The elevator doors opened with a tinny chime as Ephraim stepped onto the apartment floor of the Beggar's Wing. It smelled like roasted peanuts and laundry detergent—the cheap kind—and he was immediately greeted by the muffled sounds of laughter, murmuring, and… soft jazz? Somewhere, someone was practicing saxophone, badly.
Ephraim walked down the hallway, past flickering wall sconces, until he found a large open window at the far end. The view was nothing short of breathtaking. The Colosseum loomed in the distance, golden light spilling from its towers and torchlit archways like it was some mythological temple. Ephraim leaned forward, popped the window open, and took a breath of New Eden's night air. Without hesitation, he vaulted out the window, using a metal vent to launch himself forward. A few magnetized swings later, he landed on a high column that overlooked the arena. From the corner of his eye, he spotted them—women with pixie cuts and amused smirks watching him from behind glass.
He raised a brow. Focus.
The Colosseum buzzed like a beehive of distant voices and shifting crowds. He prowled through the outer corridors, scanning for food. Something warm. Bread-like. Preferably slathered in butter and arrogance.
Then, a familiar face caught his eye.
High above, near a private balcony tower, he saw her—Salt—walking into a room accompanied by someone from her family.
His heart kicked.
He stuffed a biscuit into his mouth—half out of hunger, half out of curiosity-fueled anxiety—and then magnetized to the tower's wall, bounding upward in silent leaps.
[Salt's Private Room, Colosseum Tower]
Salt sat alone, practicing her magnetism technique by levitating small metal pins. Her concentration wavered when a rhythmic knock hit the window. She turned cautiously, and there he was.
Ephraim.
"Hey, Salty," he said with a grin. "Thought I saw you from down below. What're you doing up here in this medieval Rapunzel tower?"
Salt opened the window, trying not to smile. "My family owns the Colosseum, so… I have my own room."
"Ooohhh," Ephraim nodded in mock understanding. "That's why they were so mad at me. I don't own a coliseum."
"Yeah, yeah. That's surely the reason," she teased.
He looked around her room with mild disinterest. "Looks boring. What are you even doing in here?"
Salt shrugged. "My father said I can't leave until my fight."
Ephraim rolled his eyes. "Man, fuck that guy. Come on, Salty, let's go explore."
"I can't. He'd kill us. Especially you," she added in a whisper.
Ephraim looked confused. "What the fuck I do?"
Salt leaned in closer, voice dipping low. "Nothing. He's just… vile. And racist."
Without asking, Ephraim crawled through the window and flopped onto her bed, jacket tossed onto a nearby chair.
Salt flushed. "Ephraim, y-you can't be in here! We'll get in trouble!"
He just lay there, arms behind his head. "Either we chill here or we chill outside. I know a nice spot."
She pouted and crossed her arms. "No, I'll get in trouble. Get out."
Ephraim sat up dramatically, patting his pocket. "Oh? That's too bad. Guess I'll just have to eat this delicious key lime pie all by myself…"
Salt's eyes widened like saucers. "Maybe I could go out for a little bit…"
He grinned. "Attagirl." He grabbed her arm and swung her over his back.
And just like that, they jumped out the window into the night.
They landed softly beneath a torchlit archway on the edge of the coliseum. Ephraim set Salt down, brushing ash from his sleeves and adjusting his cropped black jean jacket. The night air was crisp, alive with the sounds of the capital—street performers, fireworks, the distant hum of flying ships.
"Okay," Salt said warily. "Where exactly are you taking me?"
"You'll see," Ephraim grinned, already pulling her by the wrist.
They weaved through alleys lit by lanterns that floated like jellyfish in slow motion. The cobblestone paths beneath them glittered faintly with embedded stardust—leftover runoff from New Eden's ancient, magical foundation. At one corner, a trio of fox-eared violinists played haunting melodies in front of a bakery that never closed. At another, children played a game that involved levitating glass marbles and tiny mechanical birds.
Salt stopped to watch a street vendor pull glowing noodles out of a steaming pot and twist them into butterfly shapes. Ephraim bought her a serving without asking. She blinked, surprised, then smiled.
"You ever been anywhere fun before?" he asked.
Salt chewed the noodles and looked up at the floating lanterns. "Not really. Most of my outings are political dinners or supervised banquets where I'm supposed to pretend to like people."
Ephraim scrunched his nose. "That's awful. No one should be forced to fake-laugh around old people with titles."
