May, but she didn't make it.

Only he and May survived.

His headache was pounding again, and he shook.

He clenched his teeth, and his breathing was shallow. May held his hand tightly, a worried expression written on her face.

More memories came.

Murphy, blind, grieving, and furious, had vowed revenge. He trained. He worked. He endured.

Three jobs.

During the day, he worked as a cook at a high-end hotel, memorizing recipes through the smell and feel of them. In the afternoons, he guided a horse-drawn carriage through the twisty streets of Storm Cloud, mapping each turn by the vibration and sound.

And at night, he taught at a children's school, telling stories and imparting lessons to kids who never once took pity on his blindness.

All for May.

She was everything. His reason. His anchor.

They had been on their own for nine years. Just the two of them. He paid the bills, kept her in an academy, and ensured that she was never hungry.

And she, in the same way, never made him feel like he was broken.

Tears welled in his eyes.

He didn't notice them fall.

She had turned nineteen this year. But last year, when she turned eighteen, she had been summoned, like all others her age, for the Coming-of-Age Ceremony.

A mandatory test. A law.

Every eighteen-year-old was required to head to the closest cursed outpost by the end of the third month of that year. Their bodies and souls were to be tested there to see if they could be cursed.

Murphy had been there, too.

He had failed.

But May… she had passed.

To be Cursed was to sign a death contract. Crimson stones boasted power, but only for those who could withstand their corrosive effects.

At least more than the average human.

Those not, Favourites would decay from the inside out, slowly.

However, the Cursed possessed more soul power than ordinary humans. They were provided health supplements, hazard pay, and benefits from the organization that recruited them.

May was contacted by Liora Foundation, a Cursed organization focused on healing supernatural inflictions.

They offered her a job, training, and resources to carry out her work.

Despite Murphy's protests, she had accepted the job offer. She informed him it was the most logical course. The healers didn't go on the front lines, at least those ranked high enough.

If she scored well enough, she could remain inside the city walls.

There were 3 grades of healers.

The pharmacists, people who learned about cures and mixed-up supplements.

The caretakers, those who channel crimson power to their bodies to heal others directly. A dangerous route, a hard one to take, demanding a powerful soul and great control.

And lastly, the Doctors, legendary healers who could heal dozens at once, without even touching them.

Only three existed in all of Storm Cloud.

May began as a pharmacist. But she was gifted. In a year, she developed new methods of healing, ascended in merit, and was given rare supplements to her soul.

Not everyone who took the supplements experienced a transformation.

But May had.

Three weeks ago, she was promoted to the rank of caretaker.

Henry, now Murphy, felt his body tremble again.

The memories were too much. They welled up like a flood, overcame him, swept him up and down.

A few of the others who were around them watched in silence. A few looked concerned.

Others, annoyed... especially Derrion.

"Tch. What's with the drama?"

A voice muttered nearby. The speaker was a tall man with a jagged scar across his cheek and a rictus sneer. His name was Derrion, a hunter, proud and arrogant.

May turned sharply.

"Shut up, Derrion."

He raised his hands mockingly.

"Just saying. If he's going to cry, at least let him do it quietly."

More memories poured in.

This planet is called Crimson 21-a, a planet with a diameter of 200,000 Miles. Orbiting a trinary star system. A realm containing 24 trillion human souls.

A world steeped in the supernatural. Where death was common, and survival was a privilege.

He remembered his old life. His mother. His father. His younger sister. His older sister. His medical career.

His million-dollar student debt...

All gone.

He exhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling with the weight of it all. His face was wet with tears.

"I hope they don't cry too often,"

He whispered to himself.

"Especially… Mother."

The final memory came like a whisper.

 The Moons.

The night Murphy died.

The Silent Night.

His breath caught. His fists clenched. He whispered so low that only May heard.

"Goddammit."