Chapter 3: Chapter 2: Slums (2)
The night passed by without incident, John falling asleep at the crack of dawn as the other slum inhabitants began waking up.
The shuffling of feet was what alerted Noah that John had returned and curled up next to him. John had been up all night, and was too exhausted to consider anything else but sleep in the safer daylight hours.
In contrast, Leah yawned at Noah's side, a hand absently rubbing out the crust in her eyes before she abruptly paused in confusion, lips making a popping noise. "I…sleep? N-No I-"
Shame caused Leah to pout, her cheeks reddening in her fluster when she realized Noah was staring at her.
"I-I go." Leah stammered before shooting up to her feet and running away. "Leah find food!"
Noah didn't even get the chance to say she could sleep a while longer despite trying too. His body was just too weak from sickness to afford more than a few croaks out of his mouth. Then again, it was 'Noah' himself who taught John and Leah that the best time to find something to eat was before others could snatch it for themselves. The early morning was ideal, John and Leah looking younger than their actual age was even better.
Sad as it was, children were pitied far easier than adults through an innate sense of community. It was why Noah had been able to scrap a living in the slums of Amaranth while taking care of his siblings. Sadly, at fourteen, Noah fit more in the category of adult than child.
Noah shook his head, clearing it of idle thoughts and memories that were slowly merging with his own.
He tried to sit up while being conscious not to wake up John, but his efforts left him breathless. His stomach rumbled, pangs of pain coursing through from his abdomen and through his body. Starvation was a hunger that spurred the instinct for survival. With a little more effort, he was finally able to readjust into an upright position, panting for breath at the exertion.
Nausea caused his focus to spin, and cold sweat to break out over his forehead. If he couldn't recover from this sickness, he would die.
Breathing deeply, he assessed the sigil of the cross. It was only now that Leah wasn't appropriating his left arm that he could see that the sigil was present on both hands.
It was a mark of God, proof of the faith he'd read and finally believed in at his first death.
The reason had been selfish, but it was comforting to believe that there was a kingdom waiting for him in the afterlife.
This place, this world, wasn't exactly the kingdom he imagined, nor did it appear to be the place where sinners go in hell.
Then what was this cross upon his hands? Why did such warm light radiate from his palms?
No light was emitting from his palms now, but he was sure that he'd seen it last night.
With a thought, pale light began to emit from his palms, with another, the light faded.
It was clearly activated through conscious thought, but the concept of how evaded his understanding just like why he ended up here after death. The two moons, the foreign kingdoms, and even knowledge of different races in 'Noah's' memories, all pointed to a world far different from his own. It was like one of those fantasy places he'd heard about in modern society.
Regardless, Noah did not have the luxury to contemplate over his existence now. Survival was first and foremost.
Whatever this light was, the symbol of the cross was the prevalent clue tying the light to a God he'd just started to believe in. The scriptures he'd read described it as a light of wonder and miracles. Surely, it wouldn't just be a glorified light source? Rather, wasn't it God's light?
The story of healing a lame man with a voice and a touch. Noah remembered it from the words of a Saint named Paul. The particular verse and context eluded him, but the overall impression remained.
God's light could heal. Of course, healing wasn't the limit of its miracles, but it was the current aspect Noah was most focused on.
Tentatively willing the light to shine, he brought his hands to his head and let the light touch him. Gradually, the nausea began to fade, the pale pallor of his complexion lightening to a healthier blush.
The weakness was still there, but it was certainly an improvement to how he was feeling before. The light soon dimmed, leaving him gasping and feeling like he'd just run a marathon despite not having physically exerted himself. It was clearly mental fatigue.
Noah pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, trying to catch his breath as a low chuckle escaped his mouth.
He would live, and that realization was enough to invoke relief.
John was still sleeping soundly near him, his eyes dark with bags from staying up so late. Noah raised a hand and shone a light over John, watching as the bags slowly faded. In turn, Noah's vision wobbled.
Greedily sucking in air, Noah leaned his back on the makeshift planks of wood used to create a shelter. He shuddered at the exhaustion assailing him.
He was the eldest of the siblings, and it was his duty to watch out for John and Leah. The regrets left in Noah's memories were many, but even more were centered on his brother and sister. The original Noah grew up as a Lambert, but the other two were raised on the streets of Amaranth's slum. Too preoccupied with just trying to survive, Noah could not properly teach general education, manners, and etiquette no matter how much he'd wanted to. There was never the time. John was slowly learning, but Leah was stubborn and cheerfully stuck with simple vocabulary.
The original Noah was drowning in a sense of failure, both to himself, and to his deceased parents.
