---
"you don't have to do that, you know."
The voice came from beside him—light, amused.
John stood at a wide stone basin tucked into the corner of a chamber just off the hall.
A low window let in gray morning light.
The steam rising from the sink wrapped around his arms as he rinsed a goblet with slow, careful motions.
At his side, the young attendant from before placed another empty cup on the table beside him.
Her hair was tied up in a simple knot, and she carried herself with the unbothered grace of someone who'd done this job long enough to stop taking formality too seriously.
John smiled without looking up.
"But I was already here," he said, rinsing another goblet and setting it aside.
"So I thought… why not help you clean up a bit."
She smiled, a soft, appreciative kind of smile.
"That's sweet of you," she said after a moment, gently drying the goblet he'd finished.
"Most guests would've been halfway back to their room by now. Or complaining their cup was chipped."
"Not like most guests I suppose." he said sheepishly, smiling.
She took it and began drying.
"You're not. And, that's the weird part."
John shrugged lightly. "Where I'm from, helping out's just normal. You eat at someone's table, you don't leave them to pick up alone."
"Is that where the politeness comes from too?" she teased, starting to dry the glass.
"Probably."
A pause.
"Or maybe just how I was raised."
"Sounds like you come from a good place."
"I guess I do," John replied, after a moment.
"Even if it's far."
They worked quietly together for a little while—him rinsing, her drying. The clink of dishes was the only sound for a few moments.
"You're not what I expected, john." she said eventually. "Or any of you."
John tilted his head. "You've met a lot of elves?"
"Enough," she said.
"They don't usually… ask questions. Or clean up after themselves."
"Well," John smiled faintly,
"I don't really think we count."
She raised an eyebrow.
He didn't elaborate. And she didn't push it.
"Still," she added. "You've got this… calm about you. Like someone twice your age, trying not to show it."
That made him laugh, quietly.
"I've been told that," he admitted.
"Not sure if it's a compliment or a warning."
"It's both," she said with a grin.
They moved on to plates and saucers, and the conversation went along.
Both talked for a while enjoying each others company.
"You know, john. He does this too sometimes."
"Uhh.. who?"
"The Governor."
"..."
John glanced sideways.
"Really?"
She nodded.
"Late at night. When everyone else has gone. He'll stop by, roll up his sleeves, and wash dishes like it's nothing."
John blinked. "Wow.. didn't expect that."
"No one does."
She smirked a little.
"He says it helps him think. Says when your hands are busy, your mind can breathe. Or something along those lines."
"But to tell you the truth, I think he just wants to help out."
---
John looked back at the sink.
The water had stilled again, reflecting his own expression—puzzled, maybe even a little impressed.
"He doesn't seem like the kind to do small mundane things."
"He does more of them than you'd think,"
"Even folds the linens better than I do. But don't tell him I said that, ok."
That drew a chuckle from John. The soft, real kind.
"He's hard to figure out," he said eventually
---
John leaned his elbows against the edge of the basin, careful not to drip water over the counter.
"You like it here?"
She hesitated—not in doubt, but in how to word it.
"It's strange," she admitted. "Vash'Kael has rules. It has walls. But it also has quiet corners like this. Places that feel…"
She shrugged. "...safe. Honest."
"Vash'Kael grows on people, you know," she said lightly. "Has a way of feeling like it's always been home."
"Stay long enough…" she said with a gentle shrug, "…and you may find you don't wish to leave at all."
---
The last of the dishes sat neatly stacked, gleaming under the soft morning light.
The basin was empty now, the water drained, leaving only a faint trace of steam curling into the air.
They both wiped their hands on a cloth,
"Done," he said, a small grin tugging at his lips.
"Not bad for a guest, right?"
She laughed, tossing the towel onto the counter.
"Not bad at all, john. You're hired if you ever need a side gig."
"Pass," John said, chuckling.
"I'd probably break something by day two."
"Eh, I'd cover for you." She nudged his arm lightly, her grin warm and easy, like they'd been friends for years.
"You're too polite to get in real trouble."
John raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter.
"You say that now. Wait till you get to know the rest of my crew."
"Oh, I'm ready," she said, eyes glinting with mischief.
"They seemed like a handful. Especially that Finn guy you have around."
"You have no idea," John said, shaking his head,
They shared a quiet laugh, the kind that lingers comfortably in the air.
"Well," she said eventually,
brushing a stray lock of hair from her face,
"I should get back before someone notices I've been slacking off with the new guy."
"Yeah yeah," he said, his voice softer now, sincere.
They bid farewell to each other.
And, for a moment, he stood alone in the quiet, the morning light spilling across the stone floor.
He took a slow breath, tucked the cloth back on the counter, and headed for the door, his steps a little lighter than when he'd come in.
---
John walked alone now—
through the long stone halls of the Governor's estate, each step softened by thick crimson runners and golden light spilling in through narrow windows.
Quiet.
Not the tense kind from the throne room.
A softer quiet. One that left space to think.
The servant's words still floated just behind his ears.
"Stay long enough… and you might not want to leave at all."
She hadn't meant it like a warning. But John couldn't help turning it over.
Wouldn't want to leave.
Because it's beautiful?
Because it's peaceful?
Because it works?
Or… because you stop realizing you're stuck?
A pair of guards at the exit shifted as he approached.
Their posture stiffened but they gave respectful nods—
The massive stone doors opened slowly, groaning under their own weight.
And then—
Light.
Color.
Sound.
---
The wind met him first.
Not cold. Not warm.
Just there—stirring the edges of his sleeves, carrying with it a dozen unfamiliar scents.
Smoked spice. Burned wax. Metal.
He paused at the top of the estate's steps and looked out.
Vash'Kael.
The city stretched out like a painting rendered in logic and intention.
Roads carved with geometric perfection. Banners hanging at uniform heights. Towers rising like they'd been planned long before the stone was ever cut.
