The Inferno Ascending

Reality

By morning, the nicer man had taken him to the woman he mentioned last night. Jax didn't support the idea, but his chances were rather slim or none. He had done the best that he could.

Jax stared at the broad-hipped woman—whom he assumed to be in her late thirties— who blanketed his petite body with her venomous gaze. A kind of gaze that tousled the hairs on his skin. Her dark gaze sent chills across his body: was he already in danger? Jax muttered.

“Alright, Ms. Tank, I shall now take my leave. I promise that he's a good kid!” the man added, patting him, then veered to leave.

Jax was scared. Fear enthralled him instantly—the fear of being alone. The thought of it alone ravaged him.

Jax ran after the man, nabbing the hem of his coat. He stared at Jax carefully—like the first time that he had seen him in that field in Kistan—as if he had more to say. His warm eyes washed him over, taking him in the arms. He crouched to his level.

“You are going to be fine, you'll be, of course!” he began. “I wish that I could do more, kid!” he sanded his cheek lightly.

“Will you ever return?” Jax asked him.

“Most definitely! When I can! I swing by every fortnight, which means we'll meet as often as we can. Be strong!” he added.

He released Jax’s arms gently and stepped away from where he stood.

Watching the man head away. Jax’s eyes watched him enter his truck alongside his colleague until he could no longer catch a glimpse of the rusty loaded truck.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, a squeeze, cold and demeaning.

It was Ms. Tank. The woman he didn't trust.

“He's gone now! Let's get you to work, little man!” her hoarse voice, almost deafening his eardrums.

Jax turned to her, following her every lead.

The woman managed a local bistro. From what he had gathered in a couple of hours, the middle and lower castes frequented the bistro.

Overlooking the devouring eyes of the customers, Jax was ushered into a store room. Stuffed with several old utensils, hand towels, sideboards, broken tables, and half vases spread across the room.

She looked into one of the sideboards, pulled out some piles of clothes, and tossed them at Jax.

“Five minutes would be enough to find the one that suits you best! I need a hand in the kitchen!” she said, as she walked out of the room, leaving behind the slam of the door.

Jax skimmed through the old clothes. They looked worn out, nothing like the apparel that he was familiar with. Not even close. Out of the haggard junk, Jax’s eyes stopped on the black and brown pair of clothes. Although it was slightly over his measurements, it was worth trying.

…

Jax joined Ms. Tank in the kitchen. She burdened him with a ton of dishes to wash. However, she had several employees to assist in that aspect, but he wondered why he had to be tasked with things like that.

“I'm going to test your abilities—”

“By doing the dishes?” he retorted distastefully.

“Yes, rebel, by doing the damned dishes!” she whisked into the foyer where the customers were entertained.

Tight-lipped, he did what he could.

However, his hands could not wrap the enormous dishes and pots, the weight numbed his hands and if he dared to lift a finger without the support of the other hand, then he'd be sure to fall flat against the cobblestoned ground.

…

The sun had set, and Jax had yet to eat breakfast—lunch—dinner, or whatever it was that Ms. Tank was going to give it to him.

Cooped in the corner of the large foyer where the customers lessened, his thoughts hurled in his mind.

Two days earlier, he didn't see the need to eat often simply because he had an abundance of various delicacies, but now, it was the opposite of what he was familiar with.

Clicking footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts, and the constant churns of his stomach made him crane his neck both ways in search of the littlest crumbs that he could get.

“There you are, little champ!” Ms. Tank blurted with a dry smile, sarcastically. She was holding a bowl and a chunk of bread. “Here you go, eat. I don’t want to be eaten by you!” she barked.

She passed the bowl onto Jax alongside the bread, and he gladly accepted it.

Frankly, he had expected some turkey or beef at least, but his eyes were met with only rice cakes and an arid chunk of bread.

Hopelessly, he stared at each and shifted his gaze to the boastful, wide-hipped woman clothed in a light dress who stared directly at Jax.

“Fair? I barely made sales today!” she added.

“Thank you, Ms. Tank!” the words escaped his mouth, although intended but not from his heart. If only she had known who he was, then she would at least garnish his meal more appropriately? He wondered.

She walked back into the building while the mask of hate covered his face.

Did she have children?

Or a husband? At least a bald boyfriend? He wondered while he chewed thoughtfully.

Some moments later, Jax heard a loud feminine scream from behind the bistro. It was louder than it should have been. He flinched a bit at the thought of Ms. Tank in his mind. Could she be in danger, he muttered silently?

Jax hid away as soon as he heard thundering footsteps approaching. Jax could sense danger. Clutching his back against the avocado tree, he caught a glimpse of several men attired in black clothes and masks stomping out of the building. They were scurrying in the direction of a black van that he had just taken note of.

As soon as they zoomed off, Jax hurried inside to find Ms. Tank but he couldn't find her. Jax called her out thrice, but she didn't respond.

Fear engulfed him like a haze.

“Ms. Tan—”

“They took my Noa, my Noa!” she came into view, soaked in her tears and beads of sweat.

“Your… Noa?” Jax asked, almost whispering: It didn't sound normal because Ms. Tank’s first impression was the unconcerned type.

“They are Anti-imperium inquisitors!”

Jax froze in confusion when she mentioned that to him. His nine-year-old self swerved among words he had never come across in his life. They were strange and heavily armed, but who were they?