Shawn grunted as he crossed his arms and caught Jake's downward kick against his forearms. The impact thudded through muscle and bone, but the compact man barely shifted his footing.
"Feisty, aren't we?" Shawn said through a battered grin, golden beard glinting in the light.
Jake's ears flattened against his head, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Shawn's hand shot out and clamped around his ankle.
Jake reacted instantly. He sprang upward, twisting his body midair, tail snapping for balance as his free leg whipped around in a spinning strike.
The kick cracked against Shawn's jaw as he made a grunt, his head snapping to the side. But his grip never loosened. His hand held Jake's ankle like an iron shackle.
"Oh, that was a good one," Shawn muttered as blood pooled in his beard.
Then he spun.
The world lurched as Jake was yanked off balance and dragged in a wide arc across the training ground. Dirt scraped beneath him as he tried to curl into a ball, tucking his tail tight to keep it from being crushed.
Shawn laughed, deep and booming, as he let go.
Jake skipped across the ground like a stone over water — once, twice — before he twisted his body and rolled with the momentum, boots digging furrows through the dirt as he fought to regain his footing.
Then his ears twitched as he looked up and saw Shawn's charging form. Already in the air, his fist cocked back.
He let out a snarl, teeth bared, as he waited until the last second to move. Shawn's fist scraped against his shirt as Jake grabbed his wrist and spun.
This time it was Shawn's turn. He skipped across the dirt before curling into a ball and rolling to absorb the impact.
When Shawn came to a stop, he uncurled and regained his footing. The two of them stared at each other for a heartbeat. Then both smirked and broke out into a laugh. Shawn's laughter turned into a cough as he coughed up blood, his hands on his knees.
"Fuck, you damned mutt," Shawn said, as he let spittle and blood drool from his mouth.
Jake's laugh became a subtle chuckle as he rolled his shoulders. "Yeah, well, fuck you too, midget," he said with a bastard's grin.
Shawn shook his head as Audrey entered the training ground with Salvie in tow. The monkey made from ink and green mist sprinted ahead of her, going towards Shawn. Audrey shook her head, her silver hair cascading down her shoulders like liquid metal.
"You two are too aggressive with your sparring, as if you're fighting for your lives," she scolded, her bronze eye narrowed, the other hidden behind her silver mask.
"Blame the pooch! He was the one fighting for his life," Shawn called out, as Salvie's green glow hummed with power, healing his wounds.
Audrey whipped her head around and gave him a silent glare. Shawn's slight smile fell. Audrey nodded, as if she were satisfied, as she turned her gaze to Jake, his golden eyes meeting her bronze.
"Well? What's got you so pissed?" She asked, raising her brow.
Jake's gaze fell to the ground as his tail twitched with agitation. As the memory of his father's task flared into his mind—flaring in pain—as if someone was shining a light into his eyes.
"Let me guess," Audrey said calmly. "This has something to do with the crater you punched into the planning room table."
Jake winced before he could control his emotions that surged at the memory of his task.
Audrey nodded, "You're always like this after talking to the old man," she said, as Salvie started to run over to heal Jake's wounds.
Jake grunted as Salvie began to glow brighter, and he felt the bruises and scratches slowly begin to heal.
"What did he do this time?" Audrey said, crossing her arms, looking down on the still crouched Jake, "Did he give you a mission?"
His ears twitched once as Shawn walked over, also looking down on him. "Tough one? Do you need help?" Shawn offered, flexing his biceps.
Jake scoffed as his tail lashed, and he finally rose, meeting Audrey's eye. "Don't need muscles for this — it's something different," he said coldly, making Audrey's brow rise.
"Oh, is it something embarrassing? If so, I want to see it!" Shawn said too cheerfully for a guy who got skipped across the dirt like a pebble.
Jake gave him a sharp glare, and Shawn's cheerful grin became a wavering one. Then he let out a breath of exhaustion as he turned and started to walk towards the entrance where Audrey came from.
Salvie gave a sad coo, watching Jake walk off, and Audrey gave a reassuring smile as she crouched, and Salvie climbed on top of her shoulder.
"Don't worry, Sal," she said, giving Salvie a scratch under her fur made of Ink, "He's just grumpy, and I bet your healing was wonderful."
Salvie made a hoot sound, and Audrey's smile grew, as Salvie turned to mist and returned to the ink of her skin.
Shawn gave a sigh, watching where Jake left, "The old man really wired him up this time," he said with a slight frown.
Audrey nodded, "Yeah, the old man can be harsh on him sometimes."
"Well, what do you expect from the man known as the Bloodsoaked? Of course, his orders are gonna be harsh, especially when you can't refuse them," Shawn said, as a shiver went up his spine. Even mentioning the man's title made his own shoulders tighten, as he gripped onto Hanis' crest that hung from a necklace he always wore.
