Kael Draven woke to silence.
Not the silence of a room emptied by night, but a strange, weighty quiet that seemed to swallow every sound. When his eyes opened, fog curled over narrow stone streets. Lanterns swayed faintly, casting pools of yellow light, but the docks stretched beyond sight, shrouded in mist. The air smelled of salt, smoke, and decay.
He rose slowly, testing his body. Stronger than he remembered, alert, but human enough to be cautious. Every step echoed against wooden planks. This world was unfamiliar. Every instinct screamed danger.
"Where… am I?" he whispered, voice low, cautious.
A figure scuttled past—