Nathan didn't sleep.
He sat against the same rain barrel where they'd waited the night before, knees to his chest, eyes wide and unblinking. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't tired. He was in a daze—gripped by disbelief, drowned in pain. His mind reeled, tangled in chaos.
He didn't notice dawn breaking, nor the city stirring to life. Bootsteps, barked orders, market cries—all of it passed through him like wind through torn cloth. Kev was gone.
Should've been me.
He dug his nails into his scalp and tore at his hair, grime caking beneath his fingernails. No tears came. The grief was too heavy, too raw. It hollowed him.
Then he ran. Again.
He searched every crevice of the outer city: alleys, cellar doors, behind market stalls, even the gutters where bodies sometimes rotted. His vision blurred. His hearing dulled. He didn't register the curses hurled his way or the thunder of patrol hooves down main roads. Still, he ran. He kept searching, even knowing it was a fool's errand. What else could he do?
More than once, he thought of storming into Harkan's tavern. Kicking down the back door. Screaming Kev's name. But each time he stopped short.
What if they catch me too?
It was cowardice, maybe. Or sense. Either way, he waited. Waited for a plan that wouldn't come. By dusk, he collapsed inside the hollow of a ruined chapel. The wooden pews were broken, the roof half-caved in, the altar rotted through. Nathan sank against a cold stone wall and wheezed, every breath a knife in his ribs.
Footsteps echoed faintly.
Two older boys wandered in, maybe eighteen or twenty, the kind who walked like they owned every step. Their boots cracked old floor tiles as they entered.
"Well, well," said the taller one, flashing a grin of broken teeth. "If it ain't the little dog of the gutter."
His friend chuckled. "Where's your master, huh? Finally ditched you? Figured out you were dead weight?" He leaned in, mock-sincere. "Don't worry. We'll be your new masters. We'll toss you a bone—you just need to bark. Go on. Say woof!"
They laughed, cruel,
Nathan didn't flinch. Didn't move.
"Look at that. Guess it's true what they say—dogs stay loyal long after they've been kicked." The tall one stepped forward and flicked dirt into Nathan's lap. "Kevin's probably off somewhere warm, suckin' coin—or something else. Or maybe he's dead. Either way, he ain't comin' back."
That cut too deep.
Nathan lunged—weak, slow, wild.
The short one laughed and drove a knee into his gut. "Easy now. Good dogs don't bite their masters."
They knocked him down. Not to maim—just enough to remind him what he was.
Nathan curled in, coughing. Then pushed himself back up.
The shorter boy stepped in, expecting another lunge. This time Nathan hit first—a wild swing that nearly clipped his jaw. He tried to swing another arm but the shorter one grabbed him, slammed him against the wall.
Nathan got up again and again. They traded hits. A scuffle more than a fight—raw and ugly. Nathan held his ground until he couldn't anymore. He dropped to his knees, panting, blood in his mouth.
Still, he crawled forward.
The boys stared, not laughing now.
"You've got fire, boy," the taller one muttered. "Come work with us. Not as a dog. As a brother. Doesn't matter if Kevin comes back or not."
Nathan growled, voice cracking, tears threatening but he remained silent.
The taller boy titled his head, curiosity curling into his voice. "Where's Kevin, by the way? Tried to pull him into our crew a couple years back. Said no, said he had to take care of someone. I'm guessing that someone was you."
He paused, eyeing Nathan, his smirk fading slightly.
"But you're standing now. Got a spine, even after the beating. Maybe he wouldn't need to look after you anymore."
He kicked at a broken tile on the chapel floor, voice turning sharp again. "Besides, time's running out. You must have heard about the patrols, right? They're sweeping in from the inner city. Word is, soon they'll flood the outer streets—flush every gutter rat and stray off the cobbles."
"So. You can come with us. We'll find something for you to do. Or… we wait for Kev. Your call."
Nathan said nothing.
The taller boy gave an exaggerated sigh, then bent down and hauled Nathan up by the arm. He brushed the dirt off Nathan's shoulder with a few half-hearted slaps.
"C'mon, don't just sit there rotting. You wanna survive, don't you?"
But Nathan didn't answer. His face twisted suddenly, like a mask cracking, and he dropped back to his knees. The tears came this time—no holding them back. His shoulders shook; his voice broke.
"Kev's not coming back," he whispered. "They took him. Took him from me."
The chapel felt even emptier for a moment. The boys froze. The tall one shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Shit!" he muttered.
The shorter boy crouched down beside Nathan, watching him cry with something close to pity.
"What do you mean they took him?" the tall one asked, quieter now. "Tell us what happened."
Nathan looked up, eyes red and wet. "You'll help me?" he asked, voice cracked. "You'll bring him back?"
"No promises," the taller one said. "But maybe we can figure something out. You just gotta talk."
Nathan nodded slowly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He told them everything. The alley. The guards. The shouting. The bounty. How he waited. How he ran. How he searched and found nothing.
When he finished, the boys didn't speak for a long moment.
The taller one stood and paced a few steps. "That's bad. Real bad."
"But," said the shorter one, standing now too, "there's someone who might know something."
"Gang Boss over on Western Street," the tall one added. "Not the biggest crew in Viremoor, but his ears are everywhere. If Kevin is still breathing, he'll have heard."
Nathan stared at them, dazed. "Why help me?"
The shorter boy shrugged. "Because most in your place would've curled up and died already. But you haven't."
They reached out and pulled Nathan to his feet again. This time, gentler.
Nathan stood shaking legs, eyes rimmed with red, but burning now with something colder.
They led him out of the broken chapel. Into the streets of Viremoor. Into something new.
Still bloodied. Still bruised.
But walking.
…
They didn't speak as they walked.
