Harmony

Of the two things someone would choose to gamble, one made much more sense than the other. Money was a given. Whatever exactly had come afterwards was still exceedingly confusing.

Granted, he was grateful for the financial aspect. It was enough to secure somewhere warm last night, by which he hadn’t been forced to sleep outside again. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world. Still, a bed was preferable, as was reprieve from evening breezes that often dipped into annoyingly-low chills. He celebrated one small victory, although he’d done enough of that last night.

It was their fault for underestimating him. Age was irrelevant. He knew his way around their games well enough. Even with eight peaceful hours in his hands and sunlight blessing him through warm glass, he’d still made off with more than enough to afford the trip to Coda. He’d be set for a while.

It left the sticks.

He’d been fidgeting with them up until he’d fallen asleep--and for the majority of the morning, really. He mostly just enjoyed the smooth texture of the wood in his hands as he organized his thoughts. They were shockingly comfortable between his fingers, and he’d already taken to spinning them absentmindedly. The feeling was far more satisfying than he’d expected it to be. Renato indulged it.

He’d already inspected them at every conceivable angle, and still he was no closer to understanding exactly what warranted their establishment as a reward. If they were simply unwanted, embellished behind honeyed words to appear otherwise, he at least now owned something slightly amusing. They were pretty, if nothing else, for as pretty as two literal slivers of wood could be. The color was nice. He raised one aloft, stretching his arm just enough to capture the sneaking sunbeams that crossed his bedsheets. It didn’t quite leave the wood glistening, but he very much respected the glow.

Under the right light, it was almost red. He liked it. The little pattern pressed into the base was equally admirable, ensnaring the same sunshine with much the same splendor. Renato trailed his thumb along it carefully, quietly admiring the way it dipped beneath his touch.

What he’d seen of Whitebrook had been nice. Coddled by nature as it was, he could understand its namesake. He was lucky he’d gotten as far as he had with anything slightly more exciting than greenery, and he’d had enough surprises in the past few days to leave him satisfied. He could cross it off the list, then.

He hadn’t had the chance to mess around in the eastern side of Mezzoria yet. He’d get to all of it, eventually. He’d get beyond it, maybe, if he could figure out how. For now, this was an extremely solid start. From what he’d been told of Coda, it sounded flawless. The picture that had been painted for him was lively, thriving, fast-paced, and ever-changing. For the capital, it made sense. It made for an excellent next stop, and he’d relish taking his time. He had as much of it as he wanted, after all.

Renato sighed, crossing his legs comfortably as his eyes kissed the ceiling. Coda was far enough from Selbright. If he liked it enough, maybe he could stay someday. It wouldn’t be any time soon. There was still too much left to do.

Again and again, he twirled one little stick between his fingers playfully. It was almost a reflexive motion, and he kept catching himself doing it without realizing. The mildest hint of nerves that came with the thought of Selbright were blunted by distraction, and he offered gratitude to the tiny slice of wood. Renato smiled weakly, stilling his hand just as quickly with a sharp flick of his wrist.

He was suddenly extremely grateful the inn only had one floor.

The boom that followed nearly killed him. It would’ve surely killed whoever was directly above him, had there been anyone in the first place. He jolted fiercely, left to do little more than helplessly drink in the showering flakes of paint and brick that steadily crashed to his bedsheets. Entire bricks followed, as did wood. He wasn’t immune to shingles, nor was he immune to the full splendor of blue skies brought inside. Renato curled up into a ball reflexively, swearing sharply as what had once been the ceiling rained down into his room. What peeking glances he could steal through fingers guarding his face found symmetry. It was perfectly round, a uniform blow that left the building wounded precisely and neatly.

He peered up at the open sky endlessly, more than disoriented in the wake of the blast. Only one hand had come to his face. The other lay extended still, his wrist angled outwards and the stick still more than secure in his rising fingers. The gash in the masonry lay beyond its rounded tip, and he blinked with immense confusion. For a moment, he didn’t dare move. The rest of the building would explode next, maybe. This would be a weird place to die. It’d be unexpected, at least.

