Shake It Off(Zera)

The evening was unusually cold, a bit of frost clinging to the windows and the occasional doorknob. The mirthless blue light of his lantern danced on curtains and closed doors. It carried no warmth, no vibrancy, but it weighed him down as nothing else could. He made his way around the first corner, keeping his off-glowing eyes on the road ahead. He needed to get home. He had stayed out too long and had put himself at risk, this as a normal thing for him but he'd made a promise to come back safely the next day. He would not under any circumstances break such a promise.

He wrapped his scarf around his face, pulling it closer to chapped lips. The wind was picking up, ah, rain. He squinted accusingly at the sky before a mirthful smile broke across his lips. At least the rain would help in other ways, the city had been through a dry spell after all. He gave an exhalation of relief before making his way past the local tavern. Tempting, but he needed to get home.

That was when he saw the three men in the tavern. That was when he saw the blood on their knuckles, boots, and shins. That was when he looked up into their eyes and saw the cold, mirthless, glow of hatred that reminded him of the deathly cold outside. Zera's eyes narrowed and a frown creased his features as the men stopped, they heard a sound perhaps? They turned back toward the alley and Zera's heart went still. No! His blue eyes went wide and he hastened his march toward the alley, sliding to a stop just as the men gathered around the limp form of a red-haired boy.

Terror gripped him. The boy's eyes were fluttering. He was probably blinded by the pain. He didn't know the fresh danger that had returned to visit itself upon him. Bloodstained the boy's lips and his skin was pale from the exertions of vomiting. The rain fell harder. Zera swallowed his fear, he clenched his fists and marched into the alley. The mirthless blue light of his lanterned danced brightly that evening, casting itself against the cold, frosty walls of the alley.

---

The next morning three men were found hiding in the gutter, praying. They never told a soul what happened to them.

---

To his credit, Zera had managed to get only a few cuts on his fists the previous night. He'd arrived later than he had planned with an extra weight in tow. One of the maids at his estate in the Wharf had, understandably, a bit of a fit upon seeing him and chastised him for not taking better care of himself. She finished her lecture by securing the boy he'd carried across town and treating him. In the end, that's where Zera found himself when he woke, dozing in a chair just a few feet from the boy in a small room. The sounds of construction going on outside and around them. The bed was warm with clean sheets and single pillow for support. The wet and bloodstained clothing the boy had worn would have been removed and his injuries bandaged. After that, all they could do was let him rest.

Zera's own worry had led him to camp in the not-quite-big-enough chair the whole of the night, much to the frustration of his attendants. He really needed to do more for them, they put up with so much of his nonsense. He chuckled and scratched his nose in his drowsy state, pulling the quilted blanket up and over his chest for a bit more warmth. He opened his eyes as the sunlight reached a comfortable angle in the room and looked up, wondering if the boy had woke yet.