A crest that represented the Sun God.
Hanis.
And the Solar Order.
Audrey sighed as she rubbed her eye with the palm of her hand, "Go and check on him. You two are closer anyway. Maybe he will say something."
"Why me?" Shawn complained.
Audrey gave him a sharp glare, and Shawn cursed under his breath as he marched to follow Jake.
Jake sighed, his tail slashing in agitation, as he put on a mask, one that covered his lower face, and it was decorated with a beast's mouth with protruding fangs and scratch marks from battle, before he finally exited the training grounds.
The Undercity around him was alive, as the blue lamplights flickered, showing only what was needed to travel relativelysafely as people walked the streets.
Jake walked past a narrow alleyway just as a scream tore through the air. It was raw and desperate, as it was ripped out of the man's throat. The sound echoed sharply and briefly off the stone walls before there was a crunch, and the scream was cut short.
Jake's ear twitched in mild irritation at the sudden noise, but he didn't slow his stride, nor did others.
"Hey, Pup!" a voice called out, and Jake paused mid-step as he looked back. His golden eyes meet a bright, familiar blue.
"You know, for a priest of the Solar order, you do curse a lot," Jake said, giving him a flat look.
"Fuck off!"
"I was fucking off before you came running after me," Jake said in a sarcastic tone.
Shawn waved his hand in dismissal, muttering more curses under his breath.
"Anyways. Wanna grab a drink after that spar?" Shawn said, as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, "Why don't we go to Donnie's? We can go to our usual seating if, ya wish?"
Jake thought it over for a moment before nodding. Shawn smiled as he turned around and started marching off, Jake following.
They wound through twisting streets and a maze of zig-zagging corners. The Undercity had no real sense of order; its streets and buildings clung together in tight clusters, families here, workers there, raised for survival first. Only afterward did anyone bother thinking about how people were supposed to move through it.
This stretch marked some of the beginnings of the Undercity, where the old mines became an ever-expanding platform on which the city was first raised. The streets grew busier as people walked to the market, where the Malanors ruled.
They passed a Turliance church risen from the stone itself, much like most buildings in the Undercity. Its dark walls, carved with curling patterns meant to resemble storm winds, were laced with silver. The church was dedicated to Zemarae, the Goddess of Storms, whose protection the people of Altor and Undercity prayed for before daring the waters of the Hallowing Sea.
Thin candles flickered behind the iron grates of the entrance, their light dancing across a weathered statue of the goddess; her cloak of frozen stone billowing like thunderclouds, one hand raised as if calming a raging tide. Her face was hidden by the blackness of the sea, where only silver moon-lit eyes shone.
Sailors and dockworkers had left small offerings at her feet: bits of rope, carved shells, and tarnished coins, quiet prayers for safe ships and crews against the fury of the sea.
Soon they arrived at their destination, Donnie's. It was an old tavern; it was smaller than the surrounding buildings, but it was taken care of with passion.
Shawn opened the old wooden door, which was uncommon for most buildings that had cloth or beads acting as a door.
The tavern was small; to the left was a polished, well-worn bar with massive barrels on the wall. Each one holding a different type of Ale. To the right was more open space where wooden round tables and seats were scattered, and at the very back was a staircase leading to the rooms upstairs.
"Hey Donnie, you still selling crap ale?" Shawn said, with a wide smile.
The tavern only had a few occupants that could be counted on one hand, and looked up at the commotion called Shawn.
"Still getting your ass beaten, you cheap knockoff of a dwarf?" a deep voice called out as a large man entered the bar, coming from one of the backrooms.
Shawn's smile turned into a frown as he stared at the man. The man was a beast-kin, a bear variant, similar to Dan, but a lot smaller. His skin was pale, and his short curly hair was black — strands of silver age mixed in — with small, rounded ears covered in fur of the same color.
Jake chuckled as he walked past Shawn, "Ah, there's the golden shadow, how have you been?" Donnie said, calling Jake by his moniker.
The other patrons stiffened as Jake's tail wagged with annoyance and took off his fanged mask. "You know that I am called a shadow and wear masks for a reason, Donnie the Blunt," Jake said, with a small smile.
"Gah," Donnie dismissed with a wave of his hand. "That's an old name, one that should be forgotten," he said as he started to prepare mugs.
Jake gave a low chuckle as he sat at the bar. Shawn followed, while the other patrons gave them wary stares.
"Is the Kanmis family doing well? They aren't bothering one of the old ones… right?" Jake asked, while Donnie placed the two mugs in front of them.
"They are doing well," he gave a low rumble, "Surprisingly, despite the rumors, they actually care about their clients, and have good protection in their territory when troublemakers harm their workers…"
"But?" Jake inquired.