People moved with purpose.
Not rushed, but constant.
No meandering.
No lingering.
Even the merchants spoke with a kind of rhythm, their chants sharp and efficient.
"Copper roots, pre-weighed!"
"Stonefruit, cured and sealed!"
Not a single wasted word.
John walked forward, hands in his coat pockets, head tilted just slightly—taking it all in.
The stone beneath John's boots was impossibly smooth.
Not worn—maintained.
A path meant to guide, not to wander.
The city had rhythm. Not music.
More like a heartbeat. Constant. Measured. Controlled.
He passed a tall building lined with narrow pillars.
A pair of winged creatures perched along the ledge, unmoving, their eyes glowing faintly as they tracked his motion.
A trio of cloaked figures crossed his path a few paces ahead.
One glanced at him beneath their hood. Just a flicker of attention—then gone.
Guards patrolled in clean lines. Two by two. Their armor unblemished. Their eyes sharper than they needed to be.
John caught one of them looking.
Staring.
Not hostile.
Just... noting.
A boy selling paper charms paused mid-shout when John passed.
His eyes wide, uncertain. He didn't speak again until John was down the block.
A whisper.
A second whisper.
Then silence returned like a wave pulled back into itself.
John pressed his lips together.
He was used to attention. Being with the group, being the one who had to speak when others didn't want to.
But this—this was different.
This was being noticed as something other.
Not dangerous.
Not welcome.
Just... seen.
Too clearly.
He walked on.
And the city watched.
---
He passed through another archway—this one wider, set with gilded reliefs of past battles or triumphs.
He didn't know. He didn't stop to look.
But he could feel the weight of it. Like every symbol in Vash'Kael had two meanings.
One for display.
One for control.
John's eyes narrowed as he kept walking.
The uniformed guards followed their routes like gears in a machine. Workers hauled crates through well-marked lanes.
Even the cats on the walls moved with eerie silence, slipping into shadow without pause.
He could still feel it.
The looks.
The hushes.
The way the air seemed to fold in around him—less threatening, more like.. expectant.
Like the city was waiting to see what he'd do next.
A few paces ahead, a merchant shifted their wares slightly to make room for him to pass, but didn't seem to react, his face.. blank.
A woman pushed a cart of dried herbs and kept her gaze fixed downward.
Even the children, playing with wind-spun toys, quieted when he passed.
It was starting to itch at the back of his neck.
John ducked his head, muttered something like "Excuse me," to no one in particular,
and turned sharply into a narrow side street.
He opened his eyes.. and,
Finally,
No guards here.
No patrols.
Just... silence.
Then,
a sound.
Laughter.
It echoed lightly from somewhere up ahead. Not loud. Not restrained. Just natural.
The road bent slightly downhill, the stone underfoot becoming more uneven. A chipped step here. A loose brick there.
The buildings leaned a little more. Paint peeled in places. Windows open, clotheslines strung like thoughts between rooftops. Glowing lanterns hung from hooks that didn't match. The air smelled of spiced broth and wet earth.
The Lower Quarter.
---
It didn't hum like the upper city. It breathed.
John took a long breath and exhaled. The weight slipped slightly off his shoulders.
Here, no one looked twice. Not yet, anyway.
Here, the city wasn't polished.
But it lived.
---
John's steps slowed.
There was less pressure here. Less noise pretending to be silence.
Someone tossed water from a window. A dog barked in the distance. Two kids raced across the uneven road, bare feet slapping stone, laughter trailing behind them.
He kept his hands in his pockets, just observing.
A row of hanging lanterns glowed soft green above his head. Beneath them, a stack of mismatched crates leaned against the wall. Someone had painted a face on one of them—wide eyes, crooked teeth, smiling.
He rounded a corner—
"You lost, elf-boy?"
The voice came casual, but confident. Like it knew exactly how it sounded.
John stopped. Looked left.
Leaning against a crooked post, arms crossed and one foot resting flat against the stone,
stood a girl.
Her skin was a soft, shimmering blue—almost violet in the shifting light. Her clothes were patched together from at least three different styles, none of them matching, all of them hers.
One shoulder bare, a set of beads jangling softly from her belt.
Hair tied up, barely.
Eyes sharp. Like she saw everything about him before he could say a word.
John raised an eyebrow, but didn't bristle.
"Not lost," he said.
"Just looking around."
The girl gave a slow nod, mock-sincere.
"Uh-huh. That's what people say right before they get mugged."
"I'll keep that in mind."
She snorted, pushed off the post and stepped closer.
Not threatening. Curious.
"So... looking, huh? In this part of the city?"
John shrugged lightly. "I wanted to see more it."
She smirked. "Of course you did." Then she tilted her head.
"You're either really brave… or really dumb."
John thought for a beat,
then smiled faintly.
"Maybe I don't scare easy."
The girl blinked,
then laughed—an actual, unguarded laugh.
"Okay. I like you."
She stuck out a hand.
"Name's Nyx."
John shook it. Firm, but easy.
"John."
Nyx's grip was warm. Her hand calloused in ways that told him she worked with tools. Maybe wires. Maybe blades.
She gave him a look like she was still sorting out which kind of trouble he might be.
"So, John," she said, gesturing loosely around them,
"Welcome to the Lower Quarter. Home of the not-important-enough-to-be-watched."
John blinked.
He looked around,
People leaned out windows. Talked freely. Laughed openly.
It was like someone had taken the order of Vash'Kael and shaken it loose.
He exhaled, slow and steady.
"Feels... different," he said.
"That's because it is," Nyx replied, already walking ahead. "You coming, or what?"
"..Where?"
Nyx grabbed his arm,
"Come with me."
"Hey—"
John reluctantly went along.
But, for the first time all morning, he didn't feel like someone was watching his every move.
