House Elarin Courtyard.
A pair of shirtless n stood in the gravel-paved center, locked in a brutal dance of fists and footwork.
Dull thuds of knuckles against flesh echoed in steady rhythm.
Ian's breath ca in short bursts.
His bare torso, lean and scarred, was slick with sweat. His muscles tensed and coiled with each motion, like a hunting animal. Across from him, Eli moved with feline grace, his fra heavier, thicker with muscle, but no less precise.
Gold rings in his dreadlocks shimred as he dodged a jab and countered with a short, punishing hook to Ian's ribs.
"Too stiff," Eli said, his voice calm even mid-spar.
"You move like a swordsman, not a brawler. Loosen your shoulders."
Ian grit his teeth and circled, fists up. "This isn't my style."
"Which is why we're here," Eli replied. "You ever see a spellblade charge into a pit fight? No. They fight like dancers. You need to fight like soone who grew up on cobbled streets with nothing to lose."
The maids stationed near the corridor couldn't help but peek.
Every ti one of them landed a blow, they giggled, cheeks flushed. One even covered her mouth to stifle a gasp as Ian ducked low and swept Eli's legs—only for Eli to pivot mid-fall and catch himself with a hand, flipping up and landing smoothly on his feet.
Ian blinked. "Seriously?"
Eli grinned. "What? You thought just 'cause I teach, I can't show off a little?"
Across the courtyard, Velrosa sat beneath a shaded awning, a heavy-bound book open on her lap.
She hadn't looked up once since they began. Her silver hair was tucked behind one ear, her expression serene. She turned a page with a delicate flick of her fingers.
Ian stepped forward with a feint, throwing a jab at Eli's chin.
"Better," Eli muttered, deflecting it, "but your back foot's out of line. You're giving away your balance."
"You're insufferable."
"I'm well aware."
The banter halted when the gate creaked open.
Elise entered, her black cloak fluttering behind her. At her side was a man, hooded and cloaked, head down, posture rigid.
"Your Highness," Elise called out, her tone laced with warning. "I found him outside. He says it's urgent."
Velrosa's eyes didn't lift from her book.
The hooded man stepped forward and pulled back his hood.
Black Rat.
But not the calm, smirking informant they were used to. His face was pale. His eyes wild. Panic clung to him like a second skin.
Velrosa gaze rose to et him, before finding the pages of her boom again.
"I have a reputation to maintain. One does not simply entertain criminals in their ho."
Eli's expression darkened. "Why the hell would you co here?"
"I wasn't followed," Rat blurted out, chest heaving. "I swear on my life."
Velrosa sighed. "And I suppose your swearing on your life is ant to put at ease?"
Rat bowed deeply. "Forgive , my lady. I wouldn't dare show my face here if it weren't dire."
Ian stepped forward, wiping blood from his lip.
"What happened?"
"The Red Water Gang," Rat said quickly. "They've killed too many of my n trying to find . They're obsessed now. They own one of the betting taverns we hit and they keep saying I must've stolen from them, that I got a payout from sowhere. And now—"
He swallowed hard. The mask cracked. The man beneath was afraid.
"They found my wife."
Silence fell across the courtyard.
"I don't know how. I always kept her away from this. I swear I did. But they're going there now. I just need help. I—" His voice cracked. "Please. I'll swear myself to you, Lady Velrosa. For the rest of my days."
Velrosa finally looked up. Her blue eyes, cold and bright, locked onto him. He was no one.
A rat in fine clothing. But right now, he was a man broken.
She shut her book with a sigh. "Eli."
Eli nodded. "Understood."
Then, without missing a beat, he turned to Ian.
"Ian."
Ian raised a brow. "No."
"What?"
"You just passed it off to ."
"Exactly. More people for you to kill. I'm looking out for your growth."
Ian glared at him. "You're unbelievable."
Rat dropped to his knees again. "Please, there's no ti. Co with —I'll lead you there."
Ian exhaled sharply, brushing a hand through his sweat-matted hair as he moved toward the edge of the courtyard where his shirt and cloak waited.
"I know where she lives," he said, slipping his arms through the cloak's sleeves. "Just wait here."
He fastened the clasp at his neck, casting a shadow over his features.
"It'll be handled swiftly."
—---
Middle-gard
The apartnt was cramped, plain stone walls and wooden furniture. But today, it was filled with far too many people.
Over two dozen n, ard and restless, loitered in the small space. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and tension. A single woman sat at the dining table, eyes hollow, hands folded tightly in her lap.
Opposite her, a broad man in a blood-red coat cut into a steak with perfect etiquette.
His fork and knife moved in smooth motions, chewing slowly between his words.
"Funny thing," he said, "we've been searching for a ghost. That rat of a husband of yours hides well."
He sipped from a glass of dark wine.
"So we thought… why not check ho? Maybe there's a letter. A clue. Or maybe," he grinned at her, "he'd be dumb enough to visit."
The woman said nothing. Her gaze didn't waver.
He smiled wider. "No? Not going to say anything, my lovely? That's unfortunate, because—"
The door burst open.
A gust of wind followed. Cloaks billowed. Two of the n inside reached for weapons, startled.
A single figure entered.
Ian. But they didn't know it was him.
Hood up, cloak draped over his shoulders and blaclava over his nose like a reaper's shadow. The wind quieted behind him as the door shut gently with a click.
He looked around slowly.
Took stock of the twenty-so n. Counted the blades. The tension.
"Apologies, gentlen," Ian said calmly, taking a single step forward. "I hope I'm not late for dinner."
The room went still.
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