Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It was the only sound left.
He looked down at the pooling blood and ruined flesh at his feet. The remains of the creatures lay strewn across the tunnel floor, steaming faintly in the stale air. His clawed hand was slick with red; it slid down his fingers in lazy rivulets before dripping to join the rest. His tail flicked once, dismissive, at the stench. He had long since stopped noticing it.
Relief settled into his chest as he exhaled.
The tunnel walls rose jagged around him, rough stone layered upon stone, names forgotten, names unneeded. He was no dwarf, no miner. Stone was only something to bleed upon.
He turned his gaze back to the blood circling his boots. At a small curl of his fingers, it stirred, then rose, thick, obedient strands drawn toward him. The blood gathered into his palm and sank into his skin.
A low groan slipped from him as the magic took hold. His eyes dropped to the ruin of his arm, a jagged, blood-slick stump. He did not think of bone, or sinew, or flesh.
He thought of use.
Of a limb meant to grasp a blade, to brace against stone, to pull a body free from the earth. Something living. Something that obeyed. He held the idea steady, familiar as breath, and the image followed his arm, whole and his, clear in his mind.
The stump reacted at once, swelling and bubbling as the blood answered.
Bone pushed outward first, pale and wet, shaping itself to the memory of strength. Muscle wrapped around it, then nerve, those burned, sharp and screaming, and his jaw tightened as he endured it. He welcomed the pain, though. Pain meant the magic had listened.
Skin sealed last, warm and complete, as though nothing had ever been taken from him.
He flexed his fingers slowly, feeling weight, grip, resistance. Power thrummed beneath his flesh, rich, responsive.
New.
Earned.
The Yalmor had not surrendered it easily. They had swarmed him, dragged him down, devoured steel and limb alike. Even maimed, he had torn them from the stone with his bare hand and finished the rest properly.
He glanced back at their remains.
Long worm-things, massive, armored, built to burrow and hunt by tremor alone. Dangerous. But not enough.
He exhaled again, quieter this time.
Twenty kills. It would have to suffice.
For now.
The hunger stirred beneath his ribs, a familiar itch, patient but demanding. Standing idle only sharpened it. The Malanors came unbidden to mind, too loud, too clever, too alive. He tilted his head slightly, considering.
"Should I end them as well?" he murmured, his voice carrying softly down the tunnel.
No answer came. He shook his head once and turned away from the carnage. His boots pressed wetly against the stone, each step leaving dark prints behind him. Someone else would deal with the remains, harvest flesh, strip teeth, turn the dead into profit. There was always a market.
He lifted his newly restored arm and wiped blood from his face. It smeared across his skin. He paused, then drew his hand to his mouth and tasted it.
Warm. Restorative.
A quiet breath of satisfaction escaped him as the magic settled deeper, flowing steadily and rich through his veins. He moved on as blue lanterns appeared along the tunnel walls, their flames inside flickering across him as he passed. Ahead, the tunnel widened. Voices rose. Shapes fled.
Only a handful remained near the exit or entrance; he didn't care.
"Got all twenty, sir?" asked a short man in robes meant for the Solar Order — robes mixed with gold and silver — uncertainty threading his voice. Lamplight caught in his bright blue eyes, making them almost glow, and turned his neatly kept blond hair into a soft halo of gold. He clutched the hilt of his axe — which was almost the same size as the man — a little too tightly, as if bracing himself for the answer.
Adam Lockvry glanced at him, then stilled.
The gold caught the light too cleanly. Too bright. For the briefest moment, something tightened behind his eyes, sharp and unwelcome, like a memory trying to surface where it didn't belong.
He looked away first.
Then he gave a single nod.
"Good," the priest muttered, letting out a relieved breath, "I doubt I could've handled even five." His voice became more upbeat.
Heavy footsteps followed, slow, deliberate, until the ground itself seemed to notice the weight behind them.
A mountain of a man started to slowly rise above the hill that led to the tunnel's entrance, standing nearly nine feet tall once he fully straightened. His build was massive, broad shoulders hunched beneath layered travel leathers and reinforced cloth, each step making the earth feel smaller. His bald head and dark, polished skin reflected the lamplight like stone worn smooth by time, and his thick fur-covered forearms — corded with muscle — hung easily at his sides, power held in reserve rather than displayed.
The bear-kin's deep brown eyes lowered to the smaller man.
"Done here, Shawn?" he rumbled. His voice was low and steady, the kind that didn't need to be raised to be felt.
