9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4hhTJPGNc7CHAPTER II
- THERON’S DEMANDS -
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The journey back to Ana’s cottage is a blur of churning thoughts. The cheerful village no longer offers solace.
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Each familiar landmark merely marks another step in Metro’s confused retreat. He guides Sally, the heavy oak logs rattling in the cart behind them.
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Ana is in her garden, her frail form bent over the trampled cabbage patches; her brow scrunched in concentration. She looks up as Sally snorts softly, pulling the cart to a halt. Her gaze immediately settles on Metro’s aura, a look of concern crossing her gentle features.
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Ana:(gently)
“Metro, you're moving like a storm's guiding your thoughts.”
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Metro exhales sharply; frustration finally breaks through.
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Metro:
“I met Theron. I lost the quarter bloom after talking to Veronica. Theron wants to negotiate a business deal now after the fact. I’m not sure if I trust him. And now he wants the Q when we meet, who knows when that will be.”
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Metro’s words bleed with frustration into every sentence.
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Ana listens in silence.
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Her calm energy waits; she watches, calmly.
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A dull thud lands.
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Ana:(voice steady, warm)
"-you didn't lose everything entirely."
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Her eyes study him carefully, cutting cleanly through lingering frustration.
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Metro pauses, turning slightly towards her.
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Ana:(thoughtful)
"I have kept a reserve of careful cultivation for special moments like this."
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Her sight drifts barely towards the floorboards of the cottage.
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"This qualifies."
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She moves across the room and kneels beside one section of the worn wooden floor, with ease she lifts the loose board that reveals a compartment underneath. From within, she retrieves a leather pouch-small, but an appropriate weight pouch.
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Ana rises and sets the pouch on the table. Metro studies the pouch with light intensity. Her gaze returns to Metro.
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Ana:
"Run to Paul... he's a good friend. He'll understand the situation and will most likely return the leaf you gave him. With that, you’ll have the fourth that Theron expects."
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The cottage grows quiet again, the faint crackle of the hearth filling the pauses.
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Ana: (soft - slightly)
“Pay attention, the doors will be opened for you.”
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Metro (takes a breath)
“Thank you. I’ll head to Paul’s before sundown.”
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With a renewed sense of purpose, Metro secures the precious cargo.
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The sun has begun a slow descent, painting the village with rays of orange and white. The sounds of the people fade behind him as he urges Sally back towards the forest, pushing the cart rattling softly along the trail now lighter without its wooden cargo.
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The temperate forest can be seen as they close away from the clearing. Green and brown leaves stir overhead. The broad path becomes narrow, winding through tall oak trees.
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Each steady stride Sally takes carries the weight of Metro’s thoughts.
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The looming meeting with the king presses heavily on his mind. The bloom he gave his word on. Losing the stash and the intimate collapse of his future: if he fails to meet expectations.
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Metro presses forward hoping to reach Paul before the end of daylight. He approaches, seeing a ribbon of woodsmoke circle from the chimney, heightening the scent of soil and pine.
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Paul is still at his workbench when Sally trots into the clearing, the empty cart rolling behind her. He looks up at the sound, has sharp eyes, narrow, before a grin pulls the corner of his mouth.
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Paul: (calls out)
"Back so soon?"
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(sets down half-carved oak block)
“Did Lord Long Face give you trouble about the oak you delivered last week?”
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(wipes his hands on a scrap cloth)
“Or did you come for an evening apple cide?”
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Metro:(unhitches cart)
“Neither.”
The seriousness in his tone pulls Paul's attention fully. Metro makes gestures towards the empty cart.
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“The woods delivered.”
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(exhales)
“I set up a meeting with Theron about ‘The Flower.’ and things went south.”
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He reaches in his pack and pulls out three small pouches.
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“I told him I would have a fourth of bloom but lost the quarter somehow.”
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Paul's expression hardens
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Metro:(head slightly slump)
“Ana’s been a saving grace.
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(A beat)
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… she's lent me her most powerful stash.”
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(places 3 sacs on table)
“I have three zips here… but it is not enough.”
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The words hang in the quiet clearing.
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“I have to ask for the zip back… if you’ll spare it.”
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“It’s not life or death, but my reputation with the nobles-- I’ll probably never open a business, like I dreamed of.’