Noah inherited those sentiments, and made it his own in a natural acclimation of the soul. He was 'Noah' yet not Noah.
His head bowed as he winced from lingering pain in his body. The light had abated the worst of his sickness, but he'd run out of mental stamina to alleviate the rest. There was no choice, so he simply bore with it just like the original Noah bore with the shame of concealing his hair.
Silver hair was the symbol of the Lambert main family line, but Noah had been forced to constantly dye his and his family's hair to a more ordinary brown to evade suspicion.
It was difficult to determine how much time had passed from between the dilapidated alley. Sunlight could barely enter due to overhanging terraces from taller and adjacent buildings, but Noah was starting to get worried.
He estimated that an hour had passed, and Leah had yet to return.
Noah was the one who scavenged for food, and it was only occasionally when Leah or John would tag along to learn. One of the absolute rules he'd taught Leah and John was never to stray too far into the slums, and to return even if you came back with nothing.
Instinct as an older brother was weighing on Noah's mind. He should have stopped her.
He began to count the seconds, the seconds ticking into minutes with no change.
Finally, when he was beginning to force his body to stand up and search, the hurried sound of little footsteps echoed in the secluded alley.
"John! John! Noah! Look! Look!" Leah burst into the alley, yelling in excitement as her knee-length hair bounced behind her bare feet. "Leah got bread, Leah got bread!"
She was waving a large piece of bread that resembled baked sourdough.
Leah's shouting woke up John who felt more rested than he'd thought. He quickly blinked his eyes and roused to full awareness at the sight of what Leah was holding.
"You're amazing Leah!" John exclaimed, running towards Leah as she entered the small shelter. "A-A whole loaf!"
"Hehe." Leah preened, puffing her chest up and standing on the balls of her feet. She grew abashed under John's praise but was all too proud of her achievement. "Dumpster! Dumpster! The baker man threw it out! I wait and wait until his back was turned!"
The correct term was 'waited,' Noah inwardly lamented at Leah, but couldn't bring himself to intervene when she and John looked so happy.
Mold was growing on the bread, but neither John or Leah seemed to care if they'd get sick and were just joyous at their good fortune. They were counting that discarded food as a treasure, and staring intently at him they gave that treasure away without hesitation.
"Noah, Noah! Eat!"
Leah pushed the entire loaf into Noah's hands while John nodded his head, wiping the saliva at the side of his mouth and turning away to prevent being tempted. Leah was no different as she kept swallowing, but continued pushing the bread to him.
Noah opened and closed his mouth, suddenly feeling choked from the unconditional sincerity. He was sick, and he mattered more to Leah and John than hard sought bread. It was the unmistakable bond of family.
That was why Noah couldn't possibly just accept the bread as it was.
The light he possessed could purify imperfections…then perhaps?
Ignoring the mental strain, he willed light to shine over his palms while holding the loaf of sourdough. Slowly, surely, the mold began to vanish, the black discolorations lightening into a freshly baked brown.
Leah tilted her head at the sight of the light and the appearance of the bread while John gasped in wonder.
Noah broke the bread into three pieces, one for himself, and the others for John and Leah.
At first they were hesitant, but they were unable to resist when Noah took a bite of his piece and the freshness of the sourdough revealed a spongy texture through its crust.
"S-Soft, tasty?!" Leah cried with fervor.
John was slower. He stared at Noah in excitement.
"Brother," John's voice shook, not noticing Leah eyeing his unguarded piece of bread. Noah was sick, but John was fine.
Noah stared at his little brother, knowing what he must have been thinking. Magic existed in the world, but only a select few were well versed in its use and could conjure or mold it to their will. However, if you could afford it, you could learn even the basics.
Considering their life in the slum, there was no way Noah would have learned from an institution, meaning Noah could be considered a natural gemstone. All magic users could be paid handsomely, and it was a fact well known even to the poor.
Gemstones, those who could use magic without instruction, were even rarer.
However, Noah had an inkling that his light differed greatly from ordinary magic.
John buzzed with eagerness.
"Brother, did you use- ah Leah wait!"
Tragedy struck John, and its name was Leah. She was clamping down on a corner of John's bread with her mouth trying to chew and swallow as fast as possible.
"J-Just one extra bite okay? Stop!"
Noah snorted as the two acted like children and started squabbling with each other. However, Noah could see that John was being half-hearted.
The two brothers had always doted on Leah. Soon enough, Leah was rubbing her belly while John smiled wistfully, content with a smaller portion of bread in his hands.
Noah thought otherwise.
John was Leah's older brother, but Noah was John's.
"Shh." Noah gestured, quietly passing John half of his piece and stopping any of John's protests about the sick needing to eat more.
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