As we walked toward the mansion, two broad-shouldered men loomed at the entrance like sentries carved from shadow. I watched the backs of Corven and his buffoons shrink with satisfaction and laughed quietly inside. "We're back, and we brought the roach".
One of the guards flicked a menacing look our way while the other pushed the heavy door open. Inside, the place smelled faintly of wax and citrus — impossibly clean. I remembered then: keeping this place immaculate had been one of my duties. Iskar used this house to host meetings with wealthy merchants and a handful of nobles. The hallway swallowed our footsteps as we walked, and I noticed other slaves moving about with the mechanical grace of people who had learned to be invisible. Some scurried with buckets and mops; others received lashes from impatient gang members. The sound was ordinary here, like wind against a city wall.
"Big bro, you know why the boss called everyone back and asked for the roach?" my companion asked, pointing at me.
"I don't know. Be quiet — we're here," I muttered.
We reached a heavy door. Corven knocked once. "We're here, boss." A voice called for us to enter.
Inside, five men filled the room. Iskar sat at the head, his presence folding the air around him. Beside him, his younger brother — the vice leader, Viper — watched with eyes like cold coins. The other three were lieutenant-types: rough, eager, and stupid enough to be dangerous.
When we entered, the three men bowed; I was ordered to kneel. Iskar called the empty house his kingdom and made the slaves kneel like subjects before a petty god.
"Rise," he said, then let the silence press his point. "I called you here because we have a job. A big one — five times what we usually pull in a month." He scanned the room as if checking for leaks. "I don't want mistakes. If we fail, this will bring heat on us I don't need."
Murmurs cracked the stillness. "The job," Iskar continued, "Is to kidnap the marquis's only daughter."
The room went quiet enough to hear cloth shift. Kidnap the lord's child. Insane. Impossible. The idea of dragging the city's nobility into a scandal made my bones ache.
"Corven, you and your group will play a major role," Iskar said. Corven's eyes lit, and the three lieutenants chorused, "Yes, sir. We won't let you down."
Iskar looked at me then — slow, like a blade finding its place. "Lurthar, your role will be to provide cover. A distraction for the guards while the others get the girl into our exit wagon. Do this well, and I'll make you a full member of the Tirene."
My chest tightened with a hope so sudden it felt dangerous. "Yes, my lord," I said, copying the men's excitement, the act of eagerness feeling like another chain.
"Tomorrow night." The words dropped like a stone. Then Iskar's voice hardened. "This stays secret. If anyone talks, I will kill them. Understood?"
Heads nodded. I felt the room tilt; a heavy weight settled into my gut. Iskar produced a cigarette, and on the tips of his fingers a small flame kindled. It was a simple spell— Ember, first-tier magic. I was in shock for seeing that he had no lighter with just his finger he lit the cigarette. I remember seeing something similar once, but seeing it now, close watching it burn, made a cold, thrilling knowledge rush into me. Magic existed in this world. How can I learn it? How could I use it?
"Now go, Lurthar. Get cleaned up. I've told the others to bring new clothes and some food." He dismissed me with a lazy wave.
I rose, knelt to press my forehead to the floor in a show of gratitude, then walked out. My face was blank; inside, the wheels spun. Iskar had given us almost no details — only those at the top attended this meeting. The three idiots were fools too proud to question why they were needed; they'd be useful, expendable. They'd probably kill us after we delivered the girl. Or have us killed if we failed. Either way, we were pawns.
A single, nagging question stuck: how had I learned to sense and now name magic? The memory came in a flash — an old slave hushed word,mentioning it when we saw another leader perform that spell. It frightened me while it made my heart race to know there were things in this world I might use and yet did not understand.
I had only started climbing the stairs when a hand seized my collar and slammed me back down. Corven's grin was all teeth. "Hey roach — you better not fail us. If you do…" He pulled a dagger from his waist and held it to my throat. "I'll split it open. You got that?" He punched me in the stomach. I doubled over, wind knocked from my lungs, as they walked away laughing.
Sitting on my knees, gasping for air, I watched their figures disappear down the corridor. The world narrowed to a single truth: here, it was kill or be killed. Fail, and they would reap my life with a shrug. Succeed, and they might still take it later.
Back in the slave quarters, amid the smell of damp straw and old sweat, I wondered what would be left of me if I ever found my way home. Would the man who'd studied martial arts when he was a kid or when he entered robotic competitions for fun—will that still be in me? Or would the cost of surviving this city carve away anything like softness until I was only a blade and a memory?
I rinsed my face in a bucket of cold water and tasted grit on my lips. The candlelight caught an old scar on my wrist — a shallow line from a childhood scrape or a warning I'd earned since coming here. Tomorrows in this small corner were measured in breath and the steady beat of fear. Tonight, I would sleep knowing that tomorrow my life will change for better or worse. I had to learn fast: how to make a flame appear between my fingers, how to free myself from this forced slavery, how to steal a life without losing my own. And I had to decide, in the quiet that remained, whether I would take a life when they demanded it of me — or finally learn to accept my new reality.