Donnie sighed, shaking his head, "It's just how they do it… the Domino's strip the perpetrators in the middle of streets and whip them near death," he said, as he rubbed his chest.
"Just — gives bad memories, that's all."
Jake gave an understanding nod.
Shawn shook his head, "I don't like the Domino's, they just creepy with their tight leather suits, and those masks they wear," he said as he started chugging his ale.
"How the hell are you not a dwarf?" Donnie jabbed, and Shawn, still chugging, gave him the bird.
Jake and Donnie laughed as Jake took his own sip, the bitterness of the ale settling on his tongue. The tavern noise softened around them, conversations dipping into low murmurs as the moment stretched. Jake stared into the dark surface of his drink, letting his thoughts sink with it; deeper, heavier.
But the quiet of his mind didn't last.
Adam's words cut back through his mind, sharp and deliberate. The choice. Kill Henry Famil… or let everything unravel. Elena's face flickered in his thoughts, followed by the weight of what that choice would cost. Friendship. Trust. One of the Seven brought to ruin.
Or weaken the Lockvry name, weaken what his mother and father had built.
He didn't even notice the growl leaving him, a low and guttural one that vibrated through the stone and wood of the bar.
It cut through the tavern like a blade.
As quiet murmurs died. A chair leg screeched as someone pushed back too quickly. The room stilled as every gaze snapped toward him, as instinct overrode reason.
Jake blinked, pulled from his thoughts, and looked up from his mug, and Donnie raised a brow, giving him an inquisitive look.
"His father gave him a tough task, apparently," Shawn explained, which only made Donnie's inquisitive look more intense.
Jake shook his head, "It's not the task itself that's difficult, it's a choice… a choice that has consequences," he said, his ears flattened against his head, as he let out a small snarl.
Donnie and Shawn looked at each other in a silent conversation, then Donnie looked back at Jake and leaned on his bar.
"Well, what are the choices and consequences?" he said carefully, as if he were stepping into a room filled with traps.
Jake shook his head again, "Can't tell you that…" he murmured as he looked at Shawn for any reassurance. Then he sighed.
"Shawn… if you had a choice between preserving something special to you, but it would harm your family, or would you destroy that special thing… to help your family?" he said quietly, swirling the ale around in his mug.
Shawn's face twisted in thought as he took a sip of his ale, which Donnie had refilled, though Jake wasn't sure when.
Silence hung in the tavern at Jake's question, only being broken up by the distant echoes of rail carts traveling across the ceiling of the Undercity, and drifting chatter from outside. The streets only becoming more busier.
"Tough question," Shawn finally said, breaking the silence, and Donnie nodded along.
"Preserve to destroy family, or destroy to save family," Shawn summarized Jake's question.
"And there are major consequences to each choice," Jake added on in a murmur, still staring into his ale.
Donnie sighed, shaking his head. "I made a similar choice back in the day," he said softly as he poured his own mug.
Both Shawn and Jake looked up to Donnie, as something stirred in their chests, familiar, almost nostalgic. They knew that tone, the tone where he would tell one of his stories.
Before he'd had become a tavern keeper. But when he'd been Donnie the Blunt.
A man whom the people of the Undercity listened to.
A man who had once stood among the Old Ones. A small, tight-knit group only spoken of with quiet respect in the Undercity. Outsiders, every one of them. People who had come from beyond Altor, beyond the tunnels and rot, and chosen to stay.
Not to rule.
Not for profit.
But to change things.
To carve out something better for the people no one else cared about.
Donnie exhaled slowly, staring into his drink as if the past sat somewhere in the reflection.
"The choice was to follow your mother, Jake… to see new horizons," he said, voice quieter now, roughened at the edges. "Or stay behind with the one thing I'd found worth more than all of it."
Jake's attention, which was already focused on Donnie. Snapped tighter at the mention of his mother, almost straining like a rope snapping thread.
He leaned against one of the large barrels, the sturdy wood creaking softly under his weight.
"I choose to follow your mother, and I don't regret it, even though we failed in our main task we had set out," he said with a soft smile, then he gulped down the ale with a swift motion.
Jake frowned slightly, giving Donnie a curious look, and Donnie smiled.
"What task had you guys set out to do?" Jake said, Shawn, nodding along.
"Sorry, kid, can't tell you that… yet," Donnie said, giving Jake an amused look, "Made a pact with your mother."
Jake scoffed, shaking his head, "Every time I hear about her from people like you, there is always a mention of some sort of pact she made."
Donnie chuckled, "She was certainly a woman of secrets, and always made sure that deals were properly met."
Shawn looked at Donnie and Jake, "Donnie, you didn't really answer his question," he pointed out.
Jake frowned, realizing he was right. Donnie told a story, told him his own decision. But what about him? What should he do?
