Arthur walked down the alley when the same thugs from last week stepped into view — back to torment him.
The alley was a narrow corridor between leaning brick walls and sagging rooftops. Rainwater from earlier still clung to the ground in dark puddles, catching the twitch of a broken lantern overhead. A rat darted into a crack as Arthur approached — head down, steps cautious.
He saw them too late. Rekk stepped out from behind a crate like a boulder rolling into his path. Vos followed close, lips curled in a grin. Maren stood further back, silent, her eyes sharp and unreadable.
"Oi, look what's crawlin' back through our garden — little rat with a sack of gold," Rekk sneered, baring his crooked teeth. "Told you, this alley charges a toll, didn't we?"
"You're gettin' predictable, Arthur," Rekk said, tapping his dagger on a crate. "Same time. Same route. Same pouch on your left hip."
Arthur stiffened but didn't speak. His eyes scanned the alley — one exit behind him, one in front. Both blocked.
"Let me through. I'm not in the mood," he muttered, voice calm but cracked around the edges.
Vos laughed — a wet, wheezing sound. "Mood? Poor boy thinks he's got choices."
Maren moved. "Oii, little one, show me your coins," said Maren.
A little while ago, he had rented a house near the slums and was working as a labourer for a rich man to pay for it.
And today he received his first income '5 Bronze Coins' . This was enough for him to buy enough food for 2 weeks. He was not ready to give up on his first earnings.
He circled Arthur like a vulture, sniffing the coin pouch like he could smell copper through leather. "Smells like bread money... or rent. You won't be needin' that, right?"
"Cough it up, loser" said Vos, slithering out a knife from his right pocket.
Seeing this knife, he lost all his hope of paying his rent, he had given in to them.
He could not afford to lose his life.
"Here," he said. "Buy yourselves something cleaner than that breath."
Vos snatched it. The weight of coins jangled like mockery. Rekk raised an eyebrow — almost impressed.
"Well, well. The rat learns."
The group took the coins and pushed him away, this much was enough, for a day.
He passed an old forge, long abandoned. The iron sign above it swayed in the wind with a lazy, broken creak.
' "You could've fought," a voice whispered in his mind. You've taken worse. You've walked away from blades, fire, and fists.'
He clenched his jaw.
He hated how easily the thugs read him now.
How predictable he'd become.
How... soft.
Not soft in heart — he'd never lost that. But soft in power. In presence.
And that was worse.
"I won't give them, next time," said Arthur, while he was walking towards his house.
Fallowmere had taught him many things: how to lie, how to run, how to survive on scraps and silence.
But it had never taught him how to win.
That part, he'd have to teach himself.
The wind pulled at his cloak as he reached the edge of the street where the tavern stood. The lights inside flickered with warmth.
....
His house was a shady tavern which was currently being used as a house. He didn't like it but it was the only thing he could afford.
He lived together with his childhood friend Myra Hearthwind, She was an orphan who was adopted by the Greystone family when she was 9 years old. Her red hair and brown eyes only helped her look more pretty. She used to work as a gardener for the mayor.
The town of Fallowmere was the furthest town from the capital towards the east. It was a trading stop for many people of the kingdom and had many trading routes passing through it, though it had a problem.
Fallowmere was infamous for its crimes, the alleys had thugs, the town hall was corrupted and due to this, many people had fallen for this trap of injustice and were kicked out of town due to lack of money, so they had formed the slums.
Arthur was also a part of this, his family had lived in this city until…
....
"You are gonna pay your rent today, are you?" questioned the tavern owner, doubtfully.
He was not ready for that question, he didn't have the money, it got stolen.
"Can we pay it tomorrow?" pleaded Myra, on her way from the mayor's mansion.
"If you don't, you will be evicted. I have reminded you" yelled the tavern owner.
Arthur smiled as he looked at Myra, he was glad to see her again after working hard, it brought a warm feeling to him.
The tavern owner left and they went inside the house, the door creaked as Arthur stepped into the dim tavern-turned-boarding house — the air thick with old beer, fried root oil, and the lingering stench of damp wood.
Arthur looked at his reflection in the cracked tavern window. A tired man stared back — lean, scarred, eyes too sharp for his age.
This isn't where it ends, he told himself.
This is where it begins.
His boots dragged. His ribs screamed. The coin pouch was gone, but that wasn't what weighed on him.
"I only have 12 Bronze coins left" said Myra, she left with this amount after buying bread.
"That should be enough for the next week" replied Arthur, it was barely enough for the two of them.
"If not, we would have to move," she said, sitting slowly.
Arthur said nothing. He dropped onto the bench by the wall, his breath hitching as he leaned back.
She was already across the room, kneeling beside him.
"Here let me help you with it" Arthur helped Myra with her cooking after he sorted the money and kept it in the chest. Her hands were firm and smooth , yet she had small cuts and blisters on her fingers.
"Then next time… make sure they remember it." she said
Myra returned to the pot and stirred the broth. She didn't look back when she spoke.
'I wish, I could improve our condition' He had decided that he was not going to let those thugs take his money next time they meet him.
Soon night fell and they ate together, it was nothing but bread and mixed vegetable stew. It tasted bland but it was enough to fill their belly.
They slept after eating, Medieval people worked only from dusk to dawn.
....
The night in Fallowmere was never truly quiet. The slums coughed and creaked — old wood settling, rats scrabbling through garbage, far-off voices arguing over who owed what.
But tonight, even that faded.
The silence wasn't natural. It pressed on the walls of the tavern room like fog, thick and expectant.
Arthur lay on his side, blanket barely covering him, eyes half-lidded but far from sleep. The lamp had long since burned out. Myra's breathing, soft and steady, came from the other corner of the room.
Then — a sound.
A soft clink.
Metal?
Arthur's eyes snapped open.
Another noise — like fabric being pulled, no — like reality tearing slowly, as if someone was dragging a knife through the very air.
He sat up quietly, muscles tense, every nerve screaming that something was wrong.
He saw Myra sleeping peacefully in her bed. Her red hair glowed softly in the moonlight. She looked so peaceful — untouched by the misery they fought every day.
Hearing this noise near his house he was sure they were getting robbed, this was a common occurrence in the slums, so much so, folks could get robbed in bright daylight too!
'Thieves again? Did they come back?' he thought.
His hand slipped under the cot for the kitchen knife he kept there. Dull, but better than nothing.
The tavern door creaked softly as Arthur stepped out into the night, the rotted wood groaning like it hated being disturbed.
The alley was quiet. Almost too quiet. The fog had thickened, curling low over the cobblestones like something alive. Moonlight barely touched the ground — swallowed by mist and shadow.
But the air smelled wrong.
Not rot, not sewage, not the usual stink of Fallowmere.
No — this was sterile. Cold. Metallic, like iron soaked in snow.
Or so he thought, what was waiting for him outside was something that's going to change his world forever…