The tunnel swallowed him whole.
Moisture dripped from the jagged ceiling, each drop echoing like a countdown. The air was colder here, sharp enough to sting his lungs. His new dagger weighed heavy in his hand—polished steel, not the rusted scrap Kael had tossed him before.
Kael moved ahead with the ease of a man walking home, his cloak brushing damp stone. "Keep your eyes sharp. The deep tunnels don't forgive mistakes."
The boy muttered, "Yeah, real motivational speech."
Kael chuckled. "If you need motivation, you're already dead."
The words scraped his nerves raw. He tightened his grip on the dagger until his knuckles ached.
They came to a chamber where shadows writhed unnaturally. A fire flickered in the distance, surrounded by broken crates and ragged figures. Unlike the husks near the surface, these ones weren't trembling wrecks. Their eyes glowed faintly under the firelight—sharp, predatory.
Kael's smirk widened. "Lesson three. Not all prey is weak. Some bite back."
One of the figures snarled, rising with a curved blade in hand. Another followed, dragging a chain studded with hooks. Their movements were too smooth, too controlled. Not husks—hunters.
The boy's pulse spiked. "You set me up."
Kael's grin was all teeth. "I set you free."
The first attacker lunged, chain whipping through the air. Instinct roared through his body—pivot, parry, slash down. His dagger flashed, knocking the chain aside with a clang that rattled his bones. His feet shifted without thought, sword forms burning alive in his muscles.
Adrenaline drowned his fear. The second figure came at him, blade gleaming. He ducked, drove the dagger upward, and felt it sink into flesh. A scream tore through the cavern, blood spraying hot across his cheek.
He staggered back, chest heaving, staring at the body crumpling at his feet.
Kael's laugh echoed through the chamber. "Good. You're learning."
The boy's stomach lurched—but his grip on the dagger didn't loosen.
For the first time, he didn't feel like prey.
The second hunter's body hit the ground with a sickening thud. The rune coin rolled free from his temple, glowing faintly as it clinked against stone.
The boy's eyes locked on it. His hand moved before his mind caught up, scooping it up, clutching it tight.
This is what survival feels like…
Kael crouched beside the corpse, prying free another coin. He tossed it lazily. The boy caught it, his palm slick with sweat and blood.
"Keep them," Kael said. "You earned them."
The boy swallowed hard, staring at the coins. His chest heaved, lungs straining against the surge of adrenaline. The weight of killing should have crushed him. Instead, something darker thrummed in his veins—an edge, sharp and intoxicating.
Kael's voice cut through the haze. "Lesson four. Once you've taken from others, you'll crave it. That hunger? Don't fight it. Use it."
The boy snapped his gaze up, anger sparking. "You think I want this?"
Kael smirked. "Doesn't matter what you want. Survival doesn't give choices. Only chances."
The boy's jaw clenched. He wanted to scream, deny, throw the coins into the fire. But his fingers wouldn't let go.
The glow of the runes reflected in his eyes. He shoved them into his pouch, breath shuddering.
Kael clapped his shoulder. "Not bad. You'll live."
The words twisted in his gut. Live. At what cost?
As they left the chamber, the boy wiped blood from his cheek, his dagger still trembling in his hand. The coppery taste of survival clung to his tongue, impossible to spit out.
And deep inside, a whisper he couldn't silence:
Do it again.
By the time they returned to the market, the lanterns above had dimmed, casting the cavern in a restless half-light.
Merchants still hawked their wares with cracked voices. Coins shimmered on trays, glowing faintly like bottled stars. Buyers shuffled past with dead eyes. But tonight, it all looked different.
The boy's pouch clinked heavier than before. Every step reminded him of the coins inside—warm, pulsing, alive with memories that weren't his. His skin crawled.
"Keep your chin up," Kael said smoothly as they threaded through the crowd. "People here smell weakness like blood in water."
"Yeah, thanks for the tip," the boy muttered.
Kael chuckled. "Sarcasm again. Good. Means you're not broken yet."
The words burned more than they comforted. He pulled his robe tighter, hiding the pouch at his side.
As they passed, whispers followed.
"Kael's got a new stray.""Another blank slate turned hunter.""Won't last long."
He clenched his jaw, ignoring them. Still, the voices dug under his skin. Stray. Blank slate. No name, no past, no self—just a tool to be sharpened until it snapped.
They stopped at a food stall. Kael tossed a coin onto the counter, barking for roasted meat skewers. The boy stared at the greasy strips sizzling on the pan, stomach growling.
Kael shoved one into his hand. "Eat. You'll need it."
The boy hesitated, then bit in. Fat dripped down his chin, the taste sharp with spice and smoke. Better than stale bread, but it sat heavy in his gut.
Kael leaned close, voice low. "Lesson five. The market never forgets faces. You're being watched now. Always."
The boy stiffened. "By who?"
Kael smirked. "By everyone. And not everyone wants to trade fairly."
The warning hung heavy between them as he forced down another bite.
Later, alone, he sat against the cold wall of a side alley, the noise of the market muffled by distance. His pouch rested in his lap.
He pulled out one of the new coins. It glowed faintly, rune curling like smoke. His thumb brushed its surface.
Images stabbed into his skull—A boy running through a field of wheat, laughter bright in the sun.A mother's voice calling from a doorway.The smell of fresh bread.
The boy jerked his hand back. The coin clattered to the ground. His chest tightened, breath ragged.
"…Fuck."
That wasn't a skill. That wasn't pain. That was life.
He stared at the coin, glowing weakly on the mossy stone. Someone's happiest memory, stripped and sold.
His stomach churned. "This world's fucked."
But even as he cursed it, his fingers reached out, trembling, scooping it up again. He couldn't throw it away. He couldn't let go.
Because a hollow part of him ached, whispering—maybe this could fill me. Maybe this could make me human again.
He pressed it against his temple.
The warmth seeped in. His vision blurred. For one impossible heartbeat, he smelled bread. He felt the sun. He heard laughter.
Then it was gone. Empty.
The coin went dull in his hand. Dead metal.
Tears stung his eyes before he could stop them. His grip tightened until the coin cut into his palm.
He whispered hoarsely, "Who the fuck am I, if I have to steal someone else's happiness to feel alive?"
The silence answered with nothing. Only the weight of his pouch.