Zay watched as Rei began walking down the tunnel he was hiding in, holding a lantern with a small flame that slowly illuminated the narrow passage. Zay stepped away, careful to move silently, one slow step at a time. Then, glancing down the corridor, he activated [Shadow Walk] and vanished, teleporting to the furthest point within the darkness that his eyes could reach.
Rei glanced around the tunnel, inspecting behind the old brown boxes scattered along the ground. His eyes flicked down to the cracked red sand beneath his feet, where faint footprints marked the dust.
"Fresh prints from a large boot…" he said calmly, crouching onto one knee. He ran his fingers through the edge of the print.
"Size 21… and judging by how spacious this tunnel is compared to the others I saw glimpses of, there's only one conclusion I can draw from the current situation: there's a large man down this path who heard us and ran… likely to warn the others."
He stood and gave a sharp whistle.
Within seconds, the three men in white suits rushed down the tunnel. Their outfits were stained with blood from those they had already executed. One of them wore a golden ring on his finger, a gold-rimmed monocle over his left eye, and a small black fedora perched atop his head.
"Yes, sir?" the man asked, glancing over at Rei.
"I believe there are multiple Nox members down this way," Rei said evenly, his voice steady. Then he gave a firm order. "All three of you, follow me."
The blood-splattered men nodded in unison. "Yes, sir," they replied.
The four of them began walking deeper into the tunnel. Behind them, the sound of more footsteps echoed through the darkness. Rei smiled faintly—he had ordered the entirety of Ironcloud to clear the tunnels today.
The first of the three men unsheathed his katana in one fluid motion. The blade shimmered gold and black, jagged along the edges, with notches—each marked by a small etched skull, telling the story of every life it had taken. He twirled it once with a predator's grace before letting it rest at his side—ready.
The second reached over his shoulder and drew a sleek bow from his back. Strapped at his waist was a pouch of dark leather, filled with silver-fletched arrows forged from condensed aura. Each arrow hummed faintly.
The third man stepped forward with a silver-bladed spear held out before him, the weapon gleaming with menace. Intricately carved into the shaft was the design of a coiled dragon, encircled by golden rings—an emblem of lethal heritage. Blood still clung to the tip, glistening under the flickering lantern light like a jewel, as if the spear itself relished the kill.
Zay's violet aura erupted in a thin layer around his legs and surged down the tunnel. After three minutes, he reached an opening that split into several paths. He picked one at random and kept running, not wanting to face Rei in a place like this. He knew nothing he said would convince Rei to join him under these conditions.
As he ran, the ground beneath his feet shifted. The hardened red sand turned to stone, then to hardened green sand, then to mud, and finally to a brown wood. Ahead of him stood a wooden gate with a towering statue of a wyvern in front of it, a heavy lock securing the entrance.
Zay rushed past the statue. Aura surged through his fist as he slammed it into the gate, shattering it into pieces. The wood crashed to the ground with a loud thud. He came to a stop as his aura faded, breathing heavily. After a few seconds, he caught his breath and looked around.
Zay stepped forward and found himself enclosed between two towering walls, both curving around him in a vast circular formation. The wall directly ahead shimmered with a thick layer of violet aura, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. He turned and looked behind him. The opposite wall glowed with a soft orange hue, casting long shadows across the ground.
'I made it outside of Cindra,' he thought, eyes narrowing slightly. 'And I'm in the slums. Between the third and last wall that protects the kingdom. This is... actually perfect for hiding for a bit of time.'
A small smile touched his lips as he scanned the area. All around him were worn wooden huts, built from scrap planks, nails bent and reused, roofs patched with cloth or rusted metal. Smoke trailed upward from crooked chimneys, and the scent of ash and wet soil hung thick in the air.
Suddenly, he froze. A light touch on his shoulder.
