Cole led Erika through a maze of narrow gaps formed by low metal shacks and disused pipes.The ground underfoot was slick and sticky, a foul mixture of engine oil, rust-stained water, and unidentifiable rot.The air was stubbornly saturated with the metallic stench of rust and the sharp bite of chemical agents, overwhelming everything else.
A faint, sickly yellow light seeped down from high above, filtering through grime-smeared translucent panels, making the world below feel unreal.
They stopped at a shack slightly larger than the others.Its entrance was covered by a thick canvas curtain, soaked through with filth until its original color was impossible to tell.Dark liquid dripped steadily from its frayed edges.
From inside came muffled voices, heavy breathing, and the harsh scraping of metal against metal.
"This is it."
Cole lifted the curtain.
A wave of even denser, more complex heat and filth slammed into them like a fist to the face.
Erika hesitated.
The interior was nothing but shifting shadows, but the smells and sounds alone made his body recoil on instinct.His stomach growled, yet something deeper resisted.
"Come on."
Cole was already halfway inside. He glanced back, his face twisting into a vague grin in the gloom.
"It's not like I'm rich."He tugged at the front of his grease-stiffened white robe.
Squeezing inside, his voice drifted back with a note of self-mocking reassurance.
"Seriously. When I make Silver-Trim, I'll treat you to something decent, alright, Your Highness?"
Erika pressed his cracked lips together.That "Your Highness" pricked like a thorn.
He lowered his gaze, avoiding any eyes that might be watching through the gap in the curtain, and followed—hesitant, half-aware—ducking his head as he entered.
Inside was darker and lower than he had imagined.
The air was hot and viscous, thick with sweat, the acrid sting of cheap tobacco smoke, and—the monotonous, nauseating heaviness of starch boiling endlessly in bulk.
Dim yellow bulbs hung from bent iron rods, barely lighting a few crooked metal tables and benches.Scattered figures sat hunched over, heads down, focused on the large, ash-gray metal bowls in front of them.
Cole had already taken a seat near the edge.He looked back at Erika and patted the empty stool beside him.
Erika approached carefully and sat down next to him.
The bench was cold, hard, and slick with grime.He perched on its edge, instinctively drawing his empty right sleeve closer to his side.
"The usual," Cole said toward the counter.
Behind a massive iron pot, only the hunched silhouette of a figure moved—its face completely obscured.
"Two."
Turning back to Erika's tense profile, he added lightly, though something underneath showed through.
"Don't call me cheap. We're going on vacation, after all."
Erika didn't answer.
He didn't know what to say.
He stared at the tabletop instead—deeply scored with years of scratches, layered with stains too old and too dark to question.
Suddenly, a grime-streaked hand reached in from beside him, aiming for his left shoulder.
Almost instinctively, Erika's muscles tightened.His left hand snapped up, blocking the hand mid-motion.
Smack.
A light sound.Fast.
Cole's hand froze in midair.
The air locked solid.
Cole's hand hovered there, neither withdrawing nor pressing forward.Through his grip, Erika felt the rough warmth of calloused skin.
He didn't dare move.Didn't dare look at Cole.
Heat flooded his face.His ears rang.
Under the dim lights, even the air seemed frozen—broken only by the sounds of others swallowing, scraping bowls, and his own heart pounding in his chest.
Then—
A massive, heavy gray-black metal bowl slammed down onto the table.
Thick gray-brown mush sloshed inside, splattering droplets across the filthy surface.Steam rose, carrying the blunt smell of overcooked grain and cheap grease.
The suspended hand finally withdrew.
"After you," Cole said.
His gaze stayed on his own bowl.
Erika slowly lowered his left hand.His fingers trembled.
He glanced at the ominously steaming food, then quickly at Cole.
His throat worked.
Finally, he forced the words out—dry, taut.
"You're the boss… you first."
He had no appetite.
This felt less like eating and more like killing time—or maybe a small, meaningless act of resistance against everything closing in around him.
"Hey! Don't let me catch you still loafing around!"
The familiar shout ripped through the alley like a rusted saw.
The Silver-Trimmed one.
Loud.Closer.Carrying naked irritation and the certainty of a hunter who knew exactly where his prey hid.
Erika stiffened.His spoon struck the bowl with a soft clink.
He looked at Cole, heart tightening.
Cole didn't even look up.
He ate.
Scoop.Lift.Chew.Swallow.
Steady. Efficient.
In the dim light, only the subtle movement of his jaw and his oil-dark hair shadowing his eyes were visible.
The shouting outside might as well have been background noise.
Erika licked his lips nervously.His left hand clenched under the table.
Carefully, he nudged Cole's side with his elbow.
"Boss."
No response.
Another spoonful disappeared into Cole's mouth.
Erika nudged him again.Harder.
Then a third time—urgent.
Only after scraping the last heavy spoonful into his mouth, tipping his head back with a loud gulp, did Cole finally stop.
The spoon clanged sharply against the bowl.
He exhaled, breath thick with the warmth of mush, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and finally turned.
His face was calm.Unremarkable.Used to this.
"Don't rush," Cole said quietly, just loud enough to cut through the fading shouts.
