Lucien walked down the alley cautiously, the alley seemed slightly different from before. Step by step, and now he was about to exit the alley, the atmosphere around him instantly changed drastically. He was about to enter an entirely different district, located on the outskirts of Columbus Capital. The alley, smelling of saltwater and cheap cigarette smoke, revealed a different street than before.
This was The Outer Edge of Inner Quarter, the Port District known as Columbus Port. The port was on the east of Columbus Capital.
This port was the industrial heart of Columbus Capital, the main maritime gateway where heavy cargo ships from all over the world arrived, thanks to its strategic location along the Sanore River. All raw materials, from mining ore, exotic spices, biological essences which were the foundation of the Advancement rituals for Uniqueness users, to steam engines and industrial commodities that drove the capital, moved in and out through the docks on this river. The luxurious life of the city in the Old Quarter completely depended on the busy flow of trade at Columbus Port.
The buildings in Columbus Port were still made of brown brick, with the characteristic architectural style of Columbus Capital, but every detail appeared slightly neglected. Paint was peeling off in many facades. Glass windows looked dirty and some appeared cracked, amidst the crevices of the old bricks. Moss grew thick, blackened by sea steam and coal dust.
The most fundamental difference, and the one he realized most, was the composition of the people. Totally unlike Broad Street, which was dominated by humans, Columbus Port was home to immigrants. They were hard-working people bound by a political treaty between the Columbus Republic and other nations as a symbol of peace formed at Astraventis, imported as skilled labor to run factories and the complicated loading and unloading of cargo.
Lucien observed the crowd. He saw silhouettes whose existence he knew but were rarely seen in the Inner Ring. On the docks, a group of stocky Dwarves, with neatly tied beards, led a team loading and unloading steam engines. Their skilled hands seemed to merge with the iron they handled. Not far from them, behind a pile of spice sacks, several families of Elves with graceful postures were visible, a contrast to the shabby port environment. They all carried the same burden, fatigue and caution.
He knew why these races were unseen from Broad Street, which was the merchant district. In Columbus Capital, racial segregation, which they called 'Strategic Labor Placement,' had restricted other immigrant races to this harsh Port District. Racism was an invisible wall separating the peaceful Old Quarter from the grim reality that existed in Columbus Port.
To maintain Order amidst the hidden tension, the presence of law enforcement officers was conspicuous. Every block was guarded by a pair of Human Officers in dark blue uniforms. They stood stiffly, radiating a clear attitude of superiority, watching every movement of the immigrants suspiciously. Their heads were covered by tall, dark hats with a sharp crown, giving an impression of formality and authority. On their hips hung thick wooden batons, and on their chests, a thin, gleaming brass whistle was pinned, ready to be blown to signal even the smallest infringement. Lucien felt the cold gaze of one of the Officers standing near an old building, a look that reminded him that here, he was only a human passing through a tightly guarded area.
Just as he was about to quicken his pace, a hoarse voice full of anger pierced the crowd, halting Lucien's steps.
"Hey, hurry up, you dwarf! Why are you standing in the way?! That ship needs to be unloaded now, not this afternoon!," Lucien turned to the source of the voice. A plump human port foreman, wearing a thick leather vest and a faded Fedora hat, stood in front of a Dwarf worker. The Dwarf, who had just pulled a cargo rope with difficulty, looked breathless.
"I need… one minute, Sir. This is too heavy. If we rip the rope, there will be losses…" the Dwarf replied with a heavy, thick foreign accent, pointing to the taut cargo point.
The foreman's face flushed. He spat to the side; an expression of clear disgust was visible in his eyes.
"One minute? Do you think this is a tea shop, huh?! Hurry up, or you'll go back to the dirty hole you came from! We pay you for labor, not for laziness, you parasite!," The foreman unleashed his anger and then roughly pushed the Dwarf's shoulder. The Dwarf stumbled, but quickly regained his balance and stepped forward one pace, covering the cargo behind him. His small, dark eyes glared sharply at the foreman.
"I work for the Columbus Republic under a treaty recognized at Astraventis. I am paid to secure this cargo, not to be your slave! We need one minute." The Dwarf replied in a low, controlled tone, but containing hidden meaning. It was a subtle rejection of the insult, a small act of self-defense.
The foreman's face grew redder with surprise and anger, but he pulled his hand back, his gaze shifting briefly toward the uniformed Officer across the street. He knew this Dwarf had protection and rights, however fragile, and an open fight would draw too much attention and he knew he wouldn't be able to win a contest of strength.
"Damn it... one minute. And don't expect your salary not to be cut for this mess!," He hissed before turning roughly and leaving to find another worker to vent his frustration on.