---
The streets widened slightly as they walked.
Not because they were planned that way—but because people had made them that way.
Stalls spilled out of alleys, benches were built into old crates, and mismatched canopies flapped above in cheerful defiance of architectural order.
John kept pace with Nyx, his gaze drifting everywhere—tangled lantern strings, kids chasing glowing beetles, a mural half-finished on the side of a bakery wall.
"Not what you expected, huh?" Nyx asked without looking back.
"Honestly?" John said, still scanning the crowd. "I don't think I knew what to expect. But definitely not… this."
"Messy?"
"No.. alive."
That earned him a sideways glance. Nyx looked almost impressed—but of course, didn't say it.
"Don't let the color fool you," she said, waving her hand around. "We're still under the same rules. He controls it. Just not directly."
"The Governor?"
Nyx nodded. "Yeah. People like to say we've been 'left alone.' But really, we've just learned how to bend without breaking."
Before John could ask more, Nyx veered off suddenly.
"Wait here," she said, darting over to a food stall manned by a squat woman stirring a sizzling pan over open flame.
John started to protest, but Nyx was already calling over her shoulder:
"One for me, and one for the elf-boy."
John blinked. "Hey, I didn't ask for—"
"Shh. You're gonna insult the city's hospitality," she teased, waving him off.
Moments later, she returned, handing him a folded piece of flatbread spilling over with something that smelled sweet and spiced and vaguely roasted.
"What, you think we don't have manners down here?"
John smiled. Took the food.
"Thanks," he said simply.
He took a bite.
His eyebrows lifted.
"...Okay. That's actually amazing."
Nyx beamed. "Told you. Best in the city. Fight me."
They walked slowly now, blending into the hum of the Quarter.
The sharp tension John had felt earlier was melting away—still there, just... tucked beneath layers of laughter and noise and smoke.
Here, no one lowered their voice as he passed.
No one stared too long.
No one seemed afraid of him.
It was the first time in a while he felt like he was in the city,
not just walking through it.
---
They reached the end of a narrow walkway, where the stone steps gave way to a crooked landing flanked by bright potted plants, patched drapes, and a wooden door too small for its frame.
Nyx turned, a half-eaten roll still in hand.
"Don't judge the place," she said. "It leans a little."
John glanced up. The building definitely leaned. The balcony above them sagged with age, and a large orange cat napped right on the railing's edge, daring gravity to try something.
Nyx didn't knock. She kicked the door open with her heel.
And—
"I'm home! And I brought a guest, so don't be weird!"
The first response came in a flash of motion—someone slammed into her side.
"Sis!"
A younger girl tackled her in a messy hug, arms thrown tight around her waist. Barefoot, wild-haired, and glowing with excitement.
"Ow—Tali, air!" Nyx wheezed, patting the kid's head. "You have to let me breathe if you want me to keep showing up."
Tali looked up at John—and froze.
Her eyes widened. She pointed.
"Is he an elf?"
John raised a hand in a small, awkward wave. "Hi."
"He's the first nice one I've met," Nyx added dryly, brushing off her coat.
Tali's jaw dropped. "You've met others?"
"Totally," Nyx muttered.
"They weren't as chatty tho."
Tali stepped closer to John, squinting like he was a puzzle.
"Do you glow in the dark?"
"What? No."
"Can you talk to trees?"
**"I don't think so."
"Are your ears real?"**
John sighed, already smiling as Nyx cackled behind him.
"Do you have magic? Do you have a castle? Can you talk to animals? Are you really a hundred years old?"
"This is gonna be a long conversation, isn't it?"
"Absolutely," Nyx said, kicking the door closed behind them.
The interior was just as cobbled as the outside.
A wide hearth glowed in the center of the room. Fabric hung where doors should be.
A fox-like creature snored on top of a low shelf. The walls were covered in hand-drawn pictures, notes, and dangling beads.
A tall tusked man snored upright in a chair, a book open in his lap.
From the small kitchen, a woman looked up—broad-shouldered, aproned, hair tied back.
She smiled immediately.
"You brought company?"
"John," Nyx said, dusting off her pants.
"Meet my family. That's my aunt, Sana. Tali you've already met. And the guy in the chair's my uncle. Don't ask what he's reading—he doesn't even know anymore."
Sana wiped her hands and crossed over.
"Welcome, John," she said warmly.
"Hungry?"
John lifted his half-finished flatbread and gave a sheepish smile.
"Kind of still working on this one."
Sana nodded approvingly.
"That's the right answer."
They settled in—Nyx kicking her boots off, Tali peppering John with questions, Sana stirring something over the fire.
---
Sana moved easily through the little kitchen, humming as she stirred a large pot over the hearth. Something thick and savory. The scent clung to the air—spiced roots, maybe, and some kind of grilled grain.
It made John realize just how long the morning had been.
Nyx dropped onto a patched floor cushion, stretching like a cat.
Her boots thudded off one by one, left wherever they landed.
John remained politely by the door until Sana waved him in with a towel-draped hand.
"You're not going to break anything," she said. "Unless you try. Then you'd have to pay for it, and we don't take those shiny palace coins."
"I don't have any anyway," John said, stepping in carefully.
Tali was already orbiting him.
She tugged lightly at his sleeve as he sat on the low bench near the hearth, curling one leg under him.
"So," she asked, "have you ever ridden a dragon?"
"No."
"Ever fought one?"
"Definitely not."
"What about—"
"Tali," Nyx groaned from her cushion,
"breathe. You're gonna burn out before dinner."
Tali ignored her.
She plopped onto the seat beside John and pointed at a small, hand-drawn picture on the wall—stick figures, one clearly holding a sword twice its size.
"That's me," she said.
"I'm gonna be a knight. Like, a real one. Sword, armor, the whole thing."
John looked over, giving the picture a genuine nod.
