Hell is real.
And it's located in the middle of some forgotten little town in Anima.
I step out of the bathroom with my dignity severely compromised and the absolute certainty that this place should be considered an environmental crime.
Still better than shitting in the woods.
I take a few steps outside and pause, finally stopping to really look around as the world settles around me.
Everything is tiny. Maybe calling this place a "city" is generous. A few scattered houses, some shops… and an inn.
It feels more like a place where people pass through to rest than a place where they actually live.
Focus, Whitley. You need information.
Well, using my incredibly high brain capacity, it seems unlikely that a quiet place like this would have a functional CCT Tower—and if it ever had one, it was probably destroyed by Grimm…
Which, honestly, considering how incompetent the guards are, wouldn't be surprising at all.
Most of the houses and shops are dark: closed doors, unlit windows. Only the inn still has its lights on.
So…
After considering my surroundings, I realize the best option is the inn.
According to TV shows, the best places to get information are the ones filled with alcohol in the middle of the night.
I walk up to the door and push it open.
The inside is small. Worn wooden tables, a long counter at the back, and a narrow staircase leading somewhere—probably the rooms. The lighting is dim and yellowish, just enough to confirm that nobody here really cares about comfort.
It's not empty. Almost.
A man is passed out over a table, arms crossed over something beneath them. He snores softly, completely unaware of the world. On the other side of the room, someone drinks in silence, their back to me.
Behind the counter, the bartender cleans a glass that already looks too clean.
Just like the movies…
I close the door behind me. The dull thud of wood echoes through the room.
I walk up to the counter and lean on it.
"House water, please," I say.
The man stares at me for a second longer than necessary, then turns around without answering. He grabs a glass, fills it, and slides it toward me.
Meanwhile, my gaze drifts back to the sleeping man.
Between his arms, partially crumpled, there's a newspaper.
Information acquired.
The sleeping man doesn't move when I carefully pull the newspaper from under his arms. He just shifts slightly, mutters something incoherent, and keeps sleeping.
I open the paper.
And what I see irritates me so much that I almost tear the page.
Whitley Schnee, son of businessman Jacques Schnee, is declared dead after disappearing in Mistral.
The Bullhead transporting him lost contact during the trip and was found days later, completely destroyed, near bodies identified as White Fang members.
The aircraft showed signs of a Grimm invasion attempt. No bodies were found inside, leading authorities to presume the worst—
Look, I get them presuming I'm dead. I don't even know how I'm still alive myself, and that conversation with the guards already prepared me for this.
What really pisses me off is the second page.
Schnee Dust Company opens a new mining front in Mistral.
Jacques Schnee briefly commented that the company remains firm in its goals and that "tragic personal setbacks do not change the SDC's plans.
Below the headline, there's a photo of my father.
Smiling.
He made the announcement with me officially dead.
He talked as if I were an insignificant detail.
I'm his son! And yet he acts like I don't matter at all!
I slowly fold the newspaper.
I always knew he didn't care that much about my sisters or me—but still… I guess I had some hope.
"Damn…"
"See something that pissed you off?"
My eyes meet the bartender's.
"A few things."
He shrugs, wiping a glass with an old rag.
"Newspapers always exaggerate."
"Not this time." I take a sip of water. "This one was pretty accurate."
He doesn't ask anything else. I'm silently grateful for that.
I slide the newspaper back toward the sleeping man. It almost wakes him up.
…
"So," the bartender says, impatience slipping into his voice, "are you going to order something, or are you one of those people who ask for house water and leave?"
"Do you accept Dust as payment?"
He looks at me.
"Yes."
"Then give me a room."
.---.---.---.
Should I really go back?
That question haunts me all night.
The plan was to return safely to Atlas and become the heir, earn Jacques' recognition…
And maybe even a hug.
Okay, that's pushing it.
…but I wouldn't refuse one.
I slowly walk down a few steps of the staircase, one hand resting on the worn railing. The wood creaks softly, but nobody looks up.
I stop there.
Watch.
The bartender stands behind the counter, arms resting on the wood, expression closed off. In front of him, a young man gestures wildly, his hands moving at an impressive speed.
"I proposed to her yesterday," he says with a nervous smile. "It wasn't anything grand, but… she said yes."
The bartender lets out a heavy sigh, grabs a cloth, and starts cleaning the same spot on the counter for the third time.
"And what does that have to do with me, Josh?"
Josh straightens.
"I want you to come with me."
He swallows. "I want to go to the capital. Start over. There's work there, people, real guards. You can't build a life here."
My gaze drifts to the inn's door.
Small village. Little light. Few people. Little protection.
Oh, Two Brothers…
What if Raven comes here? With that gang of lunatics?