Lucien shifted his gaze, clenching his hand inside his coat pocket. This scene was a daily spectacle, a reflection of the 'peace' treaty enforced with injustice, where immigrants had to choose between swallowing the insult or risking their job. It was a painful reminder of why many others in the Old Quarter chose to ignore life outside their Old Quarter walls. He took a short breath and continued walking, crossing the social boundary of Columbus Capital, carrying the ironically perfect mirror box amidst the world's imperfections.
He quickened his pace, moving away from the docks in the east, towards the depths of the Inner Ring, towards the southwest where the Old Quarter was located. The further he walked, the smell of saltwater and soot changed to the aroma of spices leftover from Broad Street, although it was still overshadowed by the continuous reek of coal oil billowing from the chimneys.
In Columbus Port, the street Lucien walked on began to change. From large warehouses, he entered a network of narrow alleys adorned with simple tenements, where laborers and immigrants were crammed together. This was where the social line became the thinnest and most dangerous.
As Lucien turned a corner onto a quieter street, he saw a small crowd had formed a few blocks ahead of him. His golden eyes sharpened, scanning the situation from a distance. In the middle of the reluctant crowd stood two Officers in dark blue uniforms, their postures stiff and dominant, the crowns of their tall hats reflecting the dreary morning light.
They were restraining two Elf children, a boy and a girl, both appearing to be around ten to twelve years old, their clothes worn, dirty, and patched in several places. The two Officers each gripped the children's arms with a hard hold that made their small shoulders look sunken.
The taller Officer, holding a thick wooden baton, raised the object into the air with a casual, threatening attitude, as if its weight were merely cotton in his hand.
"We saw you take it, you little thief!," The Officer snarled with a cold, harsh voice that cut through the street noise.
"This bag should contain bread for the workers. Where did you hide the rest, huh? Answer me!," His snarl cut through the air.
"I don't… I don't have any, Sir. We were just looking for leftover food that had fallen…" The boy could only shake his head, his breath catching between suppressed sobs.
Without warning, the second Officer brought his hand down hard on the back of the boy's hand, causing the child to flinch and fall to his knees from the pain and shock. The muddy ground beneath him dirtied his already worn trousers.
The first Officer smirked, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding immigrant crowd.
"Good, kneel before all of them…," He said coldly.
"You think this is about us? No. You are insulting the Republic!," He spat to the side, his eyes shifting to pierce the other immigrants.
"This nation does not protect you from stealing food, you troublemaker. We will take you to the supervisor's office, and believe me, it's far worse than any cell here. Remember this well. This is the price you pay for fighting back." He pointed his wooden baton at the immigrants as he spoke.
Near them, an Elf woman in a shabby apron dress, perhaps the mother of one of the children, could only stifle a sob and cover her mouth with a trembling hand. Her graceful face was ruined by deep fear. Other Dwarf and Elf laborers merely bowed their heads, disguising themselves in the shadows of the simple tenements.
Lucien stopped completely, standing frozen on the cobblestone street. The box containing the flawless mirror felt cold and heavy in his left hand, an ironic object of power amidst the despair.
He clenched his right hand inside his coat pocket. Instantly, the sobs of the kneeling boy echoed in his ears, overlapping the whispers from the past he tried to forget.
Devil Spawn!
His vision began to spin. The dark blue uniform faded, replaced by angry faces without uniforms. The boy's cry turned into his own voice, eight years ago. He clearly remembered the cold, hard sensation of the stone hitting his head. The pain and helplessness, the guilt of being allowed to live, he now saw reflected in the eyes of the immigrant children. They were him in the past, trapped in a fate they did not choose, punished for their existence.
His instinct whispered resistance, a blind reaction to the injustice. However, this time it wasn't just two thugs he met in a narrow alley. This was an institution, protected by a uniform, and self-made law. Intervention meant inviting a disaster that would draw attention to Aunt Florence and her work. He would ruin the peace his aunt had kept and provided in the Old Quarter.
He did not move. He could not move.
Lucien watched the children being taken away. The sound of the police's leather boot steps clashed with the small scraping sound of the children's shoes being dragged forcibly. They did not resist, merely resigned, their shoulders small and fragile, having been forced to submit to a cruel fate. He saw the immigrant women swallowing their sobs, covering their mouths, and the laborers returned to work with bowed heads; the sight was common to them, a price to be paid for survival.
In the territory of Columbus Port, Lucien de Noctval was merely a civilian teenager holding an expensive mirror, powerless in the face of institutionalized injustice. He was not a hero who could save everyone. He could only watch, feel the sting of the past repeating itself, and continue his journey home. His responsibility to Aunt Florence and his Advancement felt heavier than his guilt over the children, a cruel choice demanded by this world.
Lucien took a breath, his guilt like a small, burning fire in his chest, hurting more every time he tried to ignore it. He turned, veering far from the route of the arrest, and continued his journey toward the Old Quarter, carrying the ironically perfect mirror box amidst the imperfection of a world that had chosen who he must ignore for his own safety.