"Impressive. Got the stance down and everything."
"Right? I've been practicing!" she beamed, bouncing slightly.
"Even started running with rocks in my pockets. Nyx says that's dumb but I swear it helps with balance."
Nyx raised an eyebrow from her corner.
"Still tripped into that puddle last week."
"That was Intentional!"
Tali leaned in a little closer, eyes wide and conspiratorial.
"So.. if you're not a knight, what are you, John?"
John pretended to understand what she just said. And tried to make a thoughtful face.
He considered giving the usual answer—"Just a traveler," or "Someone passing through." But somehow, here, it didn't feel quite right.
"...Still trying to figure that out," he said.
---
Tali leaned her head against John's shoulder, she was already halfway through her next round of questions.
Something about sword names and whether John would teach her how to make "that face elves make when they're being mysterious."
John didn't even know what that meant.
He just smiled, and tried to come up with something she'd enjoy.
"I dreamed it, you know."
John turned to her, interested now. "Oh yeah?"
Tali nodded fiercely, already launching into it.
"I was a knight," she declared, hands on her hips.
"I wore armor made of starlight. And I fought off a thousand shadow creatures on a bridge made of glass. You were there too."
John blinked. "Me?"
"Yeah. You got caught by a monster in a pit, and I had to jump in and save you. So don't feel bad."
"Thanks.. I guess," John said, half confused, half smiling.
"I'll try to stay out of pits from now on.", nodding thoughtfully.
Nyx snorted, rolling onto her side. "Good luck. This city's already one big pit."
From the kitchen, Sana's voice floated over:
"Less pit talk, more table setting. Dinner's almost ready."
Nyx groaned, dragging herself upright and nudging Tali. "Go grab the cups, wannabe little knight."
"On it!" Tali dashed to the corner shelf, nearly knocking over a stack of bowls in her rush. John instinctively reached to steady them.
Sana emerged with a pot of stew that smelled of smoked root and sweet herbs. She moved with practiced grace, her smile never fading.
"Careful, it bites if it's stirred too fast," she said, setting the pot in the middle of the table.
John helped set down spoons.
Nyx tossed some mismatched napkins his way.
Tali reappeared with cups, one of which had a handle held on by twine.
The table was uneven, legs propped up with folded cloth, a candle flickering gently at its center.
Clay dishes were spread out—some chipped, some mismatched—all full.
John had never seen a meal like it. Breads dusted with ash salt, thick stew with glowing roots, red fruit skewers glistening like stained glass.
Everything looked like it had a name and a story behind it.
Nyx's uncle had finally woken up, though he seemed only halfway there, rubbing at his eyes as he reached for a bowl.
"I swear, the more you cook, Sana, the shorter my naps get."
"Then nap after dinner," Sana said without missing a beat as she ladled soup into his bowl.
"Tried that. It just turns into breakfast."
John smiled faintly as he took his seat.
"So what's your name, then?" the old man asked, squinting at him.
"John."
The uncle gave a grunt of approval.
"Hmm. Solid name. Not one of those frilly ones with silent vowels. I respect that."
Nyx leaned toward John, voice low.
"He once got into a shouting match with a man named Lyouen over the 'y'. This is a real thing that happened."
"Lyo.. uen?"
"His name started with y," the old man cut in, clearly still offended.
"That's not a name, that's a sound effect."
Tali giggled wildly.
The fox-like creature, curled up under the table, yawned with a high-pitched squeak.
It had ears too big for its face and fur so fluffy it looked like a walking pillow with a smug expression.
It went and sat beside tali, all cute and adorable.
They all dug in.
John took his first full bite of the stew and had to pause mid-chew.
"…This tastes incredible."
Sana grinned. "See? Another one won over."
"What is that flavor?"
"Sunroot. Pickled three days. Any more than that and it starts to scream."
Johns eyebrow raised.
Sana winked.
"Kidding."
Laughter followed.
But then—chaos.
Tali yelped.
"Hey!"
Everyone turned as the fox creature darted across the room, her slice of bread clamped firmly in its little mouth.
"Thief!" she shouted, leaping from her chair.
The fox scrambled up a shelf, tail puffed twice its size, and vanished through a curtain like it had rehearsed the heist.
Tali tore off after it, bowl in hand.
"I'm not done with you!"
Nyx doubled over in laughter, wheezing as she clutched her ribs.
"That thing's gonna be the end of her!"
Then—
"OW—HEY!"
Everyone looked again.
The fox had returned, snatched Nyx's half eaten fruit right out of her hand, and bolted again—
smacking the edge of the curtain for extra flair.
"WHAT?!" Nyx shouted, stunned.
"You played me!"
And then she was up too, charging after it, yelling half-swears and slipping on the rug.
Sana covered her mouth to hide her laugh. The uncle clapped once, wheezing.
John just sat there, grinning wide.
"That happen often?"
"Only once a week," Sana said, pouring him more tea.
They waited as the sounds of shouting and tiny feet to faded into the other room.
---
With Nyx and Tali gone—still shouting somewhere down the hall—the room quieted.
The candle on the table flickered gently in their absence.
Bowls half-finished, spoons resting on chipped clay. The kind of silence that doesn't press, just waits.
John leaned back in his chair, the warmth of the stew still lingering on his tongue. He glanced toward the open curtain where the girls had vanished,
then back to the table.
The old man—Nyx's uncle—reached for his tea, cradling the cup in both hands. He wasn't looking at anyone in particular.
"Troublemakers," he muttered, though his tone was soft. Fond.
"That fox's a little demon, but I swear she encourages it."
Sana chuckled from the hearth, giving the pot one last stir before covering it.
"Better they run wild than sit in silence."
The uncle nodded slowly.
Then a pause.
Stillness stretched just long enough to feel like a shift.
John cleared his throat gently.
"They're close."
