The Fall

Jazz’s generally optimistic demeanor dissipated as soon as he found himself alone. All he could remember was slipping, his body feeling as if it were tumbling down a hill. He was laying in some sort of abyss, with some fragments of light between the shadows of his long faded vision. He touched the ground to his sides, feeling wet leaves and greens weave themselves between his fingers as he grabbed a handful, relieved he was still in the forest. Slowly he wiggled each limb, holding his breath between each movement checking for any breaks or tears. Everything felt all clear, so maybe he did just slip a far distance from his squad. Not that his squad would be here despite him not calling out. Moe and Isaac would be looking for him or tending to him rather loudly if they were around.

Jazz raised himself up slowly, now sitting up, and not long after hearing a snap. A familiar one he’s heard on the training grounds. He slid his hand to where his back once laid, and felt two long pieces of wood in its place. One of his most reliable weapons was gone, and he felt the dread wash over him.

Armed with only a knife and quiver with only a few arrows left, probably due to his stumble, he decided to try and find some place to take shelter in through touch and sound. Luckily he found a shrub not many steps away from his original position and cut a little hole for him to sit under.

Hours and perhaps days would pass. He didn’t want to yell for help because they were in the middle of a mission that required stealth. His tumble obviously made a lot of noise but it could have been mistaken for a tree or animal. So he just sat there. Stoic. Hardened. Remembering times where his life required him to endure despite helplessness.

He woke up, feeling a bit of warmth to his side. There was a blanket draped over him, and a soft bed beneath his hands and back. His armor was stripped, but he couldn’t help but enjoy sinking into comfort. “Get lost.” Jazz heard a voice coming from further away, presumably outside. The door opened and shut. The person sighed. He heard running water and some muttering. The person got closer, he felt her presence as she neared. The blanket moved a bit and he felt a cold towel draped on his chest. The temperature difference made him flinch, and a small yelp from his aid.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were awake.” Her voice so delicate and sweat, completely different from the one from outside. “Are you hungry? Do you need to use the restroom?” Jazz’s eyes opened, and she let out a small gasp. “I’m okay,” He gasped. It had been awhile since he spoke that it felt unnatural, hoarse, and loud reverberating in his skull. He continued nonetheless. “Where… am I?”

“You’re in a port town not too far from the __ forest.” She answered, fidgeting with the cloth as she wrung it out over a bucket. “I suppose you’re from the capital, judging from your attire. Had I not found you, I think you’ve been dead. Many people here don’t take too kindly to guards.”

“Thank you.” Was all Jazz managed to muster. He winced again at the cloth against his chest.

“Sorry, it might sting. I got this soap from a vendor far south from here. She said it had medicinal properties. You’d think a gambeson would be enough protection from the outside world, but they don’t tell you about the rashes and blisters you can get from wearing something for days without washing.” The aid lectured as she took time rubbing each area thoroughly. This was a similar feeling to all the times Moe would tend to his wounds, since he couldn’t assess the damage he’d taken throughout surveys and missions.

Jazz had plenty of questions he wanted to ask this mysterious person, but he had little energy to spare. “Your… name?” He uttered, his hands gripping the bedsheets. He felt a gentle touch on his knuckles, sliding to cup her hand over his.

"Lyra."

Jazz would spend the few days with Lyra, getting to know her as he recovered his energy. He’d feel her occasionally touch his face and arms as if checking on wounds. They never really stung, but they must have been noticeable. He would occasionally get up from bed, with Lyras assistance, until he was able to get up from his own. However he’d often hit his head or feet against furniture, since he wasn’t familiar with the layout of her home. She often felt embarrassed and apologize, suggesting to move some things around but Jazz would inform her not to since he needed to simply familiarize himself with the layout. It wasn’t long before they were sitting and laughing at her small dining room table and he’d help her with small daily tasks as she ran to her job. He was getting used to the routine, slow as it may be, it was a humble life.

One morning they heard a knock on the door. Lyra held Jazz’s shoulder from across the table, telling him to stay put as she walked over to the entrance. It was Moe and Isaac, a bit ravaged from their mission, and from searching around for days. Lyra had the door cracked open, asking who they were. Even if they wore similar garb as Jazz, she was quite protective over the man she had taken in.

“I’m looking for a friend, he’s quite tall and blind.” Moe spoke as gently as he could through his gritted teeth. Many pushed him and Isaac away, and they were treated poorly throughout the port, so it was becoming harder to believe anyone would be generous to give anything in their search to fine their friend.

“You mean me?” Jazz playfully shouted across the room.

Moe pushed his head and shoulder against the door, getting a glimpse of Jazz before Lyra braced the door shut. “I can’t have my house looking like a place where guards can just come in whenever they want.” She said loudly enough to be heard through the door. Moe was furious, ready to start pounding on it, though Isaac grabbed his forearm before that could happen. A small-town man knew what that meant. People gossip. Any sudden or weird moves could exile a person. Isaac whispered in Moe’s ear, gesturing with his head that they needed to go, perhaps through a back entrance where they wouldn’t be seen in the open.