I hadn't even asked for his name, but he gave it to me anyway. Once the initial shock of everything faded, I finally managed to ask Aerandil where exactly we were.
"So… this place you called Bladewalk—where are we now?" I asked, still wary of my surroundings.
"The spot where I found you was the entrance to Bladewalk," he replied. "But right now we're deeper inside, in the quieter corners. And to think, a city boy like you wandering into a place like this. On top of that, you can't even spare your noble rescuer, the great Aerandil, a proper thank you."
"Alright, fine—thank you. But it's not like I came here on purpose. I'd never willingly get mixed up with places like this," I muttered, trying not to sound too defensive.
He narrowed his eyes. "So what, you're looking down on the place I live?"
"That's not what I meant. Do you expect me to praise this kind of neighborhood? Look, thanks for saving me, but I should really be going. My boss is probably worried sick by now," I said firmly.
"Whatever," he scoffed. "I didn't need your thanks anyway, Mister Elegant. But here's the thing—you can't leave. Not now. Night has fallen, and Bladewalk has woken up. If you try to leave now, odds are you won't even make it past the alleys before a pickpocket or serial killer puts a knife in your ribs. And besides, we're far from the spot where I found you."
That sent a chill down my spine. "…How far, exactly?"
"Bladewalk has three main gates: north, east, and west," Aerandil explained. "But besides those, there are eighteen side paths and shortcuts. According to the information I gathered, you came here through the seventh shortcut. That puts you closer to the north side of the city. Right now, though, we're in the west-gate region, tucked away in a back alley."
I let that sink in. "So when can I leave then? And why are you being so generous, O noble savior Aerandil?" I asked, my tone somewhere between sarcasm and genuine curiosity.
He smirked, brushing his messy black hair away from his face. "Ah, so you've finally realized my worth, haven't you? Or maybe not. Either way, the reason I help? Simple—it makes me feel good. How's that answer? Do you approve?"
"Not bad," I admitted, though I still didn't quite trust him. "Then how exactly did you find me? Are you some part-time detective in Bladewalk?"
He laughed, shaking his head. "Detective? Please. I was born and raised in Bladewalk. You outsiders see nothing but shadows and danger, but this place—it has its own ecosystem, its own trade, its own rules. I know these streets like the back of my hand. Finding you was pure coincidence. I was searching that house for something else entirely."
"Relax, Aera," I said, trying to calm him down. "And for the record, I'm not even a city kid. I'm from outside. Why do you hate city folk so much anyway?"
"Aera?" His face twisted. "Are you serious? That's the best nickname you could come up with?"
Before I could answer, strange noises echoed from outside. Aerandil stiffened. He quickly told me to stay put, then slipped out to investigate.
I waited. Minutes passed in tense silence. While waiting, I began to look around his house. It was small and worn down, sparsely furnished. In one corner was a thin straw mattress. Against the wall stood a chipped wooden dresser, its surface scarred with scratches and carvings from long ago. The air was damp, and shadows seemed to pool in every corner.
The longer I stayed, the heavier the atmosphere felt. Aerandil hadn't exaggerated—nights in Bladewalk weren't just dark; they were oppressive. Soon, there was nothing more to look at, so I sat quietly, fidgeting with my hands, wondering if Aerandil would be angry that I snooped around.
Then—footsteps.
Relieved, I assumed Aerandil was back. I stayed where I was, though, waiting. The door creaked open, and I peeked from the side room to greet him.
But my blood ran cold.
The man stepping through the doorway was not Aerandil. It was him—the very same man who had tried to kidnap me before. His clothes were torn, his body soaked in blood, his face twisted with rage.
I froze. Then instinct kicked in—I ducked back into the room, trembling, and grabbed my father's dagger, the one I had taken back from Bertram after our farewell.My heart pounded so loudly I feared he would hear it through the walls. Cold sweat dripped down my back.
The man rampaged through the house, hurling the few pieces of furniture against the walls. My prayer was simple: Don't come in here. Don't open this door.
But of course, he did.
The dresser shook violently as he ripped the doors open. His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine.
Time slowed. He lunged, gripping me so tightly I thought my ribs would snap. Panic overtook me, and in that desperate moment, I drove the dagger into him.
The sensation was sickening,—I had never cut into anything except game during hunts with my father. But survival left no room for hesitation. The man faltered, and I slipped free.
I bolted. My father's dagger was still lodged in his body, but retrieving it was a luxury I couldn't afford. All that mattered was escape.
Outside, I tried to steady myself, recalling Aerandil's words. We were in the western region near the gate. My mother had once told me how to navigate by the stars. I tilted my head up, searching.
Then a voice bellowed through the darkness: "WHERE ARE YOU?!"
It was him.
Fear clawed at me. The stab hadn't stopped him. I turned northward, then sprinted west.
That was when I saw… him.
A man with long, matted white hair, wearing a filthy, tattered sweater. His back was to me at first. Then, impossibly, without turning his body, his neck snapped around like a twisted marionette until his face locked onto mine.
Terror consumed me. My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the ground, scrambling backward like a cornered animal. Somehow I forced myself up and staggered down another alley, but I knew—he was following.
What is this place? I thought. Is this Bladewalk's true nature? Monsters in human skin? Am I trapped in a nightmare?
The dread was unbearable. My chest ached, my throat closed, but I kept moving.
