Dawn broke the next day, pale and uncertain. The sun peeked behind the veil of clouds like a shy child peering out from behind its mother's skirt, unsure whether to step onto the stage or retreat into hiding. A chill hung in the air, mixed with the faint scent of smoke drifting from chimneys scattered across the ruined district.
Lucian sat up on his thin bedding, blinking away the remnants of uneasy dreams. The familiar weight of the world settled on his shoulders before his feet even touched the ground.
As the dawn light filtered through the cracks in the walls, casting thin streams of golden rays across the dirt floor, Lucian stood in the center of the room, performing his morning exercises with mechanical precision. Push-ups, squats, stretches, each movement calculated, deliberate. His body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but his focus remained unwavering. He twisted his body in ways that seemed almost unnatural, holding the positions for minutes at a time, his joints creaking in protest.
When he finished, he wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel soaked in cold water. His body ached, but it was a good ache. The kind that reminded him he was still alive. He adjusted the small leather skin bag on his back and the metal rod fastened at his waist, the cold steel a familiar comfort.
His next stop was the adjoining room, where the other children lay sprawled on makeshift bedding, huddled together for warmth like puppies in a den.
Only Casper was awake. The older boy stood by the window, doing awkward stretches and slow, shallow push-ups. His scrawny form trembled with every motion, his breathing uneven.
When he noticed Lucian, Casper straightened and wiped his forehead. "Are you heading to Old Bob's place now?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though his eyes betrayed a mixture of worry and resignation.
"Yeah," Lucian replied simply, fastening the worn skin bag to his back.
Casper scratched at the back of his neck. "You want me to…?"
"You already know," Lucian said sharply, voice low. "Look after them while I'm gone. And remember the drill. If I don't make it back before dark…"
"I know," Casper cut in, frustration flashing in his tone. "Take them to the hidden compartment, stab anything that's not you, don't hesitate." He rolled his eyes. "You've told me a million times already."
Lucian gave him a long look. Not angry. Just unreadable, like a worn statue that had weathered too many seasons to hold expression anymore.
Casper's bravado faltered under that gaze. Eventually, he dropped his shoulders and nodded, his mouth tightening. "Okay. I'll do as you say. But you don't have to keep repeating it."
Lucian walked to the door, his hand on the latch, then glanced back, his voice flat but firm. "Remember the first rule: Only the cautious survive."
He stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.
The moment the door clicked shut, his entire posture shifted shoulders squared, gaze sharp, footsteps measured. Inside the house, he could afford to show weariness. Outside, in the skeletal streets of this broken city, weakness was bait.
The wolves prowled here and not all of them had fur.
Old Bob's shop, 'The Rusted Gear' was nestled on the edge of the merchant quarters. The crooked wooden sign swung on a rusted hinge above the door, and the scent of old metal, grease, and medicinal herbs drifted through the air like a tired memory.
The bells above the door gave a half-hearted jingle when Lucian entered.
"Well, well," Old Bob's voice called from somewhere deep in the clutter. "If it isn't our neighborhood ghost. Thought you'd finally died in a ditch somewhere."
Lucian smirked faintly. "Sorry to disappoint."
"Don't worry old man. I won't be dying before you do."
Old Bob shuffled into view, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. "Same as always, I presume?"
"You know me. Wild, reckless spender," Lucian replied dryly as he dropped the two green crystals the size of rice grains, the teeth and claws he got from the two rats he hunted on the counter.
Old Bob barked a laugh. "One day you're gonna die rich. Or at least die with exactly three crystals worth of coins to your name." He then brought out a package and placed it on the counter.
Lucian reached out to unwrap the package, his fingers lightly brushing the smooth surface of the object inside. It was a small pill with a slightly repulsive medicinal smell. It was these pills that helped Lucian anytime he sustained injuries. Leaving wounds untreated was just tempting fate. A small scratch getting infected could often times lead to loss if limbs if left uncatered for. To Lucian, who lived on a blades edge, it was an essential tool. There were also some condiments and some dried bread in it. The bread was tough to chew and rough on the throat. But there was enough of it to last the kids some days at least.
Lucian gave a lazy shrug. "Can't take it with me. Might as well spend it on scrap and sarcasm. And it's three and half crystals worth, you wouldn't try to cheat a poor blind orphan like me right."
Bob chuckled as he stored away the items that Lucian had just delivered. "Alright one and half for the teeth and claws. Same sharp tongue. You know, for someone who's supposed to be blind, you walk around like you own the place."
"Helps that most people have the coordination of falling cabinets," Lucian muttered.
Before Bob could reply, the soft crunch of boots on wooden floorboards echoed behind Lucian.
A woman, young and strikingly tall entered The Rusted Gear with an air of confidence that even the walls seemed to recognize. She had short, jet-black hair that framed her sharp, angular features, and her eyes were a piercing green. She wore the clothes of someone who was no stranger to travel, tactical yet sleek.
"Hey old man, you still kicking?" The woman asked, her voice clear and confident.
Lucian's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't turn around.
