Chapter 3: Reading Between The Lines
Sollivan looked at the person in front of him with a relaxed expression. It was none other than a child who had not yet reached adolescence.
The child’s body was somewhat thin and slightly tall for his age. However, his small face lacked the usual softness or innocent gaze of a child. Instead, it was pale, carrying a fixed expression and a somewhat harsh look, as if an adult were trapped in a child’s body.
This was not unusual for children in the poor neighborhoods, where most were orphans and impoverished, having lost their parents to war. This forced them to seek work to support themselves and help what remained of their families.
As for the child standing before Sollivan, his name was Devlin. His parents had died several years ago after being struck by an explosive catapult projectile during the siege of the city by the forces of the Cold Sun.
Devlin quickly stepped forward, a faint look of respect on his face, and began pushing Sollivan’s wheelchair. Sollivan, in turn, relaxed in his seat and caught his breath.
Neither of them spoke until they reached the door of the house. When Sollivan opened the door, he asked, "Can you manage through this winter?"
Devlin pushed the wheelchair inside and answered gratefully, "Yes, I’ve saved enough to rent a room and buy what I need."
"Good. Fill the water jars, but light the hearth first."
Sollivan grabbed the wheels of his chair and pushed himself lightly toward the table cluttered with books and manuscripts. Without turning to Devlin, he secured his chair, placed his bag aside, and began examining the manuscripts with suspicious eyes, trying to recall where he had seen that strange language before.
Meanwhile, Devlin headed to the hearth, lit a fire that began to warm the room, then picked up a half-melted candle nearby, lit it, and placed it beside Sollivan. He then went to a corner of the room, picked up a few jars, and left, heading toward the shared well in the neighborhood.
Sollivan raised his head and looked at the door, which remained ajar, letting in cold drafts that made the candlelight flicker, revealing his confused expression.
Devlin was no stranger to him; in fact, he could be considered an unofficial servant, helping Sollivan with tasks he found difficult to accomplish alone—fetching water from the well, buying necessities on stormy or rainy days, and other chores. In return, Sollivan gave him some money at the end of each week.