The Boundless Prophecy

Chapter 1 (1.4 Harmonica Hurricane Bar)

Lost in contemplation, Wallace found himself at the main entrance of Crissaven Sanatorium.

Three rickshaws were parked in the courtyard just outside the main entrance of the sanatorium. Two werewolves were meticulously cleaning one of the rickshaws, vigorously wiping away every trace of bloodstain from the passenger seat. Their efforts were so intense that the vehicle seemed on the verge of falling apart under their determined scrubbing. These werewolves had most likely assisted in transporting casualties to the sanatorium.

Normally, there would have been more rickshaws waiting to ferry the exhausted sanatorium staff home after their shift. However, today was an exception—every aspect of this day felt different. Instead of immediately approaching the exiting staff, the werewolves were engrossed in their labour, eyes bleary and bloodshot from exhaustion.

Wallace approached the largest rickshaw, the one typically used by him and his friends, and acquainted with the werewolves who owned it, two brothers. Placing a hand on the elder brother's shoulder, Wallace offered a weary smile as the werewolf, who had slumped onto the ground, looked up. The younger brother continued drying the rickshaw with a rag. Brec, the elder brother, rose to his feet and placed a hand over his chest, offering a greeting, "Good evening, Sage Wal Jac." Rahl, the younger brother, followed suit with a nod. Despite their evident fatigue, the werewolves made sure to show respect to the healers, a customary display of etiquette that most native creatures adhered to.

Observing the weariness etched on the werewolves' faces, Wallace shook his head and replied, "Good evening to you, Brec. We'll wait for the next rickshaw. Rahl, both of you seem like you need a good dinner and some rest after today. It must have been quite a long day."

"No need to fret about us. It's always an honour to serve. Where are you headed? Harmonica Hurricane?" Brec responded, with Rahl nodding in agreement.

The brothers had been their drivers on numerous occasions. They were sincere and upright werewolves, individuals who would never deceive or bend the rules for personal gain. Their words reflected their honest nature, and they took pride in their upbringing. Given their long acquaintance, Wallace didn't decline their offer.

With that, Wallace and his companions settled into the rickshaw, heading toward the Harmonica Hurricane Bar.

The Harmonica Hurricane Bar was their frequent haunt after work, a spot the werewolves knew well.

Leaving behind tire marks and water mixed with blood stains on the ground, the vivid memories of the emergency hall lingered as the werewolves guided the rickshaw toward their destination. An unusual silence settled within the confines of the vehicle; each occupant was lost in their thoughts. None of them dared to broach the topic of what had unfolded in the emergency hall. Wallace felt a wave of nausea wash over him, uncertain if it was due to hunger or the distressing scenes of the deceased and maimed creatures.

It took roughly twenty minutes to traverse the distance from the sanatorium to the Harmonica Hurricane Bar. Peering out of the window, Wallace's gaze wandered over the trees and bushes illuminated by the eerie full moon against the silent night sky. His attention flickered occasionally to passing empty rickshaws, but his mind roamed unrestrained. The oddest part of the ride was Scott's uncharacteristic silence; the most talkative person in the sanatorium, if not the entire Sereton Kingdom, wore a sombre expression.

The sudden stop signalled their arrival at the Harmonica Hurricane Bar, breaking the spell of their introspection. Only then did they realize the unusual quiet that had enveloped them throughout the journey.

Brec and Rahl glanced at Wallace and his friends, understanding the gravity of the night. Wallace retrieved two honour golds from his pocket and offered an additional five river coppers as a tip.