Dusk slowly descended over Gloomspire City, tinging the sky with somber hues that soon gave way to the flickering red lights in the metropolis's streets and alleys.
The city seemed to breathe at its own rhythm, pulsing with the energy of crimes and sins that emerged as the night advanced, as if a dark veil had fallen to hide the actions the day did not permit.
The air was saturated with a mix of coal smoke, strong perfume, and something unmistakably sour, a testament to the lives tangled in the struggle for survival.
Amid this charged scenario, shadows stretched and the atmosphere grew even denser, making it clear that another night of secrets and conflicts was beginning.
In a crowded district of the city, where buildings were stacked almost without room to breathe, a magnificent building stood out from the crowd.
Its facade was adorned with glistening glass panels that reflected the streetlights, creating an almost hypnotic glow.
Red lanterns, carefully hung along the facades, swayed gently in the warm night breeze, tinging the air with a crimson shimmer that reflected on the faces of those entering and leaving the venue.
The frantic movement of people circulating through the entrance revealed the diversity of the public who frequented that place.
There, men dressed in fine silk clothes, with a deadly imposing appearance, crossed paths with warriors of gruff faces and visible scars, light-skinned youths who exuded restlessness, and even absorbed scholars, all seeking something the building promised them: pleasure.
The sound of music echoing through the heated walls mixed with the murmur of voices and laughter, while beautiful young women with voluptuous curves glided gracefully through the corridors, dancing for the attentive eyes of the clients.
They were more than simple actresses in this play of indulgence; their expressions revealed a spectrum of hidden emotions, from ephemeral joy to a deep sadness that was often invisible to the public.
They moved with the lightness and dexterity of someone who knew every gesture necessary to entertain and seduce, but their eyes, at times, betrayed the harshness of a life away from the spotlight.
The place was a microcosm where social distinctions disappeared before the search for momentary ecstasy, a space where luxury and despair mingled in an insatiable dance, creating an atmosphere that was almost magical and, at the same time, distressing.
On an upper floor, hidden from the buzz of the common areas, was a cozy but discreet room. There, a young scholar enjoyed a singular emotion, a pleasure that was his monthly ritual after fulfilling his obligations and receiving his small salary.
The atmosphere exuded a mix of subtle perfumes, soft fabrics, and a faint light that invited a momentary surrender of the senses, creating a temporary refuge from the harsh realities he faced day after day.
After the service was completed, the young man carefully got up, dressing in a hurry, his thin body carefully hidden under a simple robe, in contrast to the sophistication of the place; a constant reminder of his position in high society and his internal struggle to find his place in the world.
Before leaving, he turned to the young lady resting on the bed, giving her a silver coin with a gesture that, for him, meant more than payment—it was a silent recognition of the exchange between them, an affirmation of human value in the midst of a system that often neglected it.
"Thank you for your services. Here's an extra coin. I'll be back next month, Lady Mary," he said, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and a rare lightness that managed to escape even from such a heavy environment.
The words floated in the air, like a promise that transcended the material, a commitment to return in a world that rarely offered second chances.
Young Mary, with a thin scarf covering part of her body, looked at the coin as if it were a precious treasure, her eyes shining with a discreet tenderness that contrasted with the harshness of life on the streets.
She turned to the scholar, showing a gentle smile that hid more than it revealed, a glimpse of hope that warmed the space between two worlds that seemed so distant from each other.
"Thank you, Mr. Liam. I will await you with pleasure," she replied, letting a touch of hope escape in that simple promise, an affirmation that even in the shadows there was a light that could not be extinguished.
With a veiled air of self-satisfaction, Liam adjusted his robe, tidied his hair, and prepared to leave the room, aware that what unfolded within those walls was a unique, ephemeral, but deeply significant connection.
Going down the stairs that creaked under his steps, carefully avoiding tripping on steps worn by constant use, he approached the exit when a familiar voice called his attention.
"Hey! Liam, my friend!"
The surprise was brief, and he soon recovered, turning to find Marcus, a young soldier responsible for city hall security. Marcus's expression was relaxed, his open smile contrasting with the rigidity of the uniform, but the soldier's eyes revealed a keen curiosity.
"Hey, let's go for a drink!"
Marcus called out enthusiastically, Gloomspire's nightlife promising a break from responsibilities and a temporary liberation.
Liam hesitated for a moment, pressured by the need to fit in, to escape the fragility that consumed him, but soon accepted, sitting next to his friend.