The deeper west they went, the more the street twisted. Smoke drifted like low fog. The crowd thinned to those who watched with wary eyes or carried blades in open view. Signs of life were fewer. Hope, rarer still.
The city had changed. In Viremoor, change was always slow and cruel but over the past few months, it had accelerated. The people of outer city didn't speak of it, not directly. But they moved like prey, and they smelled it too.
A storm was coming.
"Name's Dren," the taller boy said at last. "He's Korrin"
Nathan gave no name and they didn't press.
They turned down a dead-alley and slipped through a rusted gate. Inside lay the burned-out bones of an ole bakery, hollowed by fire. A stairwell spiraled into the earth. The smell hit first—mildew, blood, and bodies.
Korrin gave a short whistle.
Footsteps stirred. A girl appeared at the bottom—lantern in one hand, dagger in the other.
"New blood?" she asked.
"Stray" said Dren. "Might have use."
She looked at Nathan. Really looked, his bruises, his silence, his eyes. She didn't ask further. Just stepped aside.
The hideout was carved from the bones of the city—an old sewer junction now repurposed with cots, crated, maps and blades. About a dozen people, mostly teens and young adults, turned to glances. One muttered something, another snorted. Many looked barely older than Nathan.
"Gather them." Said the girl, already striding toward a door at the far end.
Then the door opened.
He wasn't large or loud but the space changed the moment he stepped in.
Meryn.
Black hair cropped close. Eyes like storm glass. Not a single blade on him, yet no one would mistake him for unarmed. The air around him felt sharpened. Measured.
He looked over the gathered youths. Silence a moment. Then he spoke.
"I'm not your savior," he said. "This isn't a home."
His voice was low, calm but it carried through the room like heat.
"You don't get fed because you're hungry. You don't get a bed because you're tired. You get those things if you earn them. And if you don't…"
No one dared shift.
"But if you listen. If you work. If you watch, then maybe you'll learn how not to die in this city. Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll even learn how to make someone else bleed first."
He scanned the faces again.
"Welcome to 'The Floor'"
That was it.
He turned and disappeared back through the door. The crowd slowly relaxed, murmurs starting up again as people returned to their corners.
Dren patted Nathan's shoulder. "He doesn't waste words. That was a long speech, by his standards."
Then he pointed toward a table tucked against a wall, where a girl with ink-stained fingers and pile of parchment sat beside a tall, wiry boy who looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"You want to talk about your brother?" Dren said. "Talk to Renn. She keeps track of names, disappearances, patrol routes, all of it."
Nathan hesitated.
"Look," Dren continued, tone a little softer. "I know this isn't what you wanted. But if Kev's out there… someone down here might've heard. This is where you start."
"Name?" Renn asked
"Nathan"
Renn tilted, "Oh, Dren talked about you. Missing person?"
He nodded again. "My brother. Kev."
Renn dipped his quill and pulled a page toward him. "Start from the beginning, Day, place, what you saw. Everything."
Nathan stared at the ink-stained hands. Then he started talking.
When it was over, the girl let out a slow breath, "Alright that's it for now. I will call you when there is some news."
Nathan nodded.
Renn continued, "From your report, it seems you haven't eaten a single grain of rice these few days. How are you even standing?" She pondered. "Ask Dren for some food, you will be of no use if you fall unconscious while working."
…
The hideout's low corridors echoed with voices and tension. Once a sewer, now a sanctuary of sorts. Makeshift bunks lined the walls; crates of stolen grains stacked in corners and candlelight flickered like fireflies in the dark.
In a stone-walled chamber deeper than the rest, Meryn stood across from a man twice his size, wrapped in a tattered cloak that hid half his face. The faint shimmer of runes curled around the knuckles of his right hand like scars made of moonlight.
"You bring me another dog?" the man rasped
Meryn didn't look up from the pile of parchment on the table. "No. This one's not like the others."
"They never are," the man said. "Until they break."
"This one fought two older boys while coughing blood. Kept standing. Then crawled."
Meryn paused, tapping his fingers against the edge of a chipped mug. "Besides, his name's been linked to the boy Harkan snatched last night. Kid named Kevin."
Then man snorted. "You want me to help another starving runt just because he's desperate?"
"No," Meryn said, finally meeting his eyes. His stare was cold. "I want him helped because he might be a seed."
That quieted the man. But he didn't look convinced.
"That is not enough," the man muttered. "And you're smiling like a fox. Tell me, Meryn… what's different about this boy?"
Meryn's grinned sharpened. He leaned forward and whispered.
"Old Blood!"
The man jerked upright and then let out a raspy laugh—mad and giddy.
"Hah! Hahahaha! Finally! Finally, I can leave this gods-forsaken hole."
Meryn didn't smile. He spoke low and measured. "He hasn't awakened. Not yet. But he's close. That grief… it'll either kill him or crack him open. We need to keep him close—before others catch his scent."
The old man's mirth faded. He folded his arms and listened.
Meryn continued. "The city's turning. No one's been allowed into the inner city for weeks—not even Ascended."
He lowered his voice. "Something's happening. And when the storm breaks, I don't plan to be swept under."
The man stepped back, thoughtful. "But you haven't forgotten our mission, have you? We still haven't roped Blood-Bound to our side. And now he even locked down the inner city."
Meryn scoffed. "Forget the Blood-Bound. We have the kid now. You really think they still care about Blood Oath? We both know what matters more."
There was a silence. Then the man grunted. "Maybe, maybe not. But before we act, we need to know what's happening with the City Lord. Try to reach Rosil. That old bastard might know something."
Meryn nodded once.
The fire crackled behind them, casting long shadows on stone. The cloaked man stared into the flame, eye hard, lips tight in thought.
Outside, the city creaked.
And the storm drew closer.