Sana looked over, drying her hands on a faded cloth. "They are."
The uncle set his cup down, eyes on the flickering candle.
"They had to be."
John looked between them, sensing something more in the quiet.
Sana met his gaze for a moment. There was no drama in it. No tension. Just truth.
"You know.. they were three and six when we took them in," she said softly.
"Just a little older than that painting on the wall."
She gestured to one of the many drawings near the hearth—stick figures again, this one with wings.
John didn't speak, but the question was there.
The uncle exhaled through his nose.
"Their parents were arrested during the Rot Riots. Sent north. Didn't come back."
Sana sat down across from John, folding her hands in her lap.
"They weren't agitators. Just spoke too loud. Asked too many questions."
John felt the words settle in his chest. Heavy, but not unfamiliar.
"We tried to explain it to the girls," Sana went on, her voice low. "But what do you say? 'They're gone because they cared too much'?"
She shook her head, looking down at her hands.
"So we stopped explaining. We just... raised them. Best we could."
The uncle gave a grunt. "Nyx got her mother's fire. Tali's got her dad's grin. It's in them, whether they remember it or not."
John sat with that for a while. Let it settle.
"I'm.. sorry to hear that," he said finally.
Sana looked up again. "Don't be. It was inevitable. It was in their nature to do something so stupid like that."
John glanced toward the curtain, hearing Nyx's laugh echo faintly from down the hall. It sounded brighter now—clearer, even from far away.
"She's strong," he said.
"She had to be," the uncle replied.
"This part of the city doesn't raise soft."
Another silence followed—but this one felt mutual, like a breath taken between steps.
Then Sana spoke again, her voice even, calm.
"So, John you asked earlier—why it's so different here."
John nodded.
"It's because the Governor doesn't care what happens to us," she said. "Not really."
"As long as the orders are followed, as long as the city looks clean on the outside… he doesn't ask what cracks in the walls we have to hide."
She looked at John directly.
"They let us laugh. Let us scrape by. Let us eat in peace. Not because they're kind—but because they think we'll never matter."
Her words were steady. But there was steel beneath them.
John watched her.
"What if you did?"
Sana held his gaze for a long moment.
Then she said it:
"Then they'll stop ignoring us."
The room was quiet again. The stew still warm, the candle still burning.
Outside, Nyx shouted something unintelligible. Tali shrieked with laughter.
And still, the truth hung there, suspended in the air.
John nodded, just once.
He understood.
A rustle behind the curtain broke the quiet.
Nyx stumbled in a moment later,
out of breath, hair slightly askew, a half-sour, half-resigned look on her face.
She pointed vaguely toward the back of the house.
"I swear on every cracked plate in this kitchen—I'm gonna catch that little monster one day."
She flopped onto a cushion by the hearth, arms sprawled dramatically.
Sana chuckled. "Let it go, Nyx. He's smarter than you."
"He's not smarter," Nyx groaned. "He's rude. That was my fruit."
John raised an eyebrow. "Did you at least get it back?"
Nyx looked at him, deadpan. "He threw it off the balcony. Looked me in the eye while doing it."
The uncle burst out laughing. A dry, wheezing kind that sounded like it didn't come often, but hit hard when it did.
"I swear, that fox is part devil," he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
Sana shook her head, smiling as she poured more tea. "You should've known better than to wave your food around like that. Gave him the perfect opportunity."
Nyx flopped her head back against the cushion, groaning. "I thought this was a safe house."
John leaned forward slightly, still smiling. "So, where's Tali?"
"Still chasing him," Nyx muttered.
"Swore vengeance in three languages. Honestly kind of impressive."
That sent another ripple of laughter through the room.
John leaned back, relaxing into the moment. The warmth from the fire, the sound of real, honest laughter—it was the kind of peace that didn't demand anything. Just offered a seat.
He glanced at Nyx, who was now poking at a loose thread on the rug.
She caught him looking and raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"You give up easy," he said, teasing.
"Not true," she said, sitting up.
"I'm just smart enough to know when I'm outmatched."
"...By a fox."
"By a criminal mastermind in a fur coat."
John grinned. "You'll get him next time."
"Oh, I will. And when I do, I'm teaching that furry menace a lesson."
Sana rolled her eyes affectionately. "Just don't burn the house down doing it."
"No promises."
John laughed again, softer this time. The weight of the earlier conversation hadn't disappeared, but it had settled into the background for now—
He took another sip of his tea, eyes drifting toward the quiet glow of the hearth.
---
Later, after the dishes had been cleared and the laughter had faded to a comfortable quiet, Nyx stood by the door, arms crossed.
"C'mon," she said, tilting her head toward the hallway. "You've seen the food, the chaos, even the frickin fox. Might as well see the view."
Tali's head popped up from where she was sprawled on the floor, a stub of charcoal in her hand. "I wanna go too!" she said, eyes bright,
already scrambling to her feet.
Nyx turned, one eyebrow raised.
"Tali, you're too small to climb those stairs without face-planting. You'll end up stuck in the hatch like last time."
Tali pouted, slumping back to her drawing. "Not fair," she mumbled, scratching at the paper.
John couldn't help but feel a little bad. He gave her head a gentle pat, offering a small smile,
"Next time, knight,"
then followed Nyx out with a nod to Sana and the uncle.
The fox-like creature snored softly nearby, sprawled across the shelf.
They climbed a narrow, creaking staircase. Nyx led the way barefoot, stepping around a bucket at the top with practiced ease.
She pushed open a wooden hatch, and a soft breeze met them instantly—cooler now, brushing lightly against their faces as they stepped out onto the slanted rooftop.
The city stretched before them, dim and quiet, bathed in a soft amber wash from distant lanterns and hanging glass orbs.
The skyline of Vash'Kael rose high and distant, all clean lines and glowing spires.