Zay spun around, ready for a threat, but stopped short. A man stood before him, draped in tattered black robes cut along the arms and chest. His dark brown hair was messy, dirty, and patches of it missing. His skin was caked with mud and dirt, his fingers cracked and raw. Despite his ragged appearance, the man gave Zay a warm, almost gentle smile.
"Hi there, stranger!" he said, voice light with warmth. "I haven't seen you around here before. Did something happen? Did you lose everything too?" he asked with genuine curiosity.
'I didn't even sense him…' Zay thought, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto the man before him.
Without a word, Zay turned away and began to walk, silent footsteps pressing into the dirt. 'For someone living in the slums to be that… friendly? It's definitely odd, to say the least. It's best if I either stay away or kill him. But I'll just leave for now… unless he gives me a reason.'
Behind him, the man in the tattered black robes let out a soft sigh, then turned and walked toward a small wooden hut leaning against the curve of the outer wall. He opened the door slowly, stepped inside, and shut it behind him with care. The space inside was barely wide enough for three people to lie down. Two small figures sat on the floor, looking up with tired eyes.
"Did you find anything?!" his teenage younger brother asked, hope flickering across his face like a candle in the wind.
Before the man could speak, his little sister tugged at the hem of his robe. He looked down—and something cracked inside him. Their clothes hung in threads, skin smeared with dirt and soot, their hair tangled and unwashed. Their fingernails were blackened, worn from scratching through garbage and rubble. He sank to his knees slowly and reached into his robe, pulling out a small, crumbling quarter of stale bread.
"This is… all I could find," he said softly, trying to smile as he placed it onto the low wooden table.
His brother beamed, pulling out a rusted knife from beneath the table's plank and he began to cut the dry crust.
Several minutes passed before he handed a small piece to his older sister, who held it in both hands. Then he turned to his older brother.
"Do you want some?" he asked while tilting his head slightly.
The man smiled faintly. "Oh no. Not at all. It's all for you two. I… ate already," he lied gently. He rose from the floor and stepped back outside, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Outside, the sky was streaked with hues of orange and violet. The sun was dipping beneath the horizon, and the glowing aura of the massive walls rippled like waves in a restless sea. He stared at the light for a long while, then clenched his fists tight—so tight that his nails cut into his palms. Blood broke through the skin and dripped onto his bare feet, mixing with dirt.
'I need… to find a way for us all to escape from this hell,' he thought, chest tightening.
His stomach growled, loud and sharp in the stillness. He pressed a hand over it, squeezing, as if the pressure could silence the hunger. Then, without another word, he began walking—his figure disappearing between the shadows of wooden shacks and flickering torchlight.
Two men dressed in long black trench coats stood quietly across from the small wooden hut, half-concealed by the shadows cast by a nearby crumbled wall. Their boots barely disturbed the dust as they waited, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the door. Only when the man in tattered robes stepped out and disappeared from their sights did they look at each other and gave a nod before moving.
They walked up to the hut and exchanged a brief glance before one of them knocked twice on the door. A few seconds passed, then the creaking of wooden hinges followed. The door opened slightly, revealing the two teenagers peeking through the crack.
The man on the left, tall with sharp cheekbones and gray eyes, looked at them carefully before speaking. His gaze settled on the boy.
"We have a proposition," he said, adjusting the collar of his trench coat as he pulled a small, worn journal from inside. "If you're willing to hear it."
The teenage boy stepped out a little more, curiosity overtaking his caution. "What kind of... proposition?" he asked, unsure what that word even meant but copied the way the man said it.
The man nodded, flipping the journal open. "It's a kind of job—blacksmithing and clothing work. Nothing too heavy. We're offering three bronze pieces a week."
The boy's eyes widened, hope flaring in his expression. He nodded quickly, barely able to keep the excitement from spilling out of him. "Of course! I'd love to!"
The man gave a small nod and reached into the air beside him, opening a faint flicker of space—an Arbiter: Vault. From within, he pulled out a quill already dipped in dark ink. He handed it to the boy, who took it with his left hand.