"Haha, this Old man won't be kicking the bucket anytime soon. Haha". Old Bob replied with a hearty laugh. "Welcome home wretch." He said showing their familiarity with each other.
She sized up the shop in an instant, then focused on Lucian. She glanced at his blindfold and stopped paying attention.
She moved with purpose, her boots clicking against the floor as she approached the counter. Lucian didn't need to look up; he could hear her every step, every shift in her body's weight.
She stepped forward, intentionally clipping his shoulder with hers.
Lucian swayed ever so slightly and let the impact roll past him like water off a stone.
The woman frowned.
"He's the one I told you about. The new wretch who took your title of rat queen. Haha. Lucian meet Kaela Voss the former wretch, Kaela meet Lucian 'die-hard' the new wretch". Old Bob's voice rang out from behind the counter.
The woman blinked, caught between irritation and curiosity and laughter at Old Bob's introduction.
"You're blind," she said softly, more statement than question, eyes flicking across his form. "Blind… but standing in the open like you can see everything."
Lucian said nothing.
The girl tilted her head, lips curling in something halfway between a smirk and a frown. "So what's your trick, then? Sound? Smell? Gut feeling?" She took another step closer, lowering her voice like they were sharing a secret. "Most blind beggars sit on corners with tin cups. You stand like a knife waiting to be drawn."
Still no response.
A spark of real interest lit behind her sharp green eyes. Dangerous, that look said, or useful.
"Relax," she finally said, more casual now, brushing her gloved hands together. "I'm not here to rob you. We're here on business. Looking for capable people."
"I'm busy."
She raised an eyebrow at the bluntness, folding her arms across her chest. "With what? Collecting rusty junk?"
"Not your concern."
Old Bob coughed from behind the counter. "Oi. That's my rusty junk."
The girl ignored him. She studied Lucian again, head tilting slightly, something calculating flickering behind her gaze. "You sure about that? Blind kid with that posture… I think you'd surprise people."
"I'm not interested."
For a moment, she looked like she might press the issue but then something about his blank expression, the stillness in his posture, made her pause. Like she could feel the edge beneath the calm.
Lucian remained silent.
The girl ignored him. "Look, we've got a contract. Paying good coin for anyone willing to help hunt something down. Beast in the caves up near the mountain ridge. Dangerous, yeah, but worth it. You interested?"
Lucian met her gaze, unwavering. "No."
For a second, she seemed amused by the blunt rejection. Then she shrugged. "Suit yourself." She pivoted on her feet and walked behind the counter to join Old Bob. Such action showed that she was used to it. She grew up here after all.
Lucian left directly to avoid any further altercation with her. His gut feeling told him to run for his life and he trusted his instincts. They were what brought him this far.
After seeing Lucian leave. Kaela asked in a low voice with an amused look on her face. "Feisty one, isn't he?"
Old Bob cackled. "Careful, girl. This one doesn't miss much. Even with the gods playing dice with his eyesight." Her only reply was the smile on her face growing larger like a kid who just found a new interesting toy.
....
Elsewhere, in the shadowed interior of an abandoned warehouse near the outskirts, another meeting was underway.
The gang leader sat at the head of a battered metal table. Broad-shouldered, with skin weathered by sun and old scars, he carried himself like someone used to command. His black beard was streaked with iron-gray, and a wicked scar bisected his left eyebrow, giving his gaze a permanent scowl.
His name was Garrick. Once a soldier, now something sharper, leaner, more dangerous. Not just a thug, a strategist. His reputation in the region wasn't built on brute force alone, but on precision, patience, and betrayal when necessary.
Across from him sat a tall, clean-cut man in a similar kind of battle suit with Kaela, only his own looked to be of higher quality and under the crest of his house were 3 stars. He was the leader of this expedition. His shoulders were squared, posture perfect. A professional to the bone. This was the heir's protector, not the heir himself.
The young heir stood nearby. He was dressed in a battle suit that stood at odds with the town. It was left to be seen if it had any practicality in battle. He just stood there bored, adjusting his gloves with an air of detached arrogance, with the soft hands of a boy used to ordering others to fight for him.
Garrick ignored the heir. His attention remained fixed on the head guard.
"You know the risks," Garrick said coolly. "Your boy out here's got a death wish, slumming with the rabble. I don't mind helping with his little 'training journey,' but I don't do charity."
The head guard nodded once, crisp and professional. "You'll be paid. Handsomely. Double if you keep him alive and unmarked."
Garrick chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound. "Alive's easy. Unmarked? That costs extra. This isn't play-acting, soldier. This is blood and broken teeth."
"We're aware," the guard replied flatly.
The young heir finally spoke, a hint of amusement curling his lips. "If I don't get some scars, what's the point of coming here?"
Garrick gave him a long, considering look. "Scars are easy, boy. Surviving them, that's where the real work is."
He leaned forward slightly, his scarred hands resting on the metal table. "You'll get your fights. And if you're lucky, you'll even live through them."
The room was thick with tension, promises of violence floating in the stale air. Garrick's smile never quite reached his eyes. "We'll talk about the Ghost-Bane mountains when everyone has been gathered round."
Business was about to pick up.