But here—here it was messier. Closer.
Patchwork rooftops, tilted windows, strings of laundry catching the wind like flags of defiance.
John got up, with help from nyx, and joined her.
A little slower.
They walked over to a low stone ledge, hopped up, and sat, legs swinging.
Below them, the Lower Quarter hummed. People moved between stalls. A musician played something low and gentle on a corner reed-flute.
Laughter echoed from a distant balcony. A cat knocked something off a ledge with purpose.
"It's different up here," John said.
Nyx didn't respond right away.
Then, "Yeah."
She hugged her knees for a moment, looking out over the jagged rooftops and the soft haze of city light.
"You can breathe out here. Nobody's watching. Nobody waiting for you to step out of line."
John nodded.
"This place… it could be more," he said quietly.
Nyx tilted her head. "What, you mean shinier? Straighter roads? More guards and gates?"
"No," John said quickly. "Not like that."
He gestured out over the rooftops.
"I mean… it feels like the only part of the city that knows it's alive."
Nyx looked at him, something unreadable flickering across her face.
"You're a weird elf, you know that?"
John smirked.
"Getting that a lot lately."
She nudged him with her shoulder. Not hard. Just enough.
Then she looked back out at the lights.
"The best part of the city is the part no one cares about,"
"Seems that way." she said.
Nyx sighed through her nose, staring out at the distance where the ordered spires of the upper city gleamed like polished bones.
"They'd burn this place to the ground if it got too loud."
John side eyed her. "You say that, but you're still here."
"Damn right I am."
She gave a crooked smile.
"Someone's gotta be."
John couldn't help but smile.
They sat their watching for a while, the breeze shifting Nyx's hair slightly. The warmth of the day fading into something cooler, quieter.
Then she stood, brushing her hands off on her pants.
"C'mon," she said.
John blinked.
"Where to?"
Nyx looked over her shoulder, that grin forming again.
"Come on, elf-boy. There's someone you gotta meet."
---
(The Heart of the Quarter)
They reached the courtyard just as the sun dipped behind the taller rooftops. The air had that mid-afternoon hush, the kind where everything slows down before the lamps are lit and the real noise begins.
John followed Nyx through a crooked gate hanging off one hinge. Inside, the courtyard opened up into a patch of cracked stone and stubborn weeds. Strings of lanterns hung above, sagging gently with the breeze.
The smell hit him first—
smoke, herbs, something warm and sweet simmering nearby.
A large man stood at the far end, hunched over a smoking grill fashioned from half a barrel and a sheet of warped metal. He turned as they approached, his frame filling the entire doorway behind him.
Thick arms. Beard like twisted flame. Eyes that had seen enough to know when to laugh and when not to.
And, when he saw Nyx, he did.
"Well well," he said, voice rough but full of ease.
"Look what the wind dragged in."
Nyx stepped forward with her usual smirk. "Wind's got good taste."
He opened his arms, and they embraced with the rough affection of old family. Nyx punched him once in the ribs when they broke apart.
"Still built like a mountain, huh?"
He chuckled, brushing ash off his apron. "Still eating like one too."
His eyes flicked to John, and the smile didn't fade, but it settled into something more curious.
"And who's your friend?"
"John," she said. "He's new. Polite. Carries himself like he belongs, which makes him a good guest."
John offered his hand. "Nice to meet you."
He took it in a heavy grip. Firm, but not testing.
"Gorin."
"John, welcome to the real heart of Vash'Kael. The best place in the city. And, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Nyx snorted. "Don't start with that speech."
"It's not a speech if it's true," he said, turning toward the door.
"C'mon. There's food, and I'm not letting you talk until you've had some."
The interior was warmer than John expected—low ceilings, rough stone walls, and long benches instead of chairs. Lamps burned low with orange light.
A few people sat in quiet groups, bowls in hand, feet bare, voices low.
The table in the middle was already set. Stew. Flatbread. A pile of roasted roots glazed with something that shimmered faintly.
Gorin gestured for them to sit. "Eat. Then we talk."
They sat, and for a while, that's all they did.
John tried the stew first. It was thicker than anything he'd eaten. Earthy, slow-cooked, and spiced with something he didn't recognize.
Gorin grunted. "Great, isn't it?"
Nyx tore a piece of flatbread with her teeth.
"Gorin acts modest, but if anyone else tries to cook in here, he'll kick them out."
"Hey, I respect the craft," Gorin said with a wave of his spoon.
John took another bite, slower this time.
The warmth of the room was starting to seep into him. Not just from the food, but from the way people here existed. Relaxed. Unguarded. Like they had nothing left to pretend.
"We don't have much," Gorin went on. "But what we do have, we hold tight. We make space. We take care of our own. And we don't wait for permission."
John nodded, slowly. Letting that sit.
He looked around at the others.
Not one person here looked like they were forced to be here, or controlled.
They looked like they belonged.
---
After the meal, they stepped back into the open air.
The lanterns in the courtyard had started to glow, soft green and amber casting uneven light on the walls.
Nyx stretched, hands behind her head, and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Alright," she muttered, "I take back what I said. That stew was worth the trip."
John dusted off his hands, still holding the last corner of bread. "Wasn't it your idea to begin with?"
"That's how I operate. Low expectations, frequent surprises."
Gorin joined them at the gate, rolling his shoulders like someone shedding the weight of a long day.
"You both got room for a walk?"
Nyx raised an eyebrow. "You coming with?"
"Don't trust you not to start a fight without me,"
She rolled her eyes, a smirk creeping in.
They set off through the winding side streets of the Lower Quarter. The stone underfoot was uneven, some of it patched with wood planks or flattened scrap.
Overhead, ropes stretched between buildings, some draped in drying herbs, others in washed cloths catching the breeze.
John walked in the middle, hands in his coat pockets.
