The capital of Arorien did not glitter with the gold of its legends; instead, it sat beneath a heavy, iron-grey sky that seemed to press down on the soot-stained spires. In a quiet corner of the city, far from the marble plazas and the clattering chariots of the nobility, stood a modest house. It was a simple, stone structure with a small, unpretentious garden—a place where the wind whispered through the leaves of a single willow tree.
General Idom, a man whose name was a shadow that darkened the maps of rival empires, sat on a weathered wooden chair. A simple ceramic cup of tea rested on the table before him, the steam rising in thin, ghostly curls.
He looked less like a conqueror and more like a man waiting for a storm that had already passed, leaving only ruins in its wake.
The latch on the garden gate clicked with a sharp metallic snap.
"Sir, I have something to discuss," a woman's voice drifted from behind him, crisp and formal.
Idom didn't turn. He merely set his tea down with a controlled, heavy clack. "Sit first, Lisa."
Lisa, his most trusted scout, moved with the silent, predatory grace of a hawk. She took the seat opposite him, her face tight with a message she clearly didn't want to deliver.
"Sir... I have searched the entirety of Arorien. I have sent word to the neighboring kingdoms, tracked the merchant caravans, and scoured the border outposts. I cannot find your son."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by the distant chime of the city clock. Idom let out a long, ragged sigh, his broad shoulders sagging. "It has been a month since he walked out that door. A month of silence."
"Sir, I understand your loss," Lisa said, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper.
"But the kingdom is in a state of high alert. The council is fractured, and the King is growing impatient. You've missed the last four meetings. They need the General, not a grieving father."
"Meetings," Idom spat the word, his eyes narrowing. "Lisa, you should know by now—my son is the last thing I have. He is the last member of my bloodline. I cannot abandon him to the world. I have a duty to find him that outweighs any decree written on parchment."
"But the borders are bleeding, sir. The King needs you to come, just once—"
"Go now," Idom interrupted, his voice turning into the cold steel of a guillotine. "I gave you a task, and you failed. I will find him myself. As for the meetings... I will think on it. Leave me."
Lisa stood, her lips thin. "I hope you find him, sir. But I hope you find your way back to the hall before the King finds a replacement." She turned and left, her footsteps fading into the distance.
As the gate clicked shut, Idom closed his eyes, leaning back into the wooden slats of his chair. He let his mind drift into the dark waters of his own past.
(I am Idom, the orphan of a nameless street, he thought. I came to this kingdom with nothing but a rusted blade and the dirt of a dozen borders under my fingernails. I worked for low wages, bled for copper, and fought my way out of the filth because I had a dream. I wanted power. I wanted to be the man the King bowed to. And I became him. I have the royal guards, the titles, the wealth... and it is all ash.
He pictured her face then. His wife.
Her eyes were like a sunrise in a world of perpetual dark. Her beauty... it was a diamond found in a mountain of coal. I didn't know how to compliment her, how to tell her that her presence was the only thing that made the blood on my hands feel clean. We married, and for a while, the General died so the man could live. I spent my days sinking into the ocean-depth of her gaze.
Then came our son—a gift that felt like the gods had made a mistake and given a monster a miracle. But the happiness was a flickering candle in a hurricane. The disease had come like a thief, decaying her from the inside out.
I hired every professional healer, every desperate doctor, every alchemist with a drop of hope. Nothing worked. And the worst part... the regret that burns my throat every night... is that when she needed me most, I wasn't there. When she needed a hand to hold as the light faded, I was at a meeting. I was at the border. I choose the kingdom over the woman who was my world. If I had known... I would have never let her marry a man as hollow as me.)
A soft, wet nudge at his knee broke his trance. A small puppy hopped onto his lap, wagging its tail with mindless, innocent joy. Idom's hardened face softened for a fraction of a second.
"Oh, you little naughty one," he murmured, his voice cracking as he patted the dog's head. "Blop... I forgot where I put your collar. But I suppose you've earned a treat tonight."
"Sir Idom."
The warmth vanished. Idom didn't move as Nyadar stepped into the garden, his armor clanking. He was flanked by two C++ rankers who stood like iron statues.
"Sir, we found them," Nyadar said, bowing deeply. "Two individuals in Narier city. An Elf, and a creature... a monster disguised in human flesh."
Idom sipped his cold tea, his expression unreadable. "Interesting. And yet, you are standing here, and they are not in cages. Why?"
Nyadar's throat hitched. "Sir, they... they managed to esca—"
"Don't," Idom cut him off, his voice a low vibration that made the tea in his cup ripple. "Don't say they escaped. You had Lijom. You had two C++ rankers. How does a girl and a slime slip through the fingers of four of the best hunters in the capital?"
"I made errors in the mission, sir," Nyadar said, sweat beading on his brow.
"But Lijom is still there. He has locked down the district. He says they are rats in a cage. He will handle it."
"Lijom," Idom mused. "Fine. I will wait. But remember this, Nyadar: if you fail me again, I will handle this myself. And if I have to leave this garden to do your job, your paychecks will be the last thing you lose. You will lose your standing, your rank, and perhaps your life."
