Searching For Andromeda 80 The Past Attributed To Yael's Goals 2

Yael, at the rough age of five, was left into a makes.h.i.+ft dwelling—a simple house made of worn-out tent and wood as its foundation—abandoned by its inhabitants. In Yael's dwelling, there wasn't anything but a dirty mat for a bed, a basket filled with nothing—not even a single morsel, and tattered clothes. 

Yael's life was tough; being a child alone in a worn-out tent. But the slums were jam-packed with people living with bivouacs st.i.tched up together. He was able to survive at the pity of the people around him; he was given sc.r.a.ps of food, some money, and hand-me-downs. That pity lasted for only eleven years. 

At 17, Yael's life was complete h.e.l.l. 

An epidemic had occurred in the slums, reducing their population. The government did nothing over this incident, turning a blind eye over the cries of their citizens. The monarchy created a law that is called 'Citizen Reform,' which had the Patrias—the natives of Patriargë to abide by the rules without fail. The most affected by this law was the suffering slums. They had to accept the law, even if it was unfair. 

They were instructed to be 'rehabilitated' yet it was just the sugarcoated term for 'containment'. The slums were isolated from the rest of the populace to stop the spread of the epidemic. Yael couldn't count how many people died. He couldn't count how many of them—elderly, children, and even the infants—collapsed and bled to death into the ground.

Flies, maggots, and the smell of rotten corpse were wafting in the slums for a total of six months until the government ordered a 'clean up.'

And this included killing even those alive.

Yael barely got out of the containment, but he was able to run to the city. He was in rags and tatters; his ribs marking in his grimy body and his cheekbones protruding from his bony face. The dark circles under Yael's eyes had shown how much he was exhausted. His bleeding, chapped lips were the mark of his thirst. The bony physique remained as the testimony to his hunger. 

Yael was the example of the government's negligence.

He ran to the alleyways on that rainy night. The howls and cries of the people being slaughtered by the guards were still ringing in his mind. Yael glanced at the children behind him. He only managed to save two of them. 

"Duck!" Yael whispered to the children as he hid them in his back. They were also cloaked and were hiding beside a garbage dump. The thunder roared blaringly; the lightning provided light for a matter of seconds, making Yael pin down where the guards are. 

The king ordered the slums to be slaughtered this night, sending a hundred guards to finish them off. Yael was only able to save the two children because they were hidden in the barrels. But the rest of them—the rest of the people from the slums—was left into the barren land, their screams being m.u.f.fled by the harsh, heavy rain.

"I don't want to die . . ." The boy behind Yael sobbed. "I don't want to die like Mama . . ."

The other child, who seemed like his sister, embraced him tightly. They looked too malnourished and sick; if the guards would see them, then they would definitely be killed without mercy. Not that Yael thinks they would think twice to kill even a healthy-looking person from the slums (and there wasn't one). The king's orders were absolute, especially with the new law. The punishments were severe if anyone would not abide. 

Patriargë is long fallen.

Yael covered the mouth of the sobbing child. 

"They're here." 

"I saw a guy running with two kids!" Said one of the guards, his voice loud against the rain. 

The rainwater was plummeting to the chest plates of the guards, making them distinguishable easily. Yael sharpened his ears as he listened to the sound of rain pouring to metal. 

It was getting louder.

They're coming close.

"L-lady Damian?!"

A silent, gentle voice of a woman had interrupted the guards approaching the alley. Yael took a peak from the gap within the garbage dump. A carriage had stopped in front of the aisle. Although it wasn't much perceivable because of the rain, Yael was certain it was a n.o.ble's carriage. 

"I need help to transport some materials, but the rain is being a hindrance. Can you help me? The carriage is in the ninth pavilion,"

"Most certainly, Lady Damian!"

The guards went to the location the lady had instructed. Yael and the children stayed still—waiting for the carriage to drive away.

"They're gone,"

Yael's eyes widened as he sees the lady carrying an umbrella with her two servants behind her standing in front of Yael, who had remained vigilant. 

"I have no time to waste," she said. The darkness wasn't letting Yael see the woman's eyes, but her lips were apparent. Her tainted, red lips were curved into a smile. 

"Bring them in."

**

Patriargë is long fallen.

The woman who had brought Yael and the children to her carriage was named 'Lady Damian'—she was a marquis with a deceased husband and no children. The lady had taken Yael under her care along with the two children. Yael regarded her as a benevolent woman with a smile in her face like an angel. She made sure they were fed, taken care of, and were getting expensive medicine for their treatment.

Half a year after Yael had been into the Damian manor, he met a boy named Hosea. It took him half a year before he had met this servant who works exclusively for the lady, along with five other males his age. The lady's exclusive servants had a blank look on their faces; they all wore the same uniform—a tailcoat like that of a butler. Yael noticed that each of them were good-looking, each with a distinct feature.

"N-nice to meet you . . . I'm Yael . . ." Yael exclaimed. "I look forward to working with you all."

No response.

". . . You're new, huh?" One of them said with a smile, sauntering towards Yael. "My name is Hosea, and I'm from Kurbeln. That one is Oswald, that's Tiatche, Darwin, and Carlos. They don't talk. Heh; maybe you won't, too. After this."

It took Yael half a year to be able to work for the lady. His heart pounded loudly across his chest. And at that time he had foolish thoughts; he believed: Now he can repay his savior.

The lady's chamber doors opened, and they entered inside in a line. The whole room was tinged with sweet-smelling incense and pink-colored smoke. Yael stopped short as he caught a whiff of that familiar scent. The similar aroma he had smelled in the prost.i.tution tents in the slums . . .

Aphrodisiac . . . ?

"Haah, it took half a year to take care of you," says the lady, who was sitting in the bed with her nightdress. Her wrinkly face slowly developed into a dark expression as she examined Yael head to toe.

Lady Damian licked her lips.

"But you've become this beautiful, Yael. It was worth it." She exclaimed; and with open arms, she gestured Yael to come forward. Yael was frozen on the spot, but he was pushed by one of the 'servants.'

Yael felt his knees going numb at every step he had taken. 

It took him half a year to realize that he was being groomed.

It took him a year to realize it wasn't all for benevolence.