Chapter 10: Scars and Stories


    Three days. Longest damn stretch of stillness he''d ever suffered.


    After striking his deal with Edmond, he knew his time was ticking. He had Crimson Song’s whereabouts, but no telling how long she’d stay put. He needed that hunt to kick up dust, enough to cover his escape. That meant healing fast was step one.


    So he’d spent the last three days in near-complete bed rest, doing his damndest to keep to his room, avoiding everyone. But no matter how much he tried, them kids still found ways to pull him into their world—little voices, little feet, too much energy for a place this quiet.


    "Feels more natural. Not sure I like that."


    Lowering his arm, a sudden high-pitched scream from outside made his chest clench. Not fear, but childhood fun—just a sound that pulled something from deep in the dark.


    With a slow breath to shake off his thoughts, he sat up, testing the weight of his own body. Felt solid.


    "Think I’m ready."


    Pushing to his feet, he stepped to the center of the room, rolling his shoulders, letting his muscles wake up. Time to see if his body agreed.


    Shedding his shirt, the motion came easier now, free of the sharp pull of pain. He unwrapped the bandages next, letting them fall loose.


    The flesh where steel met skin was still pink, but the scabs had fallen clean. He flexed his shoulder, rolling his arm across his chest, testing the stretch.


    Dropping low, he stretched out his legs, feeling the last of the stiffness finally ease up. He kicked out, letting the motion flow smooth, then pressed up into a handstand, his arms holding the full weight with ease.


    For a second.


    ‘It’s like I’m carryin’ somethin’.’


    The difference in strength between his arms threw him off, too much to ignore. The balance shifted—his body tilted—and before he could correct it, he toppled over, landing hard.


    Staring up at the ceiling, he could just imagine how bad that bot would hand him his ass if he tried it now.


    "Pathetic."


    Then, noise from outside his door caught his attention.


    The kids.


    He could hear them now, huddled just beyond the door, arguing about something, their voices hushed but full of mischief.


    He expected the usual irritation to rise up, but it didn’t. Instead, he found himself thinking of Pete. His childhood friend wouldn’t have lasted this long, not without breaking down the door, demanding answers to every question that popped into his damn head.


    Moving quiet, Levi stepped to the door and swung it open fast.


    A startled yelp rang out.


    Nathan stood frozen, flanked by two other boys—just for a heartbeat. Then, like spooked chickens, the other two tore off down the hall, leaving Nathan stranded, looking up at Levi in shock.


    Rolling his eyes, Levi walked back to the bed.


    "Just gonna stand there?"


    "Oh! Right."


    Nathan scrambled to shut the door before plopping down in his usual chair, feet swinging.


    "You look lots better, Mister Levi."


    "Drop the ‘mister.’"


    Levi grabbed his shirt, pulling it back on before sitting to tug on his boots.


    Nathan let out a low whistle, his eyes roaming over the scars still visible before the fabric covered ’em.


    "Uncle Rufus says you’re a bootjack, but Edmond says you’re a merc. Which is it?"


    The word bootjack soured Levi’s face, a sneer twitchin’ at his lip.


    "Same damn thing. But don’t call me a bootjack again, or I’ll box your ears."


    "Sorry!"


    Nathan flinched, his face flashing panic before curiosity overtook it.


    "Does it mean something bad?"


    Levi sighed, leaning forward on his knees.


    "Mercs usually get hired at the tail end of a fight. Paid to clean up what’s left—finish off the wounded, strip bodies for weapons, supplies. Folks say we’re low enough to steal a dead man’s boots for a coin. That’s where the name comes from."


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    Nathan’s nose scrunched up.


    "Redskins wear boots?"


    The sheer, innocent absurdity of the question caught Levi off guard. Before he could stop it, a chuckle escaped.


    "Ha! You laughed! Roger owes me a copper."


    Levi’s smile froze, his amusement shuttering like a door slammed shut.


    "Alright, kid. What brings ya here? What your friends send you to ask?"


    Nathan leaned in, eyes wide with curiosity, clutching his cap like it was something sacred.


    "Well, we were wondering—since you’ve fought natives and all—what’s Earthsong magic like?"


    Levi worked his Vaporguard arm in slow circles.


    "Ain’t got a clue. Never seen it."


    Glancing at the kid’s fading expression, he smirked.


    "Why don’t you go ask cue-ball?"


    Nathan sighed, slamming his cap back on his head like he’d just lost a hand at cards.


    "Edmond doesn’t like when we ask about that stuff. Uncle Rufus told us a little once, though. Said he fought a tribe that could summon fog and storms."


    Levi’s smirk faded as the words hit something deep. A memory, sudden and sharp.


    The night he was wounded and taken. Fort Maria, flames rising high, the stench of blood and burning wood thick in the air. Just before the arrows came raining down, a storm had rolled in outta nowhere, like the heavens themselves had been called down for vengeance.


    His fingers flexed unconsciously against his knee.


    "I’ve fought my fair share, but every one of ‘em was just flesh and bone. If they were usin’ magic, didn’t make much difference to how they died."


    Grabbing the new pitcher on the table, he took a long drink, the cool water washing down the taste of old memories. When he set it down, Nathan was sitting stiff, his face pulled sour.


    Levi sighed, rubbing his temple.


    ''Kids not gonna leave happy with nothing. Might as well give him something to report back.''