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(Beat.)
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“He wants to meet with me once again, soon, with a full pouch in hand.
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Paul looks slightly disappointed and disgusted.
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Metro looks down at the ground, a heavy pressure weighing; his hands rest on his hips as he slowly kicks rocks with the toe of his boot. A soft clatter against the dirt in the clearing.
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Paul’s wise eyes soften as Metro confesses his predicament; the sadness more clear in the fading light. He listens carefully, saying nothing at first.
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Paul:(thoughtful)
“You lost it… huh.”
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“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing with the Council. That man collects debts with interest and not always coins.”
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He turns away, walking to a small hidden nook built into the wall of the workshop. Reaching inside Paul retrieves a leather wrapped pouch before returning. .”
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“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing with the Council. That man collects debts with interest and not always coin.”
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“Here.”
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Metro looks down as Paul places it into his hands.
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“It's yours. Take it.
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(a moment)
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‘Your integrity is worth more than any plant, no matter how potent.”
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Paul studies him for another moment.
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“As for dealing with men like Theron, they thrive on desperation, show them only what they need to see. Keep your cards close. You have a good heart, Metro, and a keen mind. Trust that.”
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Paul (pausing, gentle smile now)
And anyway...
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(He casually brushes saw dust from hands)
“If they come here, looking for the bud, I’ll tell them I know a farmer down the street—who grows the good stuff!”
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Paul’s eyes glisten in the dimming light; a mischievous sneer crosses his face.
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Metro lets out a soft laugh, smirking, clearing his throat.
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Paul continues (voice a little lower)
“Remember your inner strength. The weight of those who truly stand by you, you don’t need much else.”
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Metro nods slowly, grasping the porch firmly.
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“I’ll be back soon. To let you know everything.”
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Paul gives Metro a small nod in return.
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Metro:(waves)
“Farewell.”
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Paul:
"Be safe!”
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VILLAGE OUTSKIRTS FOREST TRAIL
-NIGHT-
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Leading Sally back toward the forest path, the twilight deepens around him. The woods are quieter now; the sky can be seen through the stretch of black canopy branches from below. The stars are sparkling in a numerous host above Metro as he rides home to his cottage.
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Shadows gather between tree trunks; a handful of hosts--tall thin reapers crowding the forest's edge like a haunting audience.
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They stand there, watching.
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The cold pressure clamps down on Metro’s ribs. He can’t see them clearly, but he feels them. Like the night itself has turned its attention on him.
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His skin prickles.
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His breath shortens.
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Sally’s legs tremble—she’s not just scared; she’s paralyzed.
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Metro leans forward.
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“Something doesn’t feel right, Sal.”
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The shadows seem to stretch, lengthening across the ground, reaching without moving.
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The air is thickened by the silence of screams.
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Metro’s heart beats with mixed panic and fear.
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He grips the reins.
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“C’mon girl – LET’S GO!”
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Sally explodes forward, breaking free of the bind of whatever previously held her. They tear down the trail, hooves hammering the dirt.
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(Instincts geared → Flight Mode)
Metro feels the evil angels rushing alongside the tree's lines slipping past him. Keeping pace through the trees like streaks of deeper darkness. He tries his hardest not to look back, a terrified expression on his face. The pressure is still growing, whispering at the edge of his mind.
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Sally runs harder.
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Branches whip past them.
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The forest blurs.
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The night seems to lean around them, closing the distance, trying to swallow their light.
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Metro’s frame shakes.
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Metro:(shouting, panicking.)
“Go Sally! GO!”
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The shadows can almost be heard in multitude, pressing closer, crowding the trail behind him. The faster Sally runs, the more the thinned vision unwraps and bends.
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– But then – A faint glow appears ahead.
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A small home.
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Lanterns burn at the end of a dark tunnel; its flames begin to expand like a holy light.
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Metro’s humble cottage breaks through the trees like a lifeline. The moment comes into view; the pressure begins to loosen. The darkness thins, evaporating, the weight lifts.
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Sally slows only when reaching the clearing, chest heaving, sides trembling.
Metro turns back towards the woods, shaken.
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The forest is still again.
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Empty.
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Quiet.