"I know what you're thinking.Leave early. Finish orders early.Get a Mark early.Get assigned early.Get a wife early.
Earlier. Earlier. Earlier."
He paused, eyes resting on Erika.
His tone carried something almost instructional—and deeply ironic.
"Remember. We're on vacation."
Vacation.
Wrapped in the stink of mush and the foul air outside, the word felt absurd.
And unbearably heavy.
Erika nodded, not quite understanding.
"You bastards! I know you're in there! I'll brand 'deserter' on your asses myself!"
The shouts moved farther away, turning into another alley—the rage undiminished, echoing between sheet metal and concrete.
"Good."
Cole listened, then smiled faintly.
So faint it barely existed.
Something unreadable flickered through his eyes.
He reached into the inner pocket of his filthy robe, fumbled, and pulled out a few dull, worn metal coins.
He slapped them onto the greasy table.
They glinted weakly under the yellow light, smeared with sweat.
"Last chance."
His eyes flicked from the coins to Erika's untouched bowl.
Erika looked between them.
The hunger was still there—but his stomach felt full of tension and the stink of boiled starch.
He shook his head.
Light.Firm.
Cole stared at him for two seconds.
Said nothing.
He gathered the coins back into his palm and clenched his fist.Metal rasped softly against metal.
He stood.
The stool legs screeched against the rough floor.
"We leave tonight."
He pushed aside the heavy, dripping canvas curtain and disappeared without looking back.
The curtain swayed.
Rust and dust flooded in, thinning the shop's stifling heat.
Erika stayed seated.
He stared at the bowl before him—cold now, even more repulsive.
Then at the still-swaying curtain.
Tonight.Departure.Vacation.
He drew a deep breath—air mixed with sour food and iron rust—
and slowly stood.
His left fingertips brushed the cold metal edge of the table.
His empty right sleeve hung light and hollow.
Following Cole—
confused, yet carrying a resolve that had been forcibly grown inside him—
Erika ducked through the filthy curtain as well,stepping into the wider, unknowable dusk,thick with rust and chemical stench.
Night fell quickly.
Exactly how much time had passed, Erika didn't know."Night" here held no stars. Only the filthy skylights high above darkened completely, becoming light-absorbing, viscous blackness. The smell of rust in the air seemed heavier now, mixed with a cold, clammy dampness unique to night, seeping through his ill-fitting white tunic and making him shiver uncontrollably.
An immense silence surrounded them.Not peaceful, but a taut, brittle dead stillness, as if it could be torn apart at any moment. The faint daytime noises—voices, distant clangs of metal—were all gone. Only the sound of his own suppressed breathing remained, and Cole's nearly inaudible footsteps ahead.
Pitch black.
Erika could only cling to a small fold of cloth at the small of Cole's back, the fabric rough and greasy beneath his fingers. It was his only guide. His only anchor.
He followed, stumbling one uncertain step after another, relying entirely on that faint pull and the occasional extremely weak, sickly yellow light leaking from cracks between low shacks or from behind doors left slightly ajar. Each flicker illuminated only a tiny patch ahead—mostly the white of Cole's tunic.
In the absolute darkness, that scrap of white became the only moving point of reference—like a faint will-o'-the-wisp, guiding lost souls.
Erika focused all his attention on that white shape, following it left, then right, skirting what felt like piled-up debris, squeezing through narrow gaps that seemed to press in from all sides. Any sense of direction had long vanished, replaced by blind momentum and a growing, gnawing unease about wherever they were headed.
Suddenly—
The patch of white ahead, which had been moving in small, steady adjustments, stopped without warning.
It filled most of his blurred vision at once.Had Cole turned around? Or stepped closer?
Erika had no time to react.
His nose and forehead slammed solidly into Cole's back. The body beneath the tunic was harder than he'd expected. He let out a muffled grunt, instinctively releasing his grip on the cloth and staggering back half a step.
"We're here."
Cole's voice came low—so low it was almost breathed directly into Erika's ear. In the suffocating silence, it sounded unnervingly clear, carrying the casual ease of someone finishing a task.
Here?
Where was here?
Everything remained pitch black—darker than before, stripped of even those stray flickers of light. There was nothing but the blurred white outline of Cole, now uncomfortably close.
"I… don't understand," Erika murmured, keeping his voice just as low.Confused. Disoriented.
Here for what?A wall? An entrance? Or… the boundary of Darenz?
But there was nothing. No sensation at all. Just darkness and silence.
"Of course you don't."
Cole's voice carried a hint of amusement—something off, even chilling, in the dark.
"Lesson one. Don't question the boss."
Erika didn't have time to process the words.
Didn't have time to feel danger.
Didn't even have time to flinch—
A short, sharp, utterly unbuffered blow struck the back of his head.
Everything snapped at once.
The hand clutching fabric.The cold air.The pale shape before him.The pain blooming at the base of his skull.
All of it—gone.
He didn't even hear his own body hit the ground.
Consciousness went out like a snuffed candle.
The last thing he felt was endless blackness swallowing him whole,and those words, echoing with cold clarity in the dark—
Lesson one.