Chapter 8: Washed and Weathered


    The world was thick with steam, suffocating and blinding, clinging to Levi like hot tar. His breath came ragged, chest tight as he stumbled forward, every step slow and wrong, like moving through deep mud.


    His limbs felt heavy, his body uncooperative. He couldn’t see, but he knew he had to find something.


    The air burned. Standing still too long made his skin feel like it was blistering, so he pushed forward, hands outstretched.


    A flash—rage-filled eyes, wild hair, a native scream of fury—


    ''Not that.''


    Another—a woman, rouged lips twisted in disgust, yanking herself away from his scarred face—


    ''Not that.''


    More—flames licking high, the stench of charred flesh and pooled blood. He was sitting atop a burning fort, watching below as men screamed, their bodies crushed beneath giant, turning wheels of blackened steel—


    ''Not that!''


    He kept moving, feet dragging, his pulse hammering against his ribs. His chest heaved, sweat and soot sticking to his skin. He had to find it. Had to—


    ''Wait!''


    He looked down.


    ''Where’s my arm?''


    A cold, hollow fear opened inside him. Panic flared hot, melting into rage. He couldn’t find it now. He couldn’t fix it. He clenched his remaining fist, the heat around him growing unbearable. Steam hissed and screamed, jets of it blasting hot against him.


    Then came the voices.


    Shouting, laughing, moaning, spilling from the steam like ghosts. They rose around him, pummel’d his ears, drowning out the roar of the vapor, wrapping around his mind like chains.


    He staggered, pressing his one hand hard to his ear, dropping to his knees. The noise threatened to swallow him whole.


    And then—something quiet.


    Soft. Brittle. Breaking, yet somehow steady.


    A woman’s voice.


    It rose through the chaos, weaving between the shouts and screams like a river through cracked earth. A hum, low and old, deep with something more than melody—something that taught you, if you let it.


    His mind latched on, desperate. The sadness slammed into him so hard it nearly knocked him breathless. He clutched at the space where his arm should’ve been, his heart thundering against his ribs as rain began to fall.


    Steam parted in patches, revealing slivers of grass beneath him, wet and shimmering. He turned, searching, his breath shuddering out of him. His face was wet, and not just from the rain.


    He had to find it.


    The calming voice wavered, slipping through his fingers like water. The other voices surged forward, shoving it aside, reclaiming their space.


    ''No—no, no, no!''


    His mouth opened, his throat froze as he tried to call out, but no sound came.


    His voice was gone.


    His body lurched forward, hand outstretched, desperate to grasp something before it was too late.


    Just as his feet shifted forward, a blazing green light swallowed his sight, blinding and all-consuming. The air filled with the shriek of grinding metal, a sound so sharp and violent it felt like it was trying to tear the whole damn world apart.


    And just as sudden as it came, the world around him shattered.


    ----


    Levi shot up.


    "Why?!"


    The word slipped out, raw and distant, like it belonged to someone else.


    "You were having a nightmare."


    His vision snapped into focus. Instinct took over—his empty hand shot forward.


    "Shit!"


    Noticing he no longer had his weapon, his breath came fast, heart pounding as his senses caught up.


    Across the room, sitting in a chair by the door, a young boy swung his feet idly, watching him with an amused sort of patience.


    "Looking for this?"


    The kid held up the broken handle from Miss May’s pitcher.


    "Found it on the floor."


    He hopped up, quick and light, crossing the room to set it on the bed.


    Levi hesitated, fingers curling slightly before finally taking it. He wasn’t sure why, but the thing suddenly felt awkward.


    His eyes lingered on the kid as he shuffled back to his chair. Dressed better than most his age—greased-over brown hair, round face, brown cap settled low over sharp, watchful eyes. The vest and shorts gave him a peculiar look, like someone half-grown but already thinking he ran the place.


    "Heard your name was Levi. I''m Nathan. Nathan Copperhill."


    Levi stretched his legs out, rolling his neck with a stiff pop before settling on the edge of the bed.


    "How long was I out this time?"


    "A whole day."


    Nathan answered, swinging his feet against the chair.


    "How’d you get those scars?"


    The abrupt question caught Levi off-guard. He coughed, his brow furrowing as he took a slow, calming breath. Then, catching the scent of himself, he sneered.


    "Different ways. Boy, they ever teach you ''bout manners?"


    Nathan shrugged, unfazed.


    "I’m sorry if it’s rude, mister, but everyone’s curious."


    He leaned back, pulling off his cap and running a hand through his hair.


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    "I told ’em you got in a fight with a polecat. That’s it, isn’t it?"


    Levi could feel his patience thinning, but instead of snapping, he calmed himself. His eyes locked onto Nathan, cold and steady. He lifted a finger, tracing the deep, jagged scar that cut from his mouth to his ear.