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Eerie.
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The feeling doesn’t vanish completely – it lingers very softly, like something evil spectating from a distance.
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Scene fades black –
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-METROs COTTAGE- MORNING
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The cottage is cold and still when he wakes in his bed – gathering himself to the edge of his mat, his head drops, exhausted from yesterday's previous traumas. The weariness of a dark uncertainty settles heavy into his bones.
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Metro pulls a strip of beef jerky from a small pouch and slowly chews it with hollow eyes. He throws himself backwards on the straw mat, staring at the wooden ceiling above.
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– OUTSIDE VILLAGE CENTER WELL–
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Metro unhitches Sally from her post. They walk together calmly into the village market, unleashed, side by side.
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They head straight for the communal oven, he watches the sky's dawn, now holding her leash, listening to her comforting footsteps. The scent of fresh bread in the air also eases his mind.
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A quiet nod to the baker and a few copper coins are laid on the counter.
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Continuing their journey through the village square with a warm, flaky, buttery crescent in hand. He chows down rather quickly, savoring the burst of flavors as the town's energy comes to life around him.
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Arriving at — ANA’S COTTAGE —
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Metro quickly ties Sally to the front post near the cabbage. She drops her head to graze grass, while he attends to work. The rhythmic thud of the axe against the oak stakes and the sharp clanging of hammer against metal fill the air.
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Ana is already moving carefully through rows, surveying what she can from the disturbed patches of her garden. The soft murmurs drift between the plants, gentle and mellow.
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Metro works steadily driving each stake deep into the earth. One by one they form a protective boundary around the fragile rows.
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The morning stretches on; the sound of iron striking wood echoes softly through the yard. Each post sinks firmly into the soil, feeling like a small victory against whatever unseen force had plagued the garden.
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When the final stake is driven into place, a satisfying last hit echoes into the bright blue sky.
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Weariness settles into Metro’s muscles. He pauses, catching breath, feeling the quiet satisfaction and strength that comes from an honest day’s labor.”
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Before long, a comforting aroma of simple, hearty stew drifts from Ana’s cottage. Metro steps inside and sits at the wooden table, grateful for the warm food. He begins eating.
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He’s only halfway through his meal when a sudden shadow stretches across the doorway.
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A stern-faced guard stands framed in the entrance. His broad frame blocks the sunlight behind him. One hand rest firmly on the hilt of his sword, clanking softly with each movement. His face is hard as granite; his stare fixed on Metro.
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Kings Guard:
“You are required to present yourself before Lord Theron at his lodge immediately.”
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His hand remains on the sword's hilt.
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Ana shrinks slightly in her seat, her eyes wide with apprehension. Across the table, Metro’s half-eaten stew suddenly loses its appeal. He swallows the last bite, the warmth turning into a sudden, unsettling lump in his throat.
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He casts a quick, reassuring glance at Ana, whose worried eyes follow his every move. Without a word, he rises from the table.
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The guard grips nod and turns, leading the way out of the cottage.
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The forest path — so familiar and comforting moments ago — now feels like a somber corridor.
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The guard’s heavy boots crunch on the fallen leaves, at a steady, relentless pace.
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Metro falls in step behind him, his mind racing, trying to anticipate Theron’s intentions. The air is thick with Metro’s unspoken thoughts — the wind and world calls, doing little to break the apprehensiveness of the journey.
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The King’s Guard maintains pace, his broad back a rigid wall before Metro. They pass through the familiar lanes of the village, the morning activity now in full swing, but the villagers seem to avert their gazes, subservient nods as the First Guard passes.
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Soon the humble cottages give way to more substantial homes, and then, the grand timber lodge rises before him; it's dark wood placed monstrously. Metal ores dominate the walls, and fine stones, the street. A clear sign of wealth and power. Far grander than any other building in the village.
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KINGS LODGES ENTRANCE-
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Two more guards, equally stoic, stand at attention by thick doors, which swing open at the approaching footsteps.
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Metro glides through the grand hall; its vaulted ceiling soaring high above, tapestries depict ancient wars adorning the walls, and the scent of polished wood and incense linger in the air. They climb steps and flickering fire lanterns are passed by.
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The guard steps before a heavy door signaling to enter with a gloved fist. A distant voice bids them to enter.