Finally, I ducked into an abandoned house. It was empty, dust choking the air, floorboards creaking under my weight. I checked every corner before curling up inside, desperate for even a moment's rest. My heart hammered so violently I thought it would give out.
But I couldn't stay.
Minutes later, I forced myself back onto the streets. By some miracle, I recognized parts of the route and retraced my steps. The alleys stretched endlessly, but at least I was moving.
Peeking around a corner, I saw nothing. Relief washed over me—until I turned my head and saw him.
The white-haired man was standing there, watching me. His grin was wide, feral, like a predator savoring the hunt. Even from afar, I saw the metallic claws strapped to his fingers glinting in the moonlight. He raised one hand slowly, mockingly, as if reaching out to caress my face.
I bolted.
He chased. His claws scraped against the walls as he ran, sparks flying with each step. My lungs burned. My legs screamed for rest. I was seconds from collapse.
Then, ahead, I saw Aerandil. Or rather—Aerandil in trouble. The kidnapper had him by the throat, lifting him like a rag doll.
I couldn't think. Couldn't plan. I only reacted.
The clawed man—Marc, I would later learn—was right on my heels. Inspiration struck like lightning. I sprinted straight toward Aerandil and the kidnapper. At the last second, I ducked, and Marc's claws sliced forward—not into me, but into the man holding Aerandil.
Pain seared my shoulder as his claws grazed me anyway, but it worked. The kidnapper staggered, releasing Aerandil.
"Oho," Aerandil coughed, rubbing his throat. "Look who decided to play hero."
He snatched up a blade—longer than a dagger, shorter than a sword—and faced Marc.
"Fancy seeing you here, Butcher Marc," Aerandil sneered. "Normally, you haunt the eastern district. What, get lost?"
Butcher Marc. The name fit him perfectly.
Marc's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Mouthy little brat. I'll tear your tongue out. Come then—fight me with everything you've got, before I carve you into pieces!"
The clash was fierce. Steel rang against steel, sparks illuminating the night. Aerandil fought bravely, but exhaustion weighed him down. His strikes grew sluggish. Marc pressed harder, snarling with every swing.
I couldn't just watch. My eyes darted around, spotting a fallen knife. I remembered my father's lessons.
"Close combat is important, son, but so is your aim. Throwing, archery—they can save your life. Focus. One eye closed. Steady your breath. Tighten your muscles. Then release."
I picked up the knife. My hand shook, my chest heaved, but I focused. I remembered him laughing when I missed every shot as a child. "Don't pout, boy. You'll get better. Maybe one day you'll even surpass me."
Now was that day.
I hurled the blade.
It missed—mostly. It only grazed Marc's arm. But that tiny wound stole his focus for a split second, and Aerandil seized the chance. His blade slashed across Marc's throat in one decisive motion.
The Butcher gurgled, staggered, and collapsed.
And I collapsed too, utterly spent.
Aerandil lifted me onto his back with surprising ease. "Figures I'd end up carrying the hero," he muttered.
I managed a weak laugh. "Where were you, Mr. Son of Bladewalk? Planning to serve me up as bait?"
"What? No. I went to check the perimeter. Came back, and everything was trashed. Not my fault."
"Then why was that man after you?"
Aerandil's expression darkened. "…Remember I said I was searching that house? I stole a box. Important documents. Freed some slaves too. That man and his boss weren't happy about it."
"Documents?" I asked.
"Trade schedules. Routes. Valuable intel. And freeing slaves… well, fewer competitors means my boss gains more control. Around here, weapons, slaves—anything that makes profit is fair game."
"…So your boss is a slaver?"
"That's how Bladewalk works," Aerandil said flatly. "You want survival? You play the game."
I stared at him. "…Vicious place."
"Don't act so surprised."
We walked in silence for a while, until I asked, "How old are you anyway?"
"Thirteen," he replied casually.
"You're three years older than me."
His head snapped toward me. "What? You're only ten? Hah! No wonder you're such a baby. Oi, little James, how's the view down there?"
"Shut up," I grumbled. "I'm serious—do you live alone?"
He smirked. "If you're asking whether I like boys—sorry, I only like women."
"You idiot," I snapped. "I mean family. Do you have anyone left?"
The smirk faded. "Once. My father died in the war. My mother to sickness. I was left with nothing—until my current boss took me in. I owe him my life."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I only asked because… well, I'm alone too."
"So what's your story then?" I told him about I've been through.
He glanced at me, then nodded. "Guess we've both walked rough paths.Then any news about your brother?"
"I'm gathering money and information to search for them," I said. But then I realized—my coin pouch felt light. Checking it, I discovered it was gone. All the money I had struggled for, lost. The pain was crushing.
Eventually,I realized that I hadn't told him my name all this time.
I introduced myself properly. "James. James Caolerin."
"James, huh?" Aerandil grinned. "Nice name. Well, James, you've paid your debt. I'm no longer your noble savior."
But when he dropped me off at the edge of Bladewalk, he left me with one last message. "If you ever want to see my handsome face again, some nights you'll find me at Elitos Bar in Cistern Square. Believe it or not, bars are the best places to gather information. Take care of yourself, James."
"And you, Aerandil," I said. "Though you need it more than I do. Stay alive, Aera."
"Don't call me that!" he barked, but there was no heat behind it.
I made it back to my inn,and when morning came, I found myself in my bed.I almost believed it had all been a nightmare.Almost