The bartender laughs without humor.
"The capital isn't the beautiful dream you think it is."
"Dad…"
Before I can think better—or think at all—my mouth decides to participate.
"That's exactly it!"
"I'm with him," I say, lightly pointing toward Josh. "The capital makes a lot of sense."
Josh stares at me for a few seconds, narrowing his eyes.
"Aren't you that beggar from earlier?"
"Josh, focus!"
He blinks, as if only now remembering he was in the middle of an important discussion. He rubs his face, visibly nervous.
"Sorry… it's just—"
"—not relevant," I cut in before he gets lost again. "The point is simple."
I step down one more stair, but not all the way. No need to look invasive.
"The capital is safer. Walls, Huntsmen, guards who actually do something."
I look straight at the bartender. "This place isn't."
He crosses his arms.
"You don't know anything about this town."
"I know enough," I reply, before thinking better.
"I got in by jumping the wall."
I say it plainly.
"It's a miracle this place is still standing."
"You jumped the wall? Why would you—"
"Shut up, Josh!"
I turn back to the bartender.
"Just imagine it… You in the capital, waking up to your grandkids running around the house."
I open my hands, as if the image is obvious.
"Calling you 'grandpa,' tugging on your leg, knocking everything over."
I shrug.
"Here? They'd probably be afraid to leave their room."
Silence hangs heavy for a few seconds.
The bartender doesn't answer right away. He looks at Josh, then at the door, then at the counter—as if seeing the place for the first time in years.
Finally, he exhales slowly.
"I'll pack my things," he says.
That was easy. I've seen Jacques steer conversations with all kinds of people, but I thought doing it myself would be harder.
Well, it didn't work on Raven—but I don't think she fits the definition of "person."
Josh looks at me, visibly relieved.
"You did it… I don't even know how to thank you," he says, running a hand through his hair. "I wish there was something I could do—"
"You'll take me with you."
I say it like it's obvious. Because it is.
Josh blinks, clearly caught off guard.
"What?"
"I'm going with you," I repeat calmly. "To the capital."
He frowns, the relief from moments ago turning into uncomfortable hesitation. His eyes scan me—dirty clothes, messy hair, and a suspicious backpack.
"That wasn't… part of the plan," he says slowly.
"It is now."
Josh lets out a short, nervous laugh.
"Look… Whitley, right? It was really nice of you to help me with my dad, but I don't even know you… and you kind of look like a criminal who's going to kidnap us."
That hurt.
"If it helps, if I were going to kidnap you, I'd wait until you were asleep."
He takes a step back.
That didn't help.
"Dear, where are you? Did you convince your father?"
The voice comes from the top of the stairs.
If my calculations are correct, that's his wife.
AN OPPORTUNITY.
"Josh! I'll pay, okay? Is that it? You wanted to take money from a defenseless CHILD who just wants to go to the capital?"
"What? N—"
"JOSH!"
She's already halfway down the stairs. The look she gives him is sharp, authoritative—the kind that ends arguments before they start.
"Are you charging a child money?" she asks, incredulous.
"No! I didn't—"
"So I imagined it? Am I stupid, Josh?"
Damn it.
Josh raises his hands, cornered.
"Of course not! I just— I didn't even ask for anything."
"But you thought about it," she snaps, stepping down another stair. Her voice is low, dangerous. "You thought about charging him."
Then she looks at me.
Up and down. Her gaze lingers a second longer when she notices how… small I am.
"…wait," she says slowly, frowning. "I know you."
You do?
"The picnic," she continues. "In the forest. You ate our sandwich and stole our strawberries."
Ah. Right. I did that.
She sighs, rubbing her forehead.
"Poor thing. How long were you in that forest? You must've been so hungry and scared."
Smile and nod, Whitley.
"JOSH!"
He flinches.
"He's coming with us."
"My love, he's clearly suspicious."
She crosses her arms, studying me like a soaked stray cat that wandered into the house.
"Suspicious of what?" she continues. "Stealing food when he's starving?"
Josh runs a hand over his face.
"Don't you think it's weird he suddenly wants to go to the capital with us?"
I make the most innocent face I can and say:
"I just want to find my mommy."
I almost threw up saying that.
"Oh come on, you can't believe that."
She ignores Josh, fully focused on me.
"Hi, little one. My name's Margaret. How old are you? You can't be more than twelve."
I feel slightly offended, but if this gets me to Mistral, fine.
I nod.
Margaret straightens slowly and gives Josh one last look.
That look. The decision's made look.
"No," she says. "We're not leaving a child alone in the middle of Anima."
"But—" Josh tries.
"But nothing." She's already walking toward the door. "He's coming with us."
Nice.