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Metro stands and steps into the chamber, the threshold a silent prayer echoing in his heart. As he crosses, the threshold steady. There is a faint white glow gathers around his head, sharp and noticeable in the dim, spacious room.
At the far end, King Theron is hunched over a massive dark oakwood desk, quill scratching steadily across thin parchment. The shift in light makes him glance up, his eyes narrow slightly as the glow outlines Metro's face.
Near the tall window, Veronica stands silently, the daylight behind her framing her figure.
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A brief hint of surprise crosses her features before her expression settles again. Her eyes connect with his only for a brief moment .
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Metro walks forward steadily. His boots echo softly across the chamber’s floor until he stops several paces from the desk.
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With calm deliberation he slips the strap from his shoulder and sets the bag down beside him on the stone floor.
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Even through the cloth of the bag, the faint shimmer of its contents seem to catch the light around Metro’s head, a glowing reflection clearly visible.
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Theron’s gaze moves from Metro’s face to the bag resting on the ground. Slowly, he sets his quill aside. His fingers lace together atop the desk, his knuckles tighten with a calculated look in his eyes.
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Silence fills the chamber for a moment.
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Then Theron leans back in his chair, studying Metro carefully.
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Theron:(nods slowly)
“Welcome.”
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Metro remains steadfast, his posture calm and unmoved, his eyes fixed squarely on the King.
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He calmly and ever so slightly nods his head.
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The gleam in his eyes does not waver.
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Theron studies him carefully, his eyes grow colder, more calculating. Metro’s silence lingers in the room longer than he likes. It presses against the king's authority, subtle but unmistakable.
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Theron leans back in his leather chair, gaze unmoved, locked.
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Across the chamber, Veronica stands near the window, silent, her eyes tracing two tectonic plates grinding against each other.
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The quiet stretches, thick with anticipation.
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Theron:(waves his hand dismissively)
“Very well! Let us dispense with the pleasantries.”
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His stare dips briefly towards the bag on the floor before returning to Metro.
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Theron:
“Your botanical talents are considerable, and this leaf of yours...”
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(flicks his wrist towards backpack)
“is special in all its qualities.”
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(leans forward)
“I have interests that require a consistent, reliable supply of such unique resources.”
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(A brief pause.)
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“I require you to cultivate this magic leaf for me exclusively."
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His fingers tap against the desk as a faint smile forms.
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“A partnership. A very lucrative one for you, I assure you.”
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(beat)
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“im going to need forty thousand quarter-blooms every month consistently without fail.”
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The chamber grows still. Veronica's eyes shift intensely, sensing the gravity of the number.
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He stands in silence for a moment, measuring Metro’s reaction. He studies him the way a merchant studies a rare commodity—searching for cracks, hesitation, anything.
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“Think of what a steady supply could command in certain circles. The influence it could buy. The leverage it could secure.”
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His voice smooths into something almost persuasive, though the calculation beneath it never fades.
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“In return you will have protection, safety from those that might interfere with harvest.” You will have access to resources far beyond anything a village could offer. And naturally, compensation in gold. Enough to ensure that your people never want again.”
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(heavier/colder)
“Understand first that eyes must be on the product at all times. You or someone you vouch for must be present at the fortress.
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(beat)
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‘This isn’t a structure built around controlling your life. It’s a dangerous operation. Emergencies happen. Accidents occur.”
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The air tightens.
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“If the property is ever left without your appointed overseers, the partnership is off.”
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Theron:(eyes narrow, sharper)
“Once trade begins, my partners will end every other supplier. Entire markets will shift. Competitors will be starved out.
Buyers will fight for a spot at this table.”
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Taps his two fingers on the table twice.
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(Thin smile forming)
“Greed will sharpen, the wolves will turn vicious, and if that supply falters, even for a moment."
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He whistles and pops the desk once, a lethal punctuation.
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“Those displaced buyers will come for you, me, and everyone we love.”
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(Voice more casual.)
“Its market war, that’s what this has always been. A bunch of serpents dressed in fancy robes, ready to destroy everything in your path – your life’s work…”
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(A short moment.)
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“So what do you say? Are you in?”
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Metro:(jaw tilted slightly,eyes lit.)