He raised the glass, taking a sip of the drink of undefined flavor that was brought to him, trying to hide his nervousness with a forced smile, even if the bitterness of the drink seemed to be a reflection of his worries.
Marcus watched him carefully, intrigued by the scholar's strange behavior. He felt that Liam carried more secrets than he revealed, but he did not delve into the analysis; his own mind soon turned to the company he would have that night—his dear Lady Mary, who was already waiting for him with promises of comfort.
"You too, here?", Liam asked, trying to sound casual, a sincere attempt to appear at ease, although the hammering in his chest seemed like a constant reminder of his vulnerability.
"Yes, even civil servants have their moments," Marcus replied, laughing softly as he leaned a little closer, as if that would make the night even more real.
The conversation turned to the heavy atmosphere that dominated city hall, leading them to more familiar ground, a field where they both felt comfortable discussing what was going on in their lives.
"It's not easy... The mood is not the best," Marcus commented, a certain anxiety showing in his eyes. A slight tremor ran through Liam's eyelid, but he drank as if he hadn't heard, suppressing the sense of despair that threatened to emerge.
"Well, it's not every day that a chief accountant gets executed," Marcus provoked, trying to ease the tension.
The comment temporarily cleared the clouds that seemed to hover over them, even if the cruel reality was still lurking.
"That's right... who would have thought that Mr. Robin, who embezzled so much money, would end up like this, and right in the season of magical beast attacks," Liam replied with bitterness, an indication of his morality numbed by the hypocrisy of the society in which he lived.
A heavy silence fell over the two, as they both recalled the terror caused by the magical beasts that once again threatened the city, a reminder that the shadows in Gloomspire were often more than just darkness.
Despite the walls and defenses, some of these creatures still managed to sneak inside, leaving a trail of fear and death.
"If it weren't for the Grand Master, we would still be living that nightmare," Marcus said, raising his glass in a toast that was becoming increasingly necessary.
"Yes, yes... the Grand Master saved everyone," Liam agreed, the feeling of relief and gratitude heavy in his words.
"To the Grand Master!" they proclaimed in unison, their voices echoing among the crowd, a hymn to the savior who, even in dark times, still remained as a beacon of hope.
Thus, dozens of voices rose in a toast to the one who was considered the salvation of the city, their lives intertwined in the same fabric of fear and survival.
After about ten minutes of socializing and exchanging words with acquaintances, Liam said goodbye and left the brothel, his vision slightly blurred due to the drink, the world spinning softly around him.
With faltering steps, he crossed the streets illuminated by lanterns and full of people, the cheerful sound of laughter and conversations filling the air. Food stalls emitting tempting aromas, lively bars, and restaurants completed the nocturnal scene that pulsed with life and excitement, providing a temporary respite amidst the city's turmoil.
Sweating from the effort and the intense movement, Liam decided to cut through a narrow alley to get to his neighborhood faster, his mind distracting itself with the promises of a new dawn.
Although it was not a high-class area, it was considered one of the best in the city for someone like him.
As he stumbled on uneven stones and leaned against the walls to maintain his balance, he spotted his modest house—a small home for a simple family, ideal for many, but immense for a single young man like him, full of dreams and hopes that he still had left.
When he arrived in front of the door, something got tangled in his legs, causing him to lose his balance and fall, hitting his face against the cold ground.
Trying to get up, Liam realized that someone was approaching, while whispers emerged from the nearby shadows, the premonition that the night still held secrets in its dark heart intensified.
"Hey, didn't you say he was going to pass out?" an infantile voice asked, the innocence mixed with an uncontainable curiosity.
"He was, but I don't think he hit his head hard enough," another replied, with a tone of disapproval that seemed to be a reflection of the contempt and powerlessness that permeated the streets.
"Damn it, Claude, gimme that club," the third voice whispered, before the shadow of a stick was raised to deliver a blow to Liam's head, an action magical in its speed and brutality, a reminder of the cruelty that could hide behind innocence.
The impact was the last sound the young scholar heard before plunging into the darkness of unconsciousness, his mind drifting away from the chaos, while Gloomspire City continued to vibrate at its incessant rhythm of life and death.
Julian watched the scene of the fallen young man, his face stained with blood and his eyes half-closed. A sense of relief washed over him when he noticed he was still breathing.
"Hey, check his pockets!" he ordered, using the firm voice he usually employed to intimidate.
Immediately, like ants at a banquet, the young people jumped on the victim, searching for everything they could find.