“Are you okay?”

Someone was shouting. The pounding followed, although every bang upon the door was much more natural. He hadn’t locked it. They figured that out soon enough.

“I, uh, I’m good!” Renato called, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I think!”

The innkeeper took it less positively. What fear and concern he’d shirked hit her tenfold instead, and her eyes went wide with horror as she entered the room. “What the hell happened? My God, are you alright?”

Renato clasped both sticks in one hand, waving the other dismissively. “No, seriously, I’m fine! Don’t sweat it. Have you guys, like…needed repairs or something recently? Because that just kinda…happened.”

He pointed accordingly. He probably didn’t need to. She was already staring.

“I-I don’t…did something fall?” she stammered. “That’s…”

Renato rose to his feet slowly, dusting bits of broken bricks and splintered wood from his vest. “Look, I was already heading out in a bit, so you’re more than welcome to…check it out, do whatever you’ve gotta do, all that fun stuff. I paid last night, so we’re cool, right?”

The innkeeper eyed him with confusion. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Already, he’d slipped behind her, more than halfway out the door with moderately-hurried steps. He flashed her the smoothest grin he could toss together. “Don’t worry, I’m alright, I mean it. Nice meeting you. Thanks for everything. Good luck with that, sorry it happened, wish you the best.”

He didn’t stay to see her reaction. Already, people were prying, curious visitors gravitating in the direction he’d just left. He didn’t sprint, even if he wanted to. It took effort to temper his steps, disoriented as he was. Renato moved down the hallway as quickly as was possible, clinging to what aura of composure he could exude. For now, he stuffed the little sticks into the inner pockets of his vest. It was the safest place he could think to stash them.

The one and only suspicion he had was a massive reach. He was probably going insane. Still, the split second by which his blood had burned was scathingly unsettling. At the very least, he doubted they’d blame someone his age for whatever brutal damage had been done. It solved exactly one half of his problems.

Most of his interest in Whitebrook had been for the city proper, as was typically the case. For once, the splendor of nature had its benefits. He was more or less running the moment he was out of view, trading cobblestone streets for abundant grass and greenery as he dove past beaten paths. There was no shortage of foliage, towering and clustered enough to shade him in full. He’d get lost in it, maybe. He was always lost. It was nothing new, and it was exactly how he liked it.

He avoided the side with the river, although he could still hear it from here. He had enough sunshine to spare him from utter darkness, and yet enough darkness to spare him from wandering eyes. He doubted anyone would actively press this far into a forest well beyond the outskirts of the city. The place he settled on wasn’t condensed, and he had more than enough room to move around. If he was wrong--which he probably was--then at least he’d taken steps to ensure his safety. If he was right, then it would’ve paid off. At that point, his greater issue would’ve been that he was right at all.

Renato sighed. With the distant trickle of the flowing river as his one companion in silence, he withdrew two wooden sticks from the interior of his vest. This was ridiculous.

The irritation he’d had at himself for entertaining the idea melted, somewhat, the moment they were in his hands again. Once more, it was a comfortable feeling that left his skin warm. Renato flexed his fingers around either stick slowly, satisfied again with the sensation of the material in his palms. Beneath the open sunshine, they were perhaps even more resplendent, glowing with just the slightest hint more of red. For a moment, he was satisfied with just that. The urge to simply savor them in his touch again was mildly pressing. Still, it wasn’t what he was here for. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was here for, really.

He fixed his eyes forward upon nothing, his absent gaze falling mostly useless onto the open air. One stick came outstretched in his steady hand, level with the horizon as he slid his foot backwards. He had no idea what he was doing. He had little frame of reference, for how strikingly fast the moment had come and gone. He hadn’t hated the way it burned, nor was he even certain it had really been a burn at all. He needed it again.

He was still in that manner for more than a moment, unmoving as he speared the tip at distant greenery alone. Waiting was fruitless, and only the breeze came to greet him. The soft rustle of leaves on every side was louder than his tiny groan of annoyance. Renato gave up on waiting entirely. If he couldn’t recall the sensation, he could at least recall the movement.