Gorin and Nyx flanked him, still tossing mild insults at each other,
like the back-and-forth had kept them sharp over the years.
At one corner, they paused near a crooked staircase where two kids were arguing over a cracked spinning top.
Nyx went to there to check.
And after thinking for a bit, a light-bulb had turned on in her mind.
She knelt and fixed the top with a flick of her wrist—binding the split with a bit of wire she'd plucked from her own belt.
"Careful with that now," she said as the kids ran off again.
"Or else that's gonna end in someone's elbow." she shouted.
"You just made their week," Gorin muttered, smiling faintly.
John stopped.
He didn't know why at first.
Just something about the angle of the alley up ahead—a quiet tension in the stillness.
They stood at the edge of an intersecting street, mostly empty. The buildings here leaned tighter, crowding the space like they were whispering to each other.
And in the narrow slice of light between two walls—
shadows moved.
Two men.
One in a long cloak with sharp embroidery across the shoulders.
The other in tight black armor, marked by the unmistakable crest of the Governor.
John stepped back slightly, motioning for Nyx and Gorin.
They didn't speak. Just followed his eyes.
"…he's losing patience," the cloaked one muttered.
---
The armored man's voice was lower. Harder.
"Expansion takes time."
"You said that last cycle."
"There's resistance. People hiding. Avoiding work zones."
"Then you take them. Quietly. Don't need them willing—just breathing."
Nyx's jaw tensed.
Gorin didn't move. His expression had gone blank in that way that meant calculation.
"The orders are ready," the cloaked man added.
"Sector six first. Then eight. Workers are to be 'reallocated.' No returns."
The armored one shifted.
"I Need more time than this."
"Make due. It's a direct order from him."
A silence followed.
Then the cloaked man said, almost bored,
"Clean. Quiet. No ripples. The Governor doesn't want noise."
John's hands clenched in his pockets.
The men turned, boots whispering over stone,
and vanished into another alley, their voices swallowed by distance.
John exhaled through his nose. Steady, but sharp.
"Did you hear that?" Nyx muttered, low and bitter.
"Reallocated."
"Don't have much time," John said, quietly.
Gorin's voice rumbled out, low and solid.
"They're going to gut the Quarter. Strip it slow so no one sees until it's done."
Nyx turned to him.
"What do we do?"
John didn't hesitate.
"We investigate."
"You sure?" Gorin asked.
"..Absolutely."
A brief silence followed.
"You really don't scare easy, do you john?"
John looked at her.
"Told you didn't I,"
She smirked at the response.
"Well.."
"Lucky for you," she added, already turning toward the alley,
"I know a guy."
---
Nyx and john weaved through alleys that twisted like veins—
past shuttered stalls, under slanting beams, through narrow gaps between buildings that barely admitted moonlight.
John followed without question, boots brushing against stone worn uneven by time and use.
"He doesn't like surprises," Nyx said over her shoulder.
"So don't say anything stupid."
"I'll do my best."
"No, seriously. If he thinks you're a threat, he'll vanish. And I don't even mean run—I mean vanish."
John raised an eyebrow.
"Noted."
They turned one last corner and stopped in front of what looked like a storage shed wedged between two larger homes. Its door was half-rotted, hinges mismatched.
A faded sign hung above it—just a symbol, scratched deep into wood.
Nyx knocked once.
Then twice, then paused,
then knocked again—
three times, faster.
A small hatch slid open near the bottom.
A single, glowing eye blinked out at them.
Then:
"Nyx."
"Heya, Vesh."
A beat.
"You're late."
"I wasn't planning on showing up at all, but then I found something interesting."
The door creaked open on its own, slow and deliberate.
Inside, the air shifted immediately. Cooler. Denser. The smell of old paper, ink, and something sharp—ozone, maybe.
John stepped in behind her.
The space was bigger than it looked from the outside.
Bookshelves lined the walls, curving upward, mismatched and overstuffed.
Scrolls, maps, coils of wire, crystal fragments suspended in jars.
Every inch was covered in information—or the tools to extract it.
Behind a counter stood, Vesh.
Tall, slight, and ageless in the way that made it impossible to guess what he was.
His skin shimmered slightly under the hanging lanterns—like it was made of paper and shadow.
His eyes didn't quite match in color, or in focus.
He looked John over once.
"Well," he said.
"If it isn't my favorite little thief. And... someone very out of place."
Nyx leaned against the counter casually.
"Not a thief, Vesh. More of a redistributor. And, he's someone who needs information."
Vesh raised an eyebrow. "You're a headache is what you are."
Then his gaze returned to John.
"An Elf.. in the Lower Quarter. You don't look like you're here for candles or binding twine."
John stepped forward. Calm, but deliberate.
"I need information. And she said you're the one to ask."
Vesh didn't smile. But something about his posture shifted—interest, maybe.
"..What kind of information?"
"Worker movements. Assignments. Orders that didn't come through official channels."
Vesh blinked slowly.
"You know what you're asking for, right?"
"I do."
Nyx chimed in, "Come on, Vesh. You must've seen the shifts. The governor's moving pieces again. We need to know what kind."
Vesh studied them both, then turned,
rummaging through a chest behind the counter. Parchment crinkled. Glass clinked.
Finally,
he returned with a weathered ledger—thin, bound with wire, marked in a script John didn't recognize.
"Three nights ago," Vesh said, flipping to a specific page.
"Special orders. Quiet. Routed through secondary handlers, not the main office."
He slid the ledger across the counter.
John scanned the entries. His stomach tightened.
"Scheduled roundups," he muttered. "Targeting laborers. Reassignments to sector nine. No return listed."
Vesh nodded once. "That means they're not coming back."
Nyx cursed under her breath.
"That's half the Quarter."
John closed the ledger carefully.
"When?"
"In six days, maybe a week from now," Vesh said.
