The tunnels felt tighter this time. The air stank of mildew and rust, the walls slick with condensation. Every step echoed too loud, as if the darkness itself were listening.
Kael moved ahead like he owned the place, his cloak whispering over the stone. "Tonight's different," he said, voice calm, sharp.
The boy gripped his steel dagger, chest tight. "Different how?"
Kael's smirk curved in the dark. "Our targets aren't husks. They're hunters."
His stomach dropped. "You're out of your fucking mind."
Kael chuckled. "No, just practical. Hunters carry the best coins. Skills worth more than a dozen husks."
The boy's pulse thundered. He'd barely survived the last fight. Now Kael wanted him to take on people like them?
"You'll adapt," Kael said smoothly. "Or you'll die. Either way, I'll learn something."
The boy muttered, "Glad I'm your experiment."
Kael didn't deny it.
They reached a cavern lit by a single torch jammed into the wall. Two figures sat nearby, blades within reach, coins glinting faintly at their belts. Hunters, unmistakably.
Kael's eyes gleamed. "Lesson six. Strike first."
Before the boy could breathe, Kael moved. Steel flashed. One hunter's throat opened in a spray of red.
The other roared, blade whipping free, charging straight at the boy.
Instinct screamed—step forward, pivot, parry. His dagger met steel, sparks flying in the dark. The clash rattled his bones. The hunter's eyes blazed with fury, stronger, faster, real.
The boy's arms trembled. His mind went white. Kael's voice echoed in his skull—Strike first.
With a guttural cry, he shoved forward, twisting his wrist. His dagger slid between ribs. Hot blood spilled down his arm as the hunter crumpled, choking.
The boy staggered back, chest heaving.
Kael clapped once, slow and mocking. "Not bad."
The boy stared at the bodies, bile clawing up his throat. His hands shook, but the dagger didn't drop.
Kael smirked. "Lesson seven. Once you fight hunters, you're no longer prey. You're competition."
The boy's grip tightened on the dagger.
Competition. Predator. Murderer. The words tangled inside him like chains.
They stripped the bodies. Kael pried coins free with practiced ease, pocketing most, tossing two to the boy.
"Keep those. Payment."
The boy stared at the faint glow in his hand. Runes twisted across the surface, sharp and unfamiliar.
He whispered, "What did I just take?"
Kael shrugged. "Does it matter? Whatever it is, it's yours now. Stronger than you were five minutes ago."
The boy shoved the coins into his pouch, jaw clenched. Stronger. The word felt hollow.
As they trekked back, Kael's voice cut through the silence. "Lesson eight. Never waste a coin. Skills, fears, joys—it doesn't matter. Every memory has value. Even garbage sells."
The boy's chest tightened. "So… people aren't people. They're just… coin purses."
Kael smirked. "Now you're learning."
Back in the market, the boy drifted away, Kael's words grinding against his skull. He found himself near the little girl's stall again. She raised her eyes, dull but sharp enough to cut.
"You stink of blood," she said.
He barked a bitter laugh. "Guess that's my new cologne."
She didn't smile. Instead, she tapped her tray. "What'd you get?"
He hesitated, then pulled out one of the new coins. Its rune shimmered faintly, like jagged lightning.
Her eyes narrowed. "Combat reflex. Not bad. You'll live longer."
"Lucky me," he muttered.
She leaned back, gaze heavy. "Luck has nothing to do with it. You're becoming one of them."
His chest tightened. He wanted to deny it, to scream that he wasn't like Kael, wasn't like the others. But his bloodied dagger and his heavy pouch said otherwise.
He shoved the coin back, turned on his heel, and walked away before she could say more.
Her words clung to him like smoke. You're becoming one of them.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure if that was a lie.
The market was louder tonight. Lanterns burned brighter, merchants shouting like their lungs would tear, coins flashing in every hand. It should have felt alive, but the boy only saw rot hiding under gold.
Kael walked beside him, hood up, expression unreadable. People moved out of his way, their whispers sharp enough to cut.
"Kael's stray.""New hunter.""Still breathing? Impressive."
The boy tugged his robe tighter. He hated their stares. He hated how the pouch at his side felt heavier every night.
Kael stopped suddenly at a stall lined with silver coins. The broker was a smiling man with too-white teeth and eyes too wide, his tray gleaming like treasure.
"Ah, Kael," the broker cooed. "And your pet. Care to browse?"
The boy bristled. "Pet?"
The broker's grin widened. "Blank slates always are. Pets until they either bite or die."
Kael ignored the jab, sifting through the coins with lazy fingers. The boy's eyes drifted to the runes—sharp strokes, glowing faintly.
"What are those?" he asked.
"Combat instincts," the broker replied smoothly. "Harvested from a mercenary band. They died hard, but their reflexes… mm." He kissed his fingers. "Perfection."
The boy's stomach twisted. "Harvested? You mean you killed them."
The broker laughed, sharp and shrill. "Kill, buy, trade—what's the difference? Everything here is meat for the market."
The boy clenched his fists, bile rising. Kael only smirked, tossing a coin onto the tray. "Take it. He needs the reflexes."
Before the boy could protest, the broker slid a silver coin into his palm. The rune shimmered like lightning frozen in metal.
"Go on," Kael urged. "Lesson nine. The stronger the prey, the sharper the coin."
The boy stared at the coin. It pulsed faintly, almost like it wanted him.
He whispered, "…And the more human you stop being."
Kael's smirk widened, but he didn't deny it.
That night, alone in the alley, he held the silver coin up to the dim lantern light. Its rune sparked faintly, twisting like fire.
He pressed it to his temple.
The world cracked open.
A battlefield under a crimson sky. Steel clashing, blood spraying. Hands moving faster than thought, blade deflecting, parrying, slashing, perfect rhythm. Rage boiling in his chest, but not his rage—someone else's, burning through his veins.
He gasped, jerking the coin away. It fell, clinking against the stone. His heart thundered. His muscles twitched with movements that weren't his, instincts carved deep like scars.
"…Fuck." His voice was hoarse.
He pressed both hands against his face, shaking. The more skills he bought, the less he recognized himself. His body remembered things his mind didn't. His heart raced to beats that weren't his.
For a moment, a flicker sparked in the fog of his mind.
A name. Half-formed. Fading before he could grasp it.
He froze. Breath sharp. Who… was I?
The name slipped away, leaving only emptiness.
He slammed his fist into the wall, pain jolting up his arm. "Fuck!"
The little girl's voice drifted from the shadows. "You're losing yourself."
He whipped his head around. She stood at the edge of the alley, robe hanging loose, eyes dull but unblinking.
"You think you're getting stronger," she said quietly. "But the more coins you take, the less of you remains."
He forced a laugh, bitter and cracked. "Good. Less of me means less of this shit world stuck in my head."
She tilted her head. "Or it means when the last piece of you is gone, you'll just be another husk."
Her words chilled him deeper than Kael's knives ever could.
He clenched his jaw, scooped the coin off the ground, and shoved it back into his pouch. "Then I'll just have to buy myself back before that happens."
The girl's gaze lingered, heavy, before she turned and vanished into the crowd.
The boy leaned against the wall, chest heaving, the echo of that almost-name still burning like a ghost in his skull.