"Yeah, Dan," Shawn replied, glancing back at Adam. "Old man killed everything."
His gaze lingered — drawn despite himself — to Adam's arm. The sleeve of the battle robe hung torn and useless, fabric still dark with blood where an arm should not have been… and yet was.
Adam noticed the stare and rolled his eyes.
"New ability," he said flatly, as though commenting on the weather. He flexed his fingers once. "Lose limbs. Regrow them."
Dan's eyes widened. Shawn's mouth parted in open disbelief.
Adam smirked, turning his newly formed hand as if inspecting a tool he'd just finished sharpening.
Shawn shook his head and spoke softly under his breath, "Both are damn monsters."
Dan chuckled, rumbling the surrounding air.
"Let's get back home. I am still hungry," Adam said, his voice low as he tried to shake the thought of her out of his mind.
Shawn nodded, and the two followed Adam down the hill as people watched from a distance. Too scared to go near the three. They walked down the scaffolding that led to the ledge where the tunnels were being mined.
Shawn flicked out a piece of paper, its rustling disturbing the silence they had fallen into. "Twenty Yalmor's appeared in district forty-three mine tunnel five, reward 10 gold pieces," he muttered, reading the paper. "Good pay for any adventuring party," he said, shrugging.
"When we return, you can take the gold for yourselves," Adam said as he stared out in front of them as they continued walking. His voice was dismissive as he tried to focus on settling the constant hunger in his stomach.
Shawn chuckled as he folded the piece of paper away into the inner pocket of his robes, the parchment whispering softly against the fabric. "Dan and I will split up at Kelnis Street. Dan will go with you to your home," he said, punctuating the words with a firm slap to Dan's arm. The sound echoed dully, like wood striking stone. Dan only grunted in response, barely acknowledging it.
Adam nodded once and continued walking.
The street ahead recoiled as they passed. Boots hurried. Voices broke into sharp cries. Somewhere, glass shattered. Panic followed him like a wake, the familiar scrape of fear prickling at the edges of his senses. He ignored it all. He always did. The mining town — where his domain lay — rose around them in layers of scaffolding and stone, iron rails groaning overhead as carts rattled by, heavy with ore. The air tasted of dust and damp earth, thick with smoke from forges that never truly slept.
Dan stayed close behind, his heavy steps steady and unbothered. At the crossroads, Shawn peeled away toward the adventuring guild, its lanterns burning bright and warm against the gloom. Adam did not look back.
Hunting had become a routine necessity. The hunger never truly faded; it only dulled, like a blade in need of sharpening.
The mansion loomed ahead, its stone walls rising from the dark like a scar. Hairline fractures ran through the masonry, filled with veins of gold that caught the torchlight and gleamed too brightly. Adam's gaze slid away from them instinctively, his jaw tightening as he passed. He exhaled slowly, a breath meant to steady something restless in his chest.
Dan pushed the doors open, their weight groaning in protest. Cold air spilled out to greet them, still, empty, and untouched. Adam stepped inside, boots echoing faintly against the polished stone floors. The place smelled of old dust and extinguished candles. Familiar. Unwelcoming.
Behind him, the doors closed. Dan circled to the rear entrance, one built wide enough for his frame.
Adam stood alone in the quiet, the mansion settling around him like a tomb that remembered his name.
He passed a vase that held nothing but dry sticks where flowers once lived there. He slowed, then stopped. With a trembling hand, he reached out and brushed the empty space where a Halgin bloom had once stood.
"Her favorite," he murmured.
His arm fell back to his side. He lingered a moment longer, staring into the vase as if something might bloom again if he waited. A long breath left him, heavy and tired, and his eyes closed as memories stirred, warm, distant, and painful. Then he turned away.
He continued down the hall, moving past guards clad in black cloaks. He spared them only a glance, but he felt their tension all the same, the subtle shift of weight, the careful stillness. In the manor's main room, he stopped again. A vast wall of glass overlooked the city below, lights scattered like embers in the dark.
She had loved that view.
His gaze dropped to his armor—bloodied, torn, ruined. With a quiet sigh, he turned toward the bathing chambers. The water washed the blood away, and he changed into a clean suit, tailored for small appearances and hollow gatherings. When he returned, the room felt no warmer.
He sank onto the couch and closed his eyes. Time slipped. He drifted in and out of sleep, keeping his thoughts deliberately empty, pushing aside the gnawing hunger and the thin veins of gold threading the walls where cracks had formed.