    "This one? A gift. From a Crow Valley brave. It’s what they call a Dohiyi Gvgeyui."


    Nathan’s legs stopped swinging. His curious expression tightened just a bit.


    "In their tongue, it means Stealing the white man''s sadness."


    Levi’s smirked, but his eyes didn’t match it.


    "Too bad I gutted him before he could finish. Otherwise, I’d be smilin’ forever, ear to ear."


    A loud gulp cut through the room.


    Nathan shot to his feet.


    "That don’t scare me. But I gotta let ''em know you’re up. Nice to meet you, Mister."


    His stiff-legged stride toward the door made Levi’s smirk fade.


    As soon as Nathan was gone, he let his fingers trail over the scar. The memory of that brave’s final scream rang through his head, clear as a church bell. So did his dying expression.


    He shook the thought off.


    ''No use diggin’ up graves.''


    Instead, he grabbed his shirt and brought it up for a sniff—only to yank it away just as fast.


    "Holy hell!"


    With slow, deliberate movements, he peeled it off, careful of his bandages. The shirt hit the floor with a weight heavier than it should’ve been.


    His eyes drifted over his body. The bruises, deep and yellowing, were fading. His bandages were clean enough, but he peeled one back to check. Where flesh met steel, thick scabs crusted over the wounds and stitches, dark and tight.


    "Better than I expected."


    He’d always healed fast. Even when sickness swept through places he passed, he’d never caught so much as a fever. Only thing that ever knocked him flat was a bad hangover.


    ''Might as well see if I can bathe before I split. Should be able to move in a day or two… don’t know if I can last that long smellin’ like a damn stable.''


    Levi braced himself, shifting his weight slow as he went to stand. His body moved like a rusted hinge—stiff, uncooperative. Every step felt like walking barefoot on nails. Grimacing, he made it halfway across the room before he leaned hard against a table, his breath short.


    “Son of a bitch. Might need longer than I thought.”


    Before he could push off and try again, a knock rattled the door—sharp, no hesitation. Before he could answer, Edmond stepped inside.


    “Looking better. How you feeling?”


    Levi exhaled slow, shifting his weight off the wardrobe.


    “Decent.”


    He glanced down at himself—bruised, bandaged, and rank as all hell. He frowned.


    “Any way I could use a washroom? Could also warsh my clothes if ya got some spares I—”


    “I already sent Nathan to start a bath.”


    Edmond cut in, motioning for him to follow.


    “Been tired of smelling ya myself.”


    His gaze flicked over Levi’s scars as he turned toward the door.


    Levi didn’t argue, just followed, letting the silence stretch between them. The slow shuffle of his feet and the steady clomp of Edmond’s boots were the only sounds.


    Then, after a beat, Edmond spoke again.


    “You’re too young to have served. But I’d know the scar from an arrowhead or blade as easy as breathing. You’re a merc.”


    A dark smile tugged at Levi’s lips, quick and bitter.


    “And you’re a bounty hunter runnin’ an orphanage. What of it?”


    “Not accusing. We all got stories.”


    Edmond stopped at a door, pushing it open to reveal a shoddily tiled washroom, steam already curling up from the tub.


    “I’ll have Nathan bring the clothes and bandages. Soap’s in the bin.”


    Giving a small nod of thanks and stepping inside, Levi reached for the door. But before he could shut it, Edmond’s boot held it open.


    “Nothing stupid, kid.”


    Levi met his gaze, steady and unblinking. Just waiting.


    After a moment, Edmond pulled back, leaving without another word. Levi watched his back disappear down the hall, his jaw tight.


    “Nosey old man.”


    He pushed the door shut. Stood still for a moment, listening to Edmond’s steps fade away.


    Satisfied with the distance, he let his shoulders sag, the tension leaking out like air from a busted canteen. The act dropped as the pain set in, deep and sharp, pulling a quiet groan from his throat.


    “Should’ve asked for some meds.”


    What should’ve been a simple bath turned into an hour-long ordeal, most of it spent fighting against his own body. Every movement pulled at scabs and stiff muscles, the hot water doing as much harm as it did good. By the time he was done, he felt more exhausted than refreshed.


    Drying off slow, he was careful not to tear open the wounds that’d softened. He slathered on the cream Nathan had left with the fresh bandages, wincing here and there but pushing through.


    But as he reached for the last strip of cloth, his hand started trembling. At first, just a little, barely a twitch—but then real bad, like a greenhorn trying to steady a bolter in his first fight.


    His breath hitched, frustration flaring hot in his chest.


    Gritting his teeth, he forced his arms to still, but the harder he tried, the worse it got. A deep ache settled into his bones, the weight of everything crashing down in a way he hadn’t let it yet.


    He’d fought like hell, bled for it, and damn near died. And for what? Just to sit here shaking like a newborn colt, too weak to even wrap his own damn wounds?