Donnie gave a soft smile, "Fine, I will answer your question," he said with sarcastic exasperation. Then his voice dropped, his voice severe, "Kid, that type of question no one else can answer, only you."
Jake's jaw tightened, the words landing harder than any story, his hopes of finding an answer being dashed away.
Shawn let out a breath through his nose. "I do have to agree with Donnie," he said quietly, which only made Jake's tail lash.
Donnie only snorted at his reaction as he set down his ale on the bar and loomed over Jake. A mountain of power and strength seemed to burst out of him, making the air itself ripple, as Jake felt like he was being slowly crushed.
Shawn instinctively jumped back from the power and landed outside the field of domination Donnie was exuding.
Donnie's black eyes meeting his, defying molten gold.
"I gave you the only thing that matters," Donnie said coldly.
Jake is straining against the air itself, his ears flattened, his teeth clenching, feeling like they were about to shatter, and could only strain out. "Which is?"
Donnie's gaze was cold and dark like an abyss, feeding on Jake's shadows as he tried to use his magic to relieve the pressure.
"You don't get to walk away clean."
Silence followed.
It wasn't an answer.
It was a warning.
Jake finally let the pressure collapse him against the bar. Donnie nodded as if satisfied, then the air itself took a breath. The overwhelming pressure vanished as if nothing had happened.
Jake pushed himself off the bar, his mug spilled, and he looked up at Donnie.
For a moment, they stared at each other, his obsidian eyes meeting his gold.
Then Jake let out a slow, unsteady breath, his gaze dropping to the bar. The world felt quieter somehow, as if the tavern had pulled away from him. Leaving him in an empty void.
"You're right, I don't get to walk clean from this," he said, bitterness scraping his throat raw.
"For a long time, I haven't been clean, from any of this," Jake growled, the words low and heavy as they settled in his chest like stone.
His eyes fixed on the spilled ale, watching it seep into the small cracks of the wood, dark and spreading — wasted, irreversible. The sharp scent of it clung to the air, sour and thick, turning his stomach.
Kill Henry Falmil.
The thought didn't come like a whisper; it landed like a blade.
Sever the connection between the Malanors and Elena… and himself.
His jaw tightened at the thought.
Or let it all unravel.
Elena's face surfaced in his mind, unbidden and vivid. His tail gave a faint, involuntary twitch at the image of her. The way her amber eyes would narrow when she was annoyed. The warmth in her voice when she let her guard slip. The way her flame-like hair floated in the air when she walked. Her caramel scent when she was close, when she stood beside him without fear or hesitation. As if the weight of his name, the weight of her own, and the weight of their reality… didn't exist for her.
His chest tightened, something sharp pressing behind his ribs.
If her House fell… what would happen to her?
His ears flattened as his tail stilled, the usual restless motion gone. Even his body seemed to understand before he allowed himself to.
She was already tempting fate. Just by standing with him. Just by knowing him.
The Lockvry name. A name that didn't just carry power, but fear, and ruin.
His hand curled slowly into a fist, bone creaking as his knuckles blanched white, tendons straining. A dull ache was building as his nails bit into his palms. He welcomed it. Grounded himself in it.
There was no version of this where she stayed untouched.
Only one where she survived.
A breath caught in his throat as something cold settled in his mind.
Make her hate you.
The thought came cold.
"Good," Adam's voice cut through his mind like a blade, clean and final.
Jake's mind raced with the idea. Was it better for her?
Better her hatred than her grave.
Better she curses his name than wears it as a target.
Better she walks away… than be dragged down with him in this cursed city.
It was best for her.
It had to be.
Jake pushed himself to his feet abruptly, the scrape of the stool loud against the silence that seemed to follow him. His movement felt distant, mechanical, as he reached into his heavy leather jacket and pulled out a handful of gold coins — more than necessary — and set them on the bar with a dull clink.
"Thank you," he murmured. His voice was quiet.
Empty.
When he looked up, his gaze was hollow — like something behind it had been carved out and left behind on that bar with the spilled ale.
Donnie watched him, his expression unreadable. An impenetrable mask.
"Shawn… we're leaving," he said before he straightened his jacket and left the empty tavern. The other patrons had fled when Donnie erupted with power.
Shawn stood there for a moment, then nodded to Donnie as he rushed after Jake, calling back, "Thanks for the crappy ale!"
When they left, Donnie frowned as he picked up Jake's mug and pulled a rag from his spatial ring. An artifact he had received as a gift long ago from the woman known as Whispering Shadow.
"?!^#…" the will of the name refusing to be spoken, "…you always did say you were never good with kids," Donnie said with a soft chuckle as he started to wipe down the bar, a familiar and comforting act.
"Things are still going as you planned, old friend."