"Soon enough you won't be able to stop it without drawing real blood."
Nyx looked at John. Her usual smirk was gone.
"We don't have much time, John."
"No," John agreed. "We don't."
Vesh folded his arms, watching them carefully.
"What exactly do you plan to do?"
John looked him in the eye.
And for a moment, that quiet, steady calm in him shifted—just slightly—into something sharper.
"The governor likes that we're elves. And from what I've seen, that means we have influence."
"If we play our part right, we might be able to disrupt whatever's coming before it even happens."
Vesh didn't speak. But his gaze lingered a little longer this time.
Nyx let out a breath, half-laugh, half disbelief.
"You've really got guts, you know that."
John gave her a quiet smile.
He picked up the ledger, tucked it under his arm, and turned toward the door.
---
The archives were quiet.
Harry sat cross-legged on the floor between two towering shelves, surrounded by books he wasn't entirely sure he was supposed to have.
Most were open. Some were stacked.
A few had bits of ribbon or bone tucked between their pages as makeshift markers.
He rubbed his eyes.
"Okay," he muttered to himself.
"So… the city was built on a convergence point for ley lines. Great. And that means…"
He flipped back a page.
"…absolutely nothing unless I can figure out what these symbols mean."
The book groaned softly as it bent—some old binding charm reluctantly giving way.
A shadow-familiar blinked at him from the top of a stack of books.
It had appeared earlier. Soft as smoke, shaped like a cat—but not quite. Longer, flatter. Too still. Its eyes glowed faintly like candlelight caught in black ink.
Harry had tried to shoo it away.
It had not left.
Footsteps echoed faintly down the hall—soft and deliberate.
The librarian glided into view, a swirl of soft robes and a voice like a whisper with a smile in it.
"You're still here," she said gently.
Harry looked up. "I bet time doesn't exist here."
She chuckled.
"Not in the way it does outside."
She glanced at the creature beside him.
"It seems that one has taken a liking to you."
"It's a cat-shaped curse," Harry replied.
"But thanks."
She stepped closer, hands folded lightly.
"It's not a curse. It's a familiar. And they only stay where they're needed."
Harry finally looked up.
"So it thinks I'm useful?"
"No," she said, smiling.
"It thinks you're close."
He blinked. "To what?"
The librarian tilted her head.
"To remembering what the city worked so hard to forget."
---
Harry glanced at shadow-familiar,
then back to his notes.
Then back at it.
"So, you're gonna help out here or what?"
The creature blinked once.
It made a face, like it was deciding on something.
Then, slowly it extended one paw and pushed a small parchment scroll off the shelf.
It hit Harry in the shoulder and flopped to the ground with a papery sigh.
He picked it up.
"…Okay. That could've been an accident."
The creature yawned, wide and toothless, like a shadow melting into more shadow.
Harry unrolled the scroll—faint glyphs, a few half-legible margins, and a tiny corner drawing of a creature that looked suspiciously like the familiar itself.
"So.. are you in all the old stuff, or was that meant to be just vanity?"
The familiar hopped down with a fluid motion, landing without a sound. It circled once, then plopped itself right in the middle of his open notes.
Harry stared.
"Really?"
---
Aurora didn't move.
Neither did Finn.
The book stayed half-hidden behind her, pressed tight against her spine.
"And.. if we say no?"
Aurora asked, voice steady, eyes narrowed.
Moss raised an eyebrow.
"Then you'll still be in it. Just blind."
Finn shifted his weight. "Not loving the cryptic mentor act, my guy."
Moss looked at him—really looked. Not just scanning, but reading something beneath the sarcasm.
"Look, I'm not here to teach you anything," he said.
"Just trying to keep you guys alive."
He pointed—not at the book, but at the cracked ground where the glyph had shimmered earlier.
"That thing? It wasn't just ink and parchment. That book—it's a key."
Aurora's grip tightened.
"To what?"
"To something older than the Governor. Older than this city's walls. Maybe older than the lie everyone here is living in."
She scoffed under her breath.
"You're gonna have to be more specific."
Moss took a breath, glancing up at the buildings stacked tight above them, eyes narrowing as if listening for something.
"You think this place is built on order. Control. Power, maybe. It's not."
He looked back at them.
"It's built on chains."
Finn frowned. "Chains?"
Moss nodded once. "Ley lines. Memory stones. Forgotten paths. This whole city's sitting on top of something—buried deep. Kept quiet. But not dead."
Aurora's voice dropped. "And this book?"
"It remembers," Moss said.
But before either of them could ask more—
A sharp whistle split the air.
Not close.
But close enough.
Moss stiffened.
"Shit."
---
(Somewhere Above)
The city hummed below.
Not loud. Not urgent. Just steady—like breath held between words.
Inside the upper halls of the estate, the shadows were longer. Cooler. The kind cast by high ceilings and silent decisions.
A figure stepped into the chamber, bowing slightly.
"My lord," the attendant said, voice careful,
"The elf boy was seen in the Lower Quarter. Walking alone."
Across the room, the Governor stood with his back to the window.
He was looking down—far below—where the smooth veins of Vash'Kael's streets cut through the stone like deliberate scars. From up here, everything seemed quiet. Managed.
Expected.
He smiled.
"Bold of him," he murmured.
The attendant didn't speak.
The Governor turned slightly, still facing the view.
One hand behind his back, the other resting lightly against the edge of the stone window frame.
"No guards. No handler. No message first." His tone wasn't amused. Not exactly.
More like… intrigued.
"He's wandering. Testing the edges."
A pause.
Then he nodded once to himself.
"Let him."
The attendant blinked. "Sir?"
The Governor turned fully now, eyes sharp beneath his easy smile.
"Let him roam," he repeated, walking back toward the center of the room.
"Let him meet people. Ask questions. Feel clever."
A beat.
"Let's see what he does next."
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 10]