One of them, with disdain, pulled out a book and tossed it aside, while another rummaged through the pockets in search of pens and small purple packages.
Upon opening one of them, he discovered a type of plastic that inflated like a balloon. "Damn it, what's this? Why does he have these balloon packages in his pocket?" one young man asked, confused.
"Shut up, asshole! Look properly!" the leader returned, who soon discarded the packages and resumed the meticulous search.
Amid that frantic search, his gaze found a hidden bag.
With a quick gesture, he pulled it out and handed it to the leader.
"Let's see how much is in here," the leader said, opening the bag and revealing five silver coins.
A toothless grin lit up the faces of the young people around. "Julian, they're silver coins, we're rich!" one of them celebrated.
"Shut the fuck up, you'll wake up the neighborhood," Julian reprimanded, with a severe look that silenced the shouts of joy.
"Sorry, boss," the young man murmured, now aware of the seriousness of the situation.
"Alright, run to the hideout," Julian ordered, and, just like that, the group dispersed, slinking through alleys and jumping over rooftops until they reached the tower of an abandoned house.
Upon arriving at the hideout, Julian knocked on the door with energy, his firm hand bringing a rhythm that echoed in the night: two resounding knocks, followed by three quick ones and a final, sharper one, like a call of urgency.
The door opened, revealing a spacious room, where several young people were waiting, their eyes shining with anticipation and anxiety.
"Guys, it was a good hunt today," Julian announced, his words filled with joy and pride.
Laughter and applause reverberated through the walls, like an enthusiastic celebration.
However, conscience soon made him restrain himself. "Don't get too excited, this is just the beginning," he warned, like a leader who knows that victory is not the end, but rather a step in the midst of a constant battle.
"Boss, how much was it today?" one of the young people asked, curiosity showing in his eyes.
"Five silver coins," Julian replied, and, for a brief moment, a tense silence settled in the room, until the news finally erupted in laughter and shouts of celebration, a collective relief.
"Shut the fuck up!" Julian ordered, his voice sharp but tinged with affection, causing everyone to calm down and return to their concentration.
The next morning, with the sun's rays filtering through the worn-out rooftops, Julian went out with two young people while the others continued their daily routines: begging, stealing, and performing small services around the city.
"Well, we'll go buy food and get some more clubs," Julian said, his voice firm, but full of a familiar warmth.
"Yes, boss," the two young people replied in unison, the loyalty evident in their words.
Claude, the smaller one, with freckles on his face and missing teeth that highlighted his smile, and Lucian, thin and tall, with a pale face and long, dark calluses that told stories of survival.
Julian looked at the two simpletons, took a deep breath, and, in a gesture of camaraderie, gave a silver coin to Claude. "With this, you buy food, and with this other one, you get more clubs." He saw the anxious looks of the young people shine with the hope of a better day.
As soon as they finished speaking, the two went out together, moving with a contagious energy, while Julian headed towards the city center, his mind buzzing with plans and strategies.
The city center buzzed like a large hub of shops and people.
As Julian walked down the street, he observed a variety of young people—beggars, thieves, fighters, all engaged in animated conversations that echoed on the sidewalks.
He kept discreetly in the background, analyzing his rivals with a sharp eye, thinking about the expansion of his group while his mind worked in silence.
Stopping in front of a stall filled with goods, he let his eyes wander over the products, inevitably attracting the attention of the seller.
"What do you want, young man?" the man asked, approaching him with a dubious smile.
"Just looking," Julian replied, his mind still traveling in his own thoughts.
"Well, then be quick, don't hold up business," the seller retorted, while other customers hurried past.
"Yes, sir," Julian said, taking a step forward.
But suddenly, his gaze fixed on a pocketknife that glistened in the sunlight, catching his attention like a lost jewel.
"How much?" he asked, now genuinely curious, his voice a little deeper with a tone of interest.
The seller, surprised by the boy's unusual question, replied promptly: "Thirty copper coins."
Julian, in a surge of certainty, pointed to a jar of mountain healing herbs.
"And that?" he asked.
"Well, they've been here for a few days. Their effects have already diminished, so I'm selling them for 20 copper coins," the seller explained, trying to keep the sale under control.
"It's a deal," Julian said, with a decisive air, while pulling a shiny silver coin from his pouch.
The seller was surprised, but, recognizing the young man's cunning, chose to remain silent while preparing the purchase.
In Gloomspire City, experience taught him that some questions are better left unasked.