They made their way to a small overlook park built into the coliseum's outer wall. The stone archways were overgrown with ivy. The view revealed the entire eastern edge of Soluar—rooftops stretching to the horizon under a sky bleeding gold and deep blue.
Ephraim led her to a bench by a crooked lamp. He pulled out two wrapped slices of pie from his jacket.
Salt's eyes lit up. "You… actually brought key lime pie?"
"I told you I was serious about this date."
They sat in silence, watching airships blink in and out of clouds like silverfish.
They stayed like that a while longer. The conversation turned lighter—school, childhood, old injuries, the weirdest thing they'd ever eaten (Salt once ate moon shrimp; Ephraim once ate an entire bag of dirt).
Eventually, she said, "This was the best night I've had in a long time."
Ephraim replied, "That's 'cause you've never been on a date with a mudblood."
She laughed, then quieted. "You say that word like it doesn't hurt."
He looked at her, more serious now. "I say it 'cause it's the word they gave us. But it doesn't mean anything unless you let it. I'm more than a label. So are you."
Salt stared at him again—longer this time.
She looked to him with a look both soft and nervous.
"Ephriam… I gotta confess something."
He sat up, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. "What?"
"My real name."
"…Your real name ain't Salt?"
She gave him a dry look. "Why would my real name be Salt?"
Ephraim shrugged. "Well I dunno… So why is your name such a big secret?"
"You'll know when I say it. It's Raph—"
A blur.
Then CRACK.
Titus, in full fury, came out of nowhere and kicked Ephraim off the cliff.
Salt's eyes widened in horror. "DAD!"
She tried to rush toward the edge, but Titus grabbed her by the collar, his face twisted with burning hate.
"If I even see you with that Mudblood again," he hissed, "or catch you thinking of that Mudblood—I'll kill you. And if he's not dead already… I'll find and kill him too."
Salt trembled in his grasp. "Please… he didn't—"
"Because of your disgrace and disobedience," he continued, tightening his grip, "you'll never see the light of day again."
Suddenly:
"Now sir… what you did was rude. I expect an apology."
Titus turned. Ephraim stood at the top of the cliff, hair windswept, bruised but unbowed.
Titus dropped Salt. Rage turned cold and precise. "Apology… expect… rude."
Ephraim nodded solemnly. "That's right."
Titus laughed like a man who'd finally found a reason to go mad. "I see now. The gods keep bringing this Mudblood to me… so I can kill it."
He charged.
Ephraim barely ducked as a lion's claw raked across a tree trunk, shredding bark like paper. Another swipe—he dodged right. Then came a sudden stab, Titus' hand glowing yellow.
"ESSENCE TECHNIQUE: STAIN!"
Ephraim leapt back as the ground behind him melted into nothing, the air itself sizzling. The blow narrowly missed him but clipped his side. Pain rippled through him.
Titus followed up with a forearm bash that sent Ephraim flying.
They clashed again. Fists, claws, blood.
Ephraim struck Titus' chin—Titus clawed Ephraim's eyebrow. They separated, panting.
"WHAT ARE YOU SCARED FOR, RAPHINA?" Titus barked, turning to Salt. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! I KNOW WHAT YOU TWO DID—IN THOSE WOODS. IN YOUR ROOM. YOU DISGUST ME!"
Ephraim surged forward, blocking Titus from reaching Salt.
"BULLSEYE!"
A bright punch struck Titus' gut—but he tanked it. Grabbing Ephraim by the neck, he lifted him up like a toy.
"STAIN!"
Ephraim flew backward. A tree shattered behind him as Titus pummeled him without mercy, fists pounding his body into pulp. Finally, Ephraim slumped. Silent. Unmoving.
Salt screamed. "EPHRAIM!!!"
She ran to him—but Titus shoved her aside and raised a glowing, open palm.
"Essence Technique—"
"NO, STOP!"
Terre, Salt's mother, burst onto the scene and grabbed his wrist mid-chant.
Titus blinked. "Honey?"
Her voice cracked with authority. "Get in the ship. Now. We'll talk about it when we get home."
"But—"
"GET IN THE SHIP. NOW. BOTH OF YOU."
Titus hesitated, then lowered his hand.
"Yes, dear."
They boarded their private ship in silence. The engines roared to life, and the ship ascended into the sky, leaving behind a wrecked clearing, a shattered cliff…
…and a bleeding, unconscious Mudblood.