"It won't happen again, sir," Nyadar promised, backing away into the shadows of the evening.
The Gut of Narier
Deep within the lower district of Narier, the air was a thick, poisonous soup of rot, stagnant water, and the copper tang of blood. June and Blop moved through the dark alleys like flickering, broken shadows.
Blop was staggering. His left arm had been hacked, and though his body was trying to hold its shape, a viscous, glowing blue fluid was leaking from the wound, sizzling against the damp cobblestones.
"Can you heal that?" June hissed, pulling him into the pitch-black mouth of a recessed doorway.
Her eyes scanned the rooftops, looking for Lijom's silhouette. "Do it now. That blue blood is like a beacon. If they find a single drop, they'll track us to the core."
Blop looked at his stump, his alien mind finally processing the command. He had been so focused on the flight that his biological repair had stalled.
He closed his eyes, and a sickening, wet squelch filled the alley. New muscle fibers knit together like sewing needles, skin stretched over bone, and within seconds, the arm was whole again, the bleeding stopped.
"Good," June whispered, her voice rough with exhaustion. "Deeper. We need to get into the Gut."
They pushed into the labyrinth of the slums, where the houses were stacked like rotting teeth.
Suddenly, a man in a tattered, ridiculous outfit stepped from a doorway, a rusted cleaver in his hand.
"Hey! Little spunks, stop right there," the man grinned, his eyes gleaming with greed. "Don't you know who—"
He never finished. June was a blur of movement. She closed the distance in a heartbeat, locking his arm and slamming him against the moss-covered stone wall.
Her obsidian knife was pressed so hard against his throat that a thin line of red appeared instantly.
"Now," June rasped, her face inches from his. "Tell me again who the 'little spunk' is."
"I-I'm sorry! Miss, please!" the man stammered, his bravado vanishing into a puddle of terror.
"Why should I?" June's voice was a jagged edge. "You bothered us. You saw us. Maybe I should just cut every muscle in your body, one by one. I'll feed your flesh to the pigs while you're still screaming to watch."
The man's eyes rolled back in his head. The sheer, concentrated horror in her voice was too much; he fainted on the spot. June shoved him aside like a sack of grain.
Their footsteps made heavy, wet thuds as they sprinted further into the darkness. They stumbled upon a shack that looked like it would collapse if the wind blew too hard.
Desperate, they burst inside, weapons ready, only to find an old man sitting by a guttering candle.
"It is my house," the old man said, his voice surprisingly calm. "And I am far too old to be worth killing."
June didn't lower her bow. "You're being followed," the man observed, squinting through the gloom.
"None of your business, old man," June snapped.
"Perhaps," the man said, reaching into his stained robe. "But I know this city's secrets. I know the tunnels the Baron deleted from the maps. I know how to get you under those gates without Elites ever smelling your trail."
June paused. She looked at Blop, then back at the man.
"What's the catch? Nobody gives away a life for free."
The old man pulled out a tattered, leather-bound map. "I am a lonely man, miss. My family is gone, and the damp is in my bones. I want a... 'favor' from a young, strong elf like you. A little company for an old soul."
The old man's eyes turned predatory, a disgusting, toothless grin spreading across his face as he leaned forward.
SHING.
The sound was instantaneous. June didn't even look like she moved, but the old man's grin suddenly split into a red cavern.
His throat opened in a perfect line. He didn't even have time to scream, only a wet, bubbling gurgle as he slumped over.
"Hahaha! You old bastard," June spat, kicking the cooling corpse with a vicious force.
"You think an Elf of the High Forest would touch a piece of filth like you? Go to hell."
She dragged the body across the floor, the blood painting a dark streak on the wood, and stuffed him into a heavy wardrobe.
"Blop, tonight we escape. I'll study this map. There's a route here even the guards don't know."
Blop stood in the center of the room, his head tilted. He looked at the wardrobe, his stomach letting out a low, vibrating growl.
"Wait here," June said, moving to the table. "If you want to eat... the body is in there. Just be quick. We move when the moon hits the peak."
June lost herself in the map, her fingers tracing the hidden veins of Narier. She was so deep in the plan that she didn't hear the sound at first. A rhythmic, wet crunching.
She turned around and felt a jolt of pure horror. Blop was crouched by the open wardrobe. He had unhinged his jaw, his human mask slipping as he crushed the old man's ribs and bones into a pulp.
The sound of snapping marrow echoed in the small shack.
"Agh!" June yelled, grabbing a wooden chair and hurling it at him. It shattered against his back. "I said eat him, not turn into a horror show! Stop it!"
Blop stopped, a piece of white bone still in his hand, looking at her with those unblinking, alien eyes. "O...k..."
"Get your gear," June said, her voice trembling. "This time, it's going to be hard. Lijom is out there, and he isn't going to let us slip away twice."
Blop nodded, his body hardening, his form narrowing as he prepared for the slaughter to come. The night was falling, and the shadows of Narier were about to become a battlefield.