The scent of cooking meat cut through it all suddenly.
His eyes snapped open as his stomach growled, sharp and insistent. Then—laughter. Light. Childish. It echoed faintly through the halls.
He frowned and rose, following the sound toward the kitchen. As he reached for the door, it swung open suddenly.
He stepped back at once.
The laughter stopped.
He looked down to see a small girl. 'Her name is Val, right?' he thought as he watched the girl's eyes widen. Then she gave a nervous smile.
"Hi, Mister Lockvry," she said, giving a small wave. He only nodded as he looked up and saw Audrey cooking something.
Audrey only looked up and gave a half smile, literally, "Hello, I am cooking some dinner for you and Val." She said, giving a curt nod, her voice slightly strained.
"We are cooking some steak," Val said, her voice gleeful as she skipped back to Audrey.
Adam nodded again as his tail flicked behind him. "Where is Jake?" he said, looking around the kitchen. 'He's the one usually cooking dinner? I still don't understand the boy, we have servants for that,' he thought as he looked back at Audrey. His red eyes meet her, one bronze, the other covered by the silver mask.
Audrey just shrugged as she looked down at the steak, Adam fully entering the kitchen.
"Off somewhere, probably causing a scene or something," Audrey said, and she flipped the steak as she was about to put some seasoning on it, then froze as Val stepped closer to the counter, watching Audrey, and started to giggle.
"No, Audrey, you gotta put the salt in first, then the Galmis. That's how Jake does it. The salt dries the oil, allowing the Galmis to settle in more." She said, pointing at the salt.
Audrey only nodded as she put down the Galmis and then followed Val's instructions.
Adam just watched as he stared blankly outward at a wall, sitting on a stool that was in the kitchen. Val watched him with the curiosity of a child. He was a strange man; people were also weird around him. As if he were a beast, or creatures that lived deep in the tunnels.
She never knew why they acted like that, but she also knew that he was a part of the five families. She also didn't fully know what that was. Or why they lived down here, but she was happy. Just happy to spend time with Audrey and her friends.
"Alright, it's done," Audrey called out, grabbing both of their attention as she started to cut the steak into slices.
Adam finally broke from his haze, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the meat on the plate Audrey had placed. The hunger is telling him to just rip it to shreds. Eat everything, devour. But he exhaled as he grabbed the utensils and the plate. He slowly cut the steak into smaller bits. Then he took a bite of the steak. He only nodded as he continued to eat, as the hunger quieted.
Audrey only focused on Val as she cut her slice into smaller bits. Val smiled as she started to dig in.
"Audrey, when can Vantim come out and play again?" She asked around a mouthful, her words muffled.
"First chew, then ask," Audrey said as she pointed a fork at her lazily. Val finished chewing, swallowed, and then asked again.
"Before your bedtime," Audrey teased, and Adam gave a small smile. 'I used to say that,' he thought, as two pairs of golden eyes flashed behind his eyes, and he held in the wince the memory caused.
Val made a pouting face, then she quickly finished her meal. Audrey was chuckling as she also finished her meal moments later. Adam stared at his meal and slowly ate as the two girls left him with his thoughts.
Val explored the mansion. She had always found the place fascinating, finding all the small places where secrets lay. The place was big and old, and held so many things. She ran through the halls giggling as she made twists and turns. But she skidded to a halt when a cloaked guard passed. The figure only gave a slight nod as he continued to walk down a hall.
She didn't like the guards, too quiet to still, and they wouldn't play with her. All they did was just stand around. They had enough free time. She continued playing and exploring. But she stopped again at a door.
It was an old door, one that clearly hadn't been open in years. When Audrey found her and took her in. She was allowed to live in the mansion and with Audrey at her own place. But she and her friends mostly stayed in the mansion. But when she first started to explore.
She was told to never enter this room. It was a mystery. One that always bugged her. She was allowed everywhere else, but this room. She wasn't. Her hand drifted to the handle. "Just a peek?" she whispered, as her small hand slowly closed around the handle.
She started to pull when a flutter of fabric startled her, and she yelped as a cloaked figure appeared next to her.
Her green eyes grew wide in fear as she quickly pulled her hand back close to her chest as if she had burned it.
She stared into the blackness where the figure's face was supposed to be. It stood silent as it loomed over her. Her breath quickened as she slowly started to back away. The figure only watched as she turned and ran around a corner.
It did not follow her.
Instead, it turned back to the door — and stood watch.