    "’Bout two years back, I’d just started takin’ merc work. Done a few jobs by then, nothin’ big, but I was finally in the right place at the right time. Heard about a battle, figured I’d roll the dice and see if I could make a payday at the tail end of it."


    Nathan’s curiosity flickered back, but there was still that shadow of letdown in his face. He wanted magic, something grand and unnatural.


    Levi let a slow grin creep across his face.


    "I’ll tell you somethin’, kid. Magic or not, I’ll never forget what I saw that day."


    He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping low.


    "A holy knight. Atop a war machine."


    That did it. Nathan’s eyes went round, his grip on his cap tightening.


    Levi let the moment hang, seeing the kid was hooked. Hell, who wouldn’t be? Even grown men got quiet hearing this one. He wasn’t much for talking most days, but this? This was one of the few stories worth telling. And after a drink or two, he’d learned how to spin it just right.


    "A Knight Commander, one of the Sacred Order of the Steam-Templars. Covered head to toe in golden Vaporguard armor, not a single inch of flesh showin’. Not a man no more, least not one you’d recognize. A machine of war built for one thing—killin’ in the name of the Church."


    The room seemed quieter somehow. Even the usual clatter of the orphanage outside felt distant.


    Levi’s gaze darkened as the memory played clear as day. He could still see the way that gold-plated armor caught the last light of the setting sun, polished like a damn idol, steam hissing from vents as it moved—like the damn thing breathed.


    And the sword.


    Lord help him, the sword.


    "He wielded a blade damn near as tall as I was, covered in fire so bright it burned blue at the edges. Cut through flesh like it weren’t nothin’, turned men to ash before they even hit the ground. He rode through the battlefield, through a band of natives fleein’ for their lives, and that blade carved through ‘em like a reaper’s scythe."


    Nathan’s mouth parted slightly, the boy hanging on every word.


    "Weren’t just him, his horse… if you could even call it that… weren’t no normal beast. It was Vaporguard, all metal and wire, pullin’ this big-ass chariot that chewed up the ground like a sawblade. Thing was covered in gold, big damn cross on its chest, shinin’ so bright you couldn’t look straight at it. And its mane…"


    He let out a breath, rolling his shoulders like he could shake the thought loose.


    "Weren’t hair. It was light—movin’, flickerin’, like it was alive. Left streaks in the air when it ran."


    The sound of it still rattled in his skull.


    "And the chariot? Weren’t for show. That thing was built to kill. Wheels big as a man, spikes on ‘em that’d grind folks to pieces. Had blades on the sides, too—long ones. Anyone dumb enough to get close got cut clean through. People ran, tried to fight, screamed. Didn’t matter. That thing kept comin’. Couldn’t stop it. Nothin’ could."


    His fingers curled tight against his knee, jaw clenching up.


    "Watched that knight tear through ‘em like nothin’. Never seen nothin’ like it before. Ain’t seen nothin’ like it since."


    The room felt small all of a sudden, too quiet. He blinked, shaking the weight off his mind, and looked back at Nathan, who was sitting there with his mouth half open.


    Keeping back his grin, Levi stepped to the door and swung it open.


    "Alright now, go on and tell ’em. Sure they’ll eat it up. Just don’t be expectin’ much more like it. Now get, I got shit to do."


    "Yes, mist— I mean, yes, Levi!"


    Nathan jumped up, bolting for the hall, but stopped quick, looking back with a wide grin.


    "I’ll make sure the others know never to call you a bootjack. And thanks for the story."


    Levi gave a nod, watching as the kid tore off down the hall, already yelling for his friends. He shut the door behind him with a quiet click, exhaling slow. That feeling was back—something crawling up his chest, a mix of guilt and something else he didn’t wanna name. He pushed it down fast.


    "Damn kids."


    Shaking it off, he turned and headed for the basement door. House was quiet, no one around. Good. He slipped inside, taking the steps down two at a time, keeping his mind on what was ahead. He didn’t have time for ghosts.


    As he got closer to the mine entrance, a sharp thud echoed down the hall—something hitting something soft. He slowed, listening.


    "Guess they’re in there."


    Another thud. Then another. A familiar twang followed by the hiss of vapor.


    Levi pushed the door open just enough to see inside.


    Rufus stood at the far end, crossbow raised, vaporguard vents spitting short bursts as he fired bolt after bolt into a target dummy, each shot landing dead center.


    Levi frowned, leaning against the doorframe, watching.


    "Why him?"


    Stepping down the stairs, he eyed Rufus as he worked. The bounty hunter stood solid, boots planted firm, taking each shot with the calm of a man who’d done it a thousand times. His light gray slacks and vest fit snug over a white collared shirt, a brown rope-tie tucked under the buttons.


    Over it all sat a tan trench coat, split at the back from the waist, sleeveless on the right to keep his Vaporguard arm free. The black goatee, thin and sharp as a dagger, matched the bald shine of his head, and the eye patch stretched tight over his right eye only made him look meaner.


    Levi kept his steps light, but Rufus didn’t need to see him to know.


    "''Bout time, kid. You ready?"


    Levi slowed, brows drawing down.


    "For what?"


    Rufus finally turned, a grin spreading slow across his face. Without another word, he flipped back his coat, hands flashing to his hips.


    THUNK. THUNK.


    Two familiar blades stuck firm in the dirt at Levi’s feet.


    His bowies.


    He barely breathed, eyes locked on the knives.


    Rufus smirked, leaning just a bit.


    "Ain''t gonna sharpen your ass sittin'' around, boy."