“I agree with your terms and conditions. And I understand the weight behind your request.”
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“Four thousand blooms a month will draw attention.”
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(A quiet breath.)
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“If we displaced players do come, it would put us all in danger, our livelihoods in jeopardy.
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Metro's voice remains calm but theres firmness behind it.
“If this is the plan moving forward, I trust your judgement in how the land should be guarded and the number of men needed to defend the grounds. "
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'I will be at the estate, me or someone I trust with the operation , One that I trust with my life, and to uphold my name.
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(Speaks deliberate, honest.)
“Provide the protection, the resources, and follow through with the payment we've agreed upon and I will meet your quota. Thank you again, for letting me to work.”
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Theron:(delighted)
“Excellent.”
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Theron studies him now with renewed interest.
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“Veronica will see to your immediate needs and will begin arrangements.”
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Beat
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Farewell.”
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Metro bows down to grab his bag, turning swiftly for the exit. Veronica follows him; heavy doors swing shut behind Metro, sealing away the tension of the moment.
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The white light beyond them fades, a memory of intensity .
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Veronica, who has already moved gracefully towards the doorway, turns to face him. A faint frown creases her brow.
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The great hall and its towering stone walls - now feels like a corridor meant for quiet conversation.
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Veronica:
“Dramatic display…”
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Her voice is low and even with a trace of amusement.
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“My father was taken back; I haven’t seen him that pleased in years.”
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She turns and begins walking, Metro continues behind Veronica’s flowing green dress. She leads him down a quieter corridor. For a moment she looks in his direction.
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“Forty thousand quarter blooms in a month?”
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She stares deeply into Metro's eyes now. Veronica steps closer, slowly. Then she stops.
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The silence stretches for a moment. The confidence she carried earlier has faded slightly, replaced by something more hesitant.
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Veronica:
"There's something I need to tell you..."
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Her eyes search Metro's face, as though trying to decide whether the words are worth the trouble they might bring upon her.
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"I took it. Yesterday. The Quarter Bloom you lost..."
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The admission hangs between them like a stone dropping in still water.
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A sharp pulse of anger rises in Metro, hot, immediate, demanding release. His face tenses as the memory of the missing bloom flashes through his mind.
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The trouble it caused.
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The anger.
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The confusion.
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But it stops there. Metro holds it, closing his eyes.
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Exhaling a storm.
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When his eyes meet hers again, there is no accusation; only calm restraint. Veronica notices.
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Veronica:(voice lower now)
"I didn't do it to betray you."
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"I did it to protect you."
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She glances down a corridor before looking back.
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"My father's just collecting you, like all of his other rare items and jewels."
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(A moment, longing gaze)
"Don't be angry with me, I just didn't want you to work for him."
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Her gaze lingers on Metro's face, searching for anger that never comes.
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Metro closes his eyes.
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Metro: (opening eye contact, serious)
"You did it thinking that it would cancel your father's plans for me, to protect me, I get it."
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(shifting gears)
"Tell me the details of your father's plan."
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She gestures down a dim corridor. At the far end, a heavy iron bound door waits—Darkwood, black metal bands, built to endure.
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Veronica:
"The details."
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Her heels tap against stone as she moves closer to the door.
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"My father owns an estate in the Whispering Forest. A castle fortress. That's where you're headed."
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Her hand rests on the cold iron ring.
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"There are living quarters inside the fortress, the soldiers will be there guarding the grounds. His banner makes the message clear to outsiders."
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Then she studies him, steady and expectant.
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"As for the overseers, we'll need their information, their roles, who they are to you, addresses, that kind of stuff..."
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Metro:
"I'll need time to gather everyone and report back."
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Veronica nods.
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Veronica:
"Take your time. Transport can be arranged for the Estates whenever you're ready.
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‘Gather your people, and make sure they understand the nature of this operation, and their ~~assigned~~ roles."
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She studies him again—her favorite pastime—
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Veronica:(soft, piercing tone)
"The chariots will be here tomorrow morning, if you want to get a head start and ride with me."
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She turns casually and leaves down the side corridor hallway, leaving Metro alone in the quiet stone hall.
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—scene fades—
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—End scene—
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and then Add to home screen.