"Sign on the third line with your name," the man said, pointing to the page, his voice smooth, too pleasant. Ravik didn't notice. He was focused, gripping the quill tightly as he carefully scribbled his name in large, slightly crooked letters: Ravik Vask.
The man closed the journal with a soft thump and returned it to his Vault, quill vanishing with it.
"Good. We need to leave now. There's a schedule to follow," the man said, brushing dust from his sleeve. "We'll get you cleaned up first—bath, haircut, new clothes, proper accommodations."
Ravik turned to his sister, beaming. He hugged her tightly, pressing his forehead to hers.
"Tell Erzo I got a job! I'll get us enough to eat. I promise," he said, his voice filled with energy and pride.
His sister smiled softly, though her hands gripped the doorframe tightly. She looked at the men again, noticing the polished boots, the too-smooth smiles, the way their posture never relaxed. Something about them felt off. But still… they were smiling. They were kind. And they were giving her brother a chance.
"Just… be safe," she said quietly.
Ravik nodded, let go of her, and stepped outside. The man beside him placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder and guided him forward. Together, the man and the boy walked into the misty path that curved toward the slum's exit, toward the entrance gate of Cindra.
The second man in the black trench coat, slightly shorter and with a calmer demeanor, stepped forward once Ravik disappeared into the distance. From within his Arbiter: Vault, he pulled out a separate journal and a quill dipped in dark, glistening ink. He extended both hands toward the girl still standing at the threshold.
"There's another job we can offer," he said, his voice smooth like polished stone. "If you're willing. The pay depends on performance—specifically, how well you interact with others..."
The girl, barely sixteen, looked up at him with narrowed eyes. Her clothes were worn, but her stance was firm, a quiet edge in her posture that didn't match the dirt on her face. She tilted her head slightly and asked with steady defiance, "What kind of job? I want details. I'm not signing anything until I know everything."
The man's lips twitched in what could have been approval. He gave a small nod, as if appreciating her resolve.
"Fair question," he said. "The role is… flexible. It involves attending to the needs of clients. That includes cleaning, managing their quarters, assisting them with tasks, and, when required, doing whatever they ask. The offer is officially for a maid position."
He paused for just a moment before continuing, letting the implications of his words linger in the space between them.
"Payment, again, is based on client satisfaction. But I can assure you—if your performance is up to standard, it'll be more than enough to live on comfortably. If you're exceptional, there are additional… benefits. Room upgrades, better food, even personal requests honored."
The girl stayed silent for a few seconds. Her hands, once clenched at her sides, slowly relaxed as she processed the offer. She didn't miss the way his gaze studied her—not with lust, or with any emotion at all. She had once been a student at the academy, her mind sharpened by discipline and lessons her brother never received. All of it lost when her father gambled away their fortune and vanished into death and mystery.
She looked at the journal, then at the inked quill, then back into the man's eyes.
"What if I say no?" she asked quietly.
The man's smile didn't fade. He simply bowed his head politely.
"Then we wish you the best. I'll leave, and this conversation never happened."
He made no threats. But even in his calmness, there was a gravity to his presence. One that said the offer would not come again.
She crossed her arms slowly and asked, "What… exactly is this company I'll be working under?"
The question hung in the air like a blade balanced on its edge.
For a brief second, the man's smile faltered—not by much, just a flicker at the corner of his mouth but it was enough for someone watching closely to notice. He quickly composed himself, the smile returning even brighter than before, polished and almost too smooth.
"We're called the False Threads," he replied, his tone laced with carefully measured warmth. "A new initiative... a movement, really. We're opening paths for those forgotten by Cindra. Giving the poorer districts a voice, a chance to stand on equal footing. At False Threads, we believe everyone deserves the right to live how they want—no chains, no ceilings, no false promises either."
He gestured gently to the broken skyline behind her—the slums stretching between the walls like forgotten roots at the base of a grand tree.
"You've lived at the bottom long enough. We offer a way up. All we ask for in return is effort... and loyalty."
The girl's jaw tightened slightly. The name didn't sit right with her. False Threads. It sounded like something stitched together with secrets. But the promise—opportunity, food, safety for her and her brothers—was hard to ignore.
She swallowed hard, her throat tight with hesitation, then slowly extended her hands to accept the journal and quill. The leather cover felt oddly warm in her palms, as if it had been passed through many hands before hers.
"Sign your name on the ninth line," the man instructed, his voice calm and even. "Once that's done, we can get going right away."
She gave a slight nod and crouched down, holding the quill with both hands before carefully writing her name: Noelle Vask. Her handwriting was delicate, slightly shaky, but legible.
Once finished, she handed the journal and quill back to the man. Without a word, the items dissolved into his Arbiter: Vault, vanishing like smoke in wind. He gave her a satisfied nod, then extended his hand toward her.
But Noelle didn't take it.
"Can I leave a note for my brother?" she asked, keeping her voice steady despite the weight building in her chest.
The man paused, lowering his hand without a trace of irritation. "Go ahead. I can wait. I understand how important family is." As he spoke, a fresh piece of paper and the same quill appeared in his hands, summoned once more from his Vault.
She took them and turned away, walking back into the hut with a quick pace. The wood creaked softly beneath her bare feet. Inside, the hut felt colder somehow—emptier without both of her brothers. She sat down on the floor beside the table and carefully laid the paper flat against the rough surface.
The dim light filtering through the gaps in the wall barely reached her, but she didn't need much to write. She pressed the quill to paper and began to write the note, her fingers trembling slightly.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something aloud to her absent brother, but no words came—only the soft scratch of ink meeting paper filled the space as wind could be heard swaying through the world.