To Be King

Orfen was a frequent risk taker. Whether it was eating moldy food, climbing to the rafters of Cruxion’s shrine for a nap, or merely stepping outside when human/were tensions were high. Risks didn’t usually play out in his favor. He got sick, he fell, he got followed by the city guard. And yet when a stranger who he couldn't properly communicate with told him where Racqein and Marisol were, he had to take the risk and follow.

Orfen kept his head down, his hood up, and his tail still as he followed the strange man through side streets and alleys to an inn. He pulled his makeshift cloak around himself tighter as he followed the man up the stairs and to a closed door that another man was guarding. The man knocked on the door. Racqein’s voice came muffled from the other side, “what?”

“Cat. Here.” said the man who led Orfen.

Orfen decided to nip any confusion in the bud by speaking up, “uh... Racqein, Marisol? Are you in there?”

*

“Orfen! Are you alright?” Marisol practically fell off the bed in her attempt to run for the door.

“Yeah, I mean I’m hurt but I’ll live.” Marisol pressed against the door. Racqein slowly stood and walked to the door, pulling her back away from the door when he heard the key enter the lock. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eye turning purple as Cruxion took over.

The door opened and Cruxion took barely half a second to confirm that it wasn’t Orfen behind the door before he swung his sword. Marisol was still standing close enough tha she could feel the air through her hair as he swung.

The Islander man jerked backwards, the deadly swing still slicing deeply into his arm. His cry of pain was choked off when Cruxion pointed the tip of his sword at his throat.

Orfen’s eyes went wide and his hair stood on end, “uh... Cruxion?” he asked in a high-pitched squeak.

“Run.” Cruxion barked in a slightly deeper version of Racqein’s voice.

Without hesitation, Orfen reached his hand around behind Cruxion and grabbed a shocked Marisol’s arm, dragging her into a full sprint down the hallway. When the other Kreishan tried to follow them Cruxion pressed his sword harder against his friend’s throat until a little bead of blood formed at the tip.

Once he could hear Orfen and Marisol running down the stairs, he made a break for it, shoving the men aside with more strength than the scrawny 16 year old Racqein should have in his body.

Orfen could feel his wound reopen, blood seeping through his shirt and pouring down his side. Marisol gradually picked up the pace to keep up with him. He took the stairs two at a time. At the bottom step, Marisol cried out in pain and paused. Orfen didn’t look back and didn’t let go of Marisol’s hand. A rolled ankle would have to wait.

Cruxion leapt from the middle stair to the ground, closing some of the distance between himself and the others. Outside the inn, chased by the shouting foreigners, Cruxion overtook Orfen and Marisol, saying, “keep up.” as he passed.

Cruxion ran a random pattern through the streets, just slow enough that the injured werecat and young girl could stay on his heels as the voices chasing after them grew quieter and quieter.

Finally, they stopped in an alley, his eye fading back to Racqein’s gold. With a deep breath, Racqein turned to face the younger two, his calm facade cracking when he saw Orfen slumped against a wall, blood dripping from his side. “Shit, are you alright?”

Orfen smiled, “just fine,” but when he tried to stand up straight, his legs buckled and he fell.

“Orfen!”