    His fingers curled into fists, nails and metal biting into his palms. For a second, he wanted to hit something—the wall, the floor, his own useless body—but there wasn’t a point.


    Anger wouldn’t stitch him back together.


    Swallowing hard, he sucked in a breath and forced himself to finish, slow and steady. Like nothing had happened.


    Finished dressing, he took a moment to inspect himself. The white collared shirt was clean, the fabric stiff but comfortable. He tucked it neatly into the brown trousers before pulling the suspenders up over his shoulders. They fit surprisingly well—not too loose, not too tight.


    Reaching up, he tied his unkempt blonde hair back, letting the bangs hang free.


    His boots were still back in the room, so he gathered what little he had and made for the door. Just as he pulled it open—


    Rufus.


    The man stood there like he’d been waiting. Didn’t say nothing at first, just gave him a once-over before nodding down the hall.


    “Follow me.”


    Levi didn’t move right away, watching Rufus walk off before letting out a slow breath. His muscles relaxed just enough to keep his head clear.


    ''Stay calm… If they wanted to turn me in, they would’ve done it already. Just play along till you get your blades.''


    But despite the sense of it, his gut still knotted up something fierce.


    Rufus led Levi back to his room, stopping just outside the door.


    “Put your stuff away.”


    “We goin’ somewhere?”


    Rufus just stared, his one eye steady, unreadable.


    ‘Oh now you wanna be quiet? Fuckin'' teapot old man.’


    Levi set his dirty clothes inside, pulled on his boots, and stepped back out. With a dry smirk.


    “Where now, boss?”


    Rufus arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching before he turned on his heel.


    “Wanna show you somethin’.”


    Levi followed as Rufus led him toward the front of the house, stepping into an open room with a broad window that stretched across the front wall. Through it, he caught sight of the kids playing outside—running, laughing, dragging kites through the dirt.


    His eyes lingered on them longer than they should’ve. The way they ran, the way they hollered, the way their laughter carried so easy on the wind. A sound so familiar it stuck in his throat like a bone.


    “Edmond says you’re not a danger.”


    Rufus’s voice cut through, but Levi barely turned his head.


    “To be honest, I kinda agree.”


    The bounty hunter pulled out a smoke, snapped his fingers, and let the flame catch before taking a long, slow drag.


    “I can also tell you ain’t a liar. Least, not yet. So I’ll just give you this one warning, kid. While you’re here, if you so much as make one of ’em cry."


    He lifted his right arm, the Vaporguard tech whirrin’ as the limbs of his crossbow moved, twitching like a rattler.


    "We understand each other?”


    Levi heard every word, but his thoughts were stuck somewhere else, trapped beneath something heavy. Something deep, something dark, curled inside him. A weight he refused to name.


    “We do.”


    His voice came quiet, distant. Then, with a breath he didn’t quite release, he added.


    “Mind if I head back now? Feelin’ pretty tired.”


    Rufus blinked, thrown off by the shift. He’d expected some sass, maybe a glare—something with bite. But there was no fight in Levi’s voice, just a tired sort of sadness that made Rufus frown.


    “Uh… sure. Long as you get it.”


    Levi turned on his heel, heading back toward his room without another word. Rufus exhaled slow, watching him go.


    ''Damn kid. Took all the fun outta it.''


    As Levi walked, his face stayed dark, his thoughts heavier than before. His hand drifted to his shoulder, fingers pressing absentmindedly over the fresh bandages.


    Then— shhk.


    He stopped.


    His ear caught it again—quick, sharp, deliberate. The sound of a blade on metal.


    ‘That ain’t from the kitchen.’


    Kneeling slightly, he listened harder, straining against the noise of the house. There it was again. A steady scrape, followed by a metallic clank. The rhythm was wrong for working tools. This was something else.


    It was coming from below.


    His gaze landed on a door tucked near the back of the hall, one he hadn’t paid much mind to before. Stepping toward it, he pressed his hand against the worn wood and listened.


    The sound was clearer now. A grinding whir, followed by the unmistakable hiss of steam. His grip tightened on the handle, and he eased the door open.


    Stairs.


    And they ran deeper than he expected.


    A basement.


    Descending slow, the air grew thick with the scent of oil and metal, damp stone walls closing in around him. The deeper he went, the louder it got—until finally, he stepped through another door into a massive, open space.


    Underground, a whole different world unfolded.


    And there, in the center of it all, stood Edmond.


    Facing down a steambot.


    Levi stilled, eyes sharp as he took in the scene. The dim glow of amber veins pulsed across Edmond’s Vaporguard arms, his stance loose but steady as the steambot lurched forward, gears grinding.


    It was a fight.


    And from the way Edmond moved, this wasn’t just some old war dog keeping in shape.


    This was training.