Whether or not the result would be identical was debatable. If nothing else, it was worth a shot. He thought to twirl the little stick between his fingers for good measure, if he truly wanted to retrace his steps. Still, he forewent the concept. Instead, with as much of a swift and controlled motion as he could muster, Renato raised his leveled wrist aloft slightly. He gave a sharp flick forwards, and his blood exploded.

Boom.

So did the rest of him.

He didn’t scream. Shock and confusion set in first, as did prioritizing the pain that accompanied impact. Renato was airborne instantly, hurtling backwards at a speed that left him tumbling again and again. He didn’t hit his head, at least, although his back didn’t take the blow much better. The tree that broke his fall wasn’t kind about it, and he groaned in pain as he crashed to the soft earth at last. His ears were ringing fiercely. It took time for him to pry himself off the ground, fingers flexing instinctively in search of two halves of wood once nestled between. They were still there. He wasn’t quite sure why that was his greatest relief right now, compared to what new flavor of concussion he could’ve just unleashed on himself.

Where he’d expected his head to be throbbing, it came from his blood instead. It wasn’t overwhelmingly obvious, and he first thought he was simply overreacting. Still, each heartbeat--racing as they were--felt stronger. The steady, rhythmic pulsing in every vein was all-encompassing, radiant from his head to his toes. By no means did he hate it. It felt warm. With care and effort, he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the mild ache that accompanied the movement.

He made for the same spot, hallmarked by scattered grass and splattered sod. It hadn’t punched deep, and yet still left more than a mess. He found his footing, steadying himself once again as he leveled the wooden tip beyond. Renato took one deep breath, lowering his body to the ground slightly. If he was careful, he could maybe stay on his feet.

Again, he offered up the same fluid motion. He arose, he flicked, and he exploded.

To his immense credit, he came exceedingly close to keeping perfect balance. The boom that erupted from the little stick was deafening, and he didn’t have the luxury to cover his ears at such a range. Again, they were ringing viciously, although he never quite passed the threshold of true pain. The recoil was incredibly strong, and it was his one bane as he staggered and stumbled. It knocked him off his feet, and he fell to the ground once more. Freed of airborne repulsion, at least, he could drink in the hurtling sod and savor the now-prevalent sensation.

It was definitely unmistakable the second time around, and Renato was outright staring at his occupied palms as he rested in the grass. His blood was absolutely pulsing, hot and burning in its own right. In time with every last rhythmic heartbeat that ebbed and flowed, he was nearly vibrating. He could swear his blood was rippling, blighted by the repulsive shock in a way that left him resonating from within. It didn’t hurt. He liked it. He squeezed either stick tightly, somewhat disoriented as he rose to his feet beneath the chronic throbbing.

He adjusted his hat and braced once more. He definitely wouldn’t fall this time.

He offered up both rather than one, extending his wrists in tandem towards distant foliage. It might’ve been more dangerous, given his inability to withstand even one blow. He was impatient. He had all the time he wanted, anyway. Renato raised them higher than before, the red tint of the wood just barely gleaming beneath the sunlight as he brought his wrists swiftly down.

If he wanted to stay on his feet, that, then, was a terrible idea.

The boom he earned was twice as loud, and he did genuinely near the threshold of audible pain this time. He was airborne again, sailing relentlessly in reverse with little more than a yelp of surprise to show for it. At the very least, he missed the trees, and it was soft grass that caught him with thud after tumbling thud. It didn’t feel pleasant regardless. When he raised his eyes, he found plenty more dirt where he’d already upturned enough. It was definitely getting messier. That was irrelevant. His blood was more important.

The feeling had already been palpable and strong, by which he’d observed it in every conceivable part of his body. He was electric on the inside, his veins thrumming and searing in time with the blood that continued to pulse. Everything was on fire. Everything was burning, and the hands so effortlessly clinging to the little sticks throbbed most wonderfully of all. His heart was a metronome, and the steady vibration he was blessed with within again and again left him lightheaded for a moment. He wasn’t overexerted at all, nor was he in any intolerable amount of pain. Still, he was having trouble catching his breath. Renato grinned. He couldn’t help it, breathless or otherwise.

It felt good.

It felt really, really good.

He was back on his feet again. At this point, it hardly mattered if his balance was stolen anymore. If it earned him more of the same feeling, it was worth it. He didn’t shy away from his two-handed approach, nor did he raise them with quite so much hesitation. Once more, his wrists were aloft, and once more did beautiful red steal the sun. He was getting used to it. Renato found one deep breath this time, coming down hard against the open air with one more boom to show for it. Under no circumstances was his balance to be kept, even if he’d been aware of the recoil to come. Still, it was utterly delightful, and it vibrated throughout every inch of his body in a way that gave him chills. He embraced it, knocked well in reverse and staggering in the process. It took time for him to actually lose his footing in full. That was new.

It gave him a chance to bear witness to the innocent earth he’d assaulted, grass flattened and dirt scattered. The fanning marks carved not-so-subtly into the ground spoke to pressure he unleashed time and again. Isolated as he was, he didn’t particularly regret the mess. He augmented it the moment he was upright. With little more than adjustments of his hat and sleeves to precede his ministrations, he experimented.

He forewent using them both. The little sticks took turns, and it took significant effort to brace accordingly. The delay was nearly nonexistent, and yet the recoil was growing familiar. It absolutely did not hurt. He could take it. He very much wanted to take it, and it left him with zero fear. A brilliant grin took its place, and Renato flicked one extended wrist upon the open air. If it sent him crashing to the ground again, he wasn’t even particularly sure he’d mind.

The boom left erupting outwards was by no means soft, nor was the recoil any more gentle. The grass suffered, the air wobbled, and his ears rang. The latter wasn’t quite as severe as before, although the former were both every bit as violent. Renato was standing. It wasn’t by much, and he was forced to steal at least two steps in reverse. The support he found was enough. Every burst was part of him, echoing throughout his soul and exploding through his fingertips. If there was recoil, then so, too, was he part of that. His blood was throbbing permanently, at this point, and he was mildly convinced his veins were going to melt. It felt absolutely phenomenal. He did it again.

And again. And again. And again, and again, by which he was annihilating the open air with explosive boom after boom. If someone heard him, he very much did not care. He was running out of grass, thoroughly displaced as it was. Where he’d banished the tranquil sounds of a distant river and the gentle breeze, he was vaguely aware of his own laughter. He couldn’t help it.

Every ounce of his heart felt divine, and his hands were full of bliss. If he could melt into every burst, sudden and powerful as they were, he probably would. Already, the little sticks were part of his hands, two extensions of his touch meant to live between his fingers forever. They were natural. As to why they hadn’t always been there, he couldn’t imagine. He loved it.

There came a point when he stopped fearing simultaneous usage altogether, and Renato embraced both in tandem as he brought his wrists crashing down once more. It went far. It went much, much further than he’d intended, well beyond the imaginary stopping point he’d drawn on the horizon. Where he’d previously claimed only untimely earth as his victim, his explosive prowess carried to foliage beyond.

One singular boom was every bit as impossibly loud, a force unseen leaving wood splintering in every direction. It was living wood left in his wake this time around, live maple splintered with an incredible crack that left leaves sailing and branches hurtling. The tree lay more or less obliterated, gnarled fragments of roots and crumpled bark raining upon the earth. With arms extended, he was still. He blinked exactly twice before it hit.

Renato grinned so brightly he could’ve sworn his face would split in half. He didn’t need to know what they were. All that mattered was how far they could take him, in every conceivable way. He had time. He had all the time he wanted, and never had he been so grateful. His heart was aflame and his blood was identical. He’d never come down again, and there was more than enough room to fuel his wonderful fire.

He cracked his neck. Coda could wait.