The first two deliveries in the Lower went without a hitch.
Almost.
Soren cut through a narrow back alley thick with the smell of sweat and rot just in time to see a guard shoving a young boy up against the stone wall, one hand already drifting toward the boy's coin pouch.
The guard glanced up, irritation flashing across his face when he spotted Soren. His armor was rusted, his black hair thick with oil, and as he stepped forward he swayed just slightly.
"What do you want, kid?" the guard sneered. "Me and this boy were just having a little chat. Turns out he found a bit of my coin lying around, and I'm just letting him know I need it back."
Soren took a steady step forward, his voice calm, his tone mocking.
"What's wrong," he said, "the big man not paying you brutes enough lately?"
The guard's face darkened.
The punch came quick and sloppy.
Soren shifted on instinct, slipping past it by inches and catching the guard's wrist as it sailed by. He smelled ale on the man's stale breath as he turned with the motion, redirecting the guard's momentum and sending him face-first into a pile of trash left out overnight.
The guard hit the heap with a crash and a string of curses.
"This is probably a good time to run," Soren said.
And they did.
As the guard clawed his way free, Soren called back over his shoulder, "I'd wash off if I were you. That stuff's disgusting," before disappearing around the corner.
Soren slowed as he reached the last street leading into the Middle District, the sun high in the sky. The change was subtle at first, but impossible to miss once he noticed it. The road beneath his boots was cleaner, the stone less cracked. Buildings stood straighter here, spaced farther apart, no longer pressing in on one another. The crowds thinned, footsteps were quieter.
As he approached the gate, he adjusted the runner's badge pinned to his tunic, the copper disk cool against his fingertips. Every district crossing required a check-in. No one simply wandered where they pleased. You always needed a reason — and someone willing to believe it.
The guard behind the desk barely looked up at first. Then his eyes flicked to the badge, and his mouth curled into something between a smirk and a sigh.
"You again," he said. "Guess old man Ellric hasn't gotten tired of you yet."
Soren kept his expression neutral. "Delivery," he said, tapping the satchel at his side.
The guard leaned back in his chair, armor clean, polished — the kind that hadn't seen much use. He waved Soren through lazily.
"Don't cause trouble," he added.
Soren stepped past the gate without replying, the weight of the Middle District settling over him like a held breath. The difference was obvious immediately. The streets were wider here, the houses spaced farther apart than anything he was used to in the Lower. Laughter carried through the air—children playing freely in the street, without parents hovering nearby to keep watch.
The Middle District wasn't larger than the Lower. It simply sat inside it, closer to the city's center, with space the outer ring never had.
His delivery wasn't far inside the district, but Soren kept his head down as he walked. No shortcuts here. No narrow alleys to slip through. The glances followed him all the same, quiet and assessing. The houses grew wider, cleaner, many lined with flower pots along their windowsills. The people he passed wore finer clothes—pressed fabric and polished boots that stood in sharp contrast to his rough blue tunic.
By the time he reached the two-story home, the stares had settled under his skin.
He pulled the satchel free and carefully removed the dagger inside. It was sheathed in ornate jewels, a swirling pattern worked into the pommel. Soren turned it slightly, watching the light catch along its surface.
"This thing's got to be worth thousands," he muttered.
The door opened.
A finely dressed man stepped into the doorway and glared down at him. "I see Ellric decided to send his best runner," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Do remove your filthy hands from my dagger. It's worth more than you've likely ever seen in your life."
Soren slid the dagger back into the satchel without a word.
Then he tossed the satchel forward.
The man barely caught it, fumbling as the weight struck his chest. His glare sharpened.
"Keeping a dagger on display in your home is a strange pastime," Soren said evenly. "At least I don't do things like that."
The man's expression curdled. "Mind your manners, boy," he snapped. "I could tell Ellric your mouth cost him a client."
Soren opened his mouth to respond—but the door slammed shut in his face.
He stood there a moment before turning away. As his boots carried him down the clean stone walkway, his steps were just a little heavier than when he'd arrived.
As Soren retraced his steps toward the Lower, a knot of regret twisted in his chest. Not much. Just enough to be annoying.
The man had deserved it. Still, Soren hadn't handled it as cleanly as he liked. The Middle District had a way of doing that—of getting under his skin with quiet looks and sharper words. The kind that didn't sound like insults but carried the same weight.
People in the Lower didn't choose where they were born. Neither had he. The ones behind the inner walls would never understand that. They looked at outsiders like intruders, like animals straying where they didn't belong.
Soren exhaled through his nose and kept walking.
The sun dipped lower as he neared the gate, painting the stone in long shadows. The Lower was quieter than usual. Not silent but muted, like the city was holding something back.
The feeling crept up on him slowly.
Someone was watching him.
His pace didn't change, but his body tensed, instincts sharpening. Last night's memories—buried but not gone—stirred uneasily. He scanned the streets without turning his head, fingers flexing at his side.
Just before the wall separating the districts, he glanced down a narrow alley.
Something moved.
It was only there for a second, maybe fifty paces away, but it was enough. A hunched shape on four legs, bald and wrong in a way he couldn't quite place. Its movements were too smooth, too deliberate. Dull features caught the fading light—and eyes.
Red. Faint, but unmistakable.
Then it was gone, vanishing deeper into the alley.
Soren slowed.
He had never seen anything like it. Never even heard stories. Whatever it was, it didn't belong here.
"Move along," a voice snapped. "Get back into the Lower if you're done gawking. You look mad just standing there."
Soren turned toward the gate. The guard was different than before—shorter, rougher. Not polished. Not clean. As Soren passed, the smell hit him first: sweat and stale alcohol clinging to dented armor. You could tell he was drinking to survive his long shift, not to enjoy it.
Soren didn't respond. He strode past the gate without breaking his pace, the familiar weight of the Lower settling around him once more.
As he approached Master Ellric's shop, the pressure of the day slowly started to lift; this is the closest to family he's ever had. He opened the heavy wooden door as it creaked open, seemingly louder later in the day. Ellric stood behind the glass counter, slowly cleaning a forge tool.
"You're back a bit early. I hope everything went as expected?"
Soren rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, "Yeah, you know I don't like going to the middle district, and I may have gotten a little irritated with your weapon collector."
Ellric let out a light laugh. "Oh, Dayne? He's a bit of a prick if you ask me, and thinks he's entitled to everything. The good news is I'm the only one who can get his fancy daggers because you can't exactly get those without breaking a few rules."
He set the forge tool in the basket behind him and walked towards the small table set at the front, used for negotiations with difficult customers. "You look a little tense, boy. Let's have a drink and chat."
As he got closer, he reached towards the shelf above and grabbed a bottle of moonshine, the purple liquid shimmering in the setting sun. They both sat as Ellric poured a glass for each of them. The smell immediately flowed through the air and burned his senses.
Soren grabbed the small ornate glass and tossed back the purple liquid. The feeling burned his throat, and something crude and sweet flowed through his tastebuds, sour grapes.
"I see you're giving me the good stuff this time, huh," Soren said with a light cough from the shock of the alcohol.
"Boy, when you came in this morning there was a weight on your shoulders. I only saw it lifted for a second when Ellie came barreling through. I know the Lower ain't for the faint of heart, but how are you holding up lately?"
Soren sank down into his chair and spoke honestly for the first time today. "I had a dream last night, but it didn't feel like a dream. I know I've had nightmares in the past, but this one felt real… I didn't remember coming home and was still in my clothes from the night before. It's odd because they wanted something from me, but I had no clue what they were talking about."
Ellric looked serious for a second and then spoke. "I think I may be pushing you a bit too hard lately with all of these deliveries. Business has been good and I haven't been able to say no. I think it's about time I toned down anyways; these kids are taking even more out of me than I expected. I'm sure it was just a dream, but if it does happen again let me know, and we can figure it out together."
Soren smiled lightly; it was nice to finally have someone that cared about him.
"Thanks, boss, but I need to be getting home. I don't want to be caught running through the Lower when it's too dark; that hasn't gone too well for me in the past."
Soren rose from his chair and spoke. "Thanks again for the drink and the friendship, not sure where I would be without you."
As the door was shutting from the shop, Ellric called out, "Be careful, kid."
The run home felt quicker than usual, the streets quieter, like the city itself was more tired than he was. Soren barely remembered collapsing onto his futon.
Sleep came swiftly.
But it was not empty.
Somewhere in the dark, something was already waiting for him to remember.
And when the fire burned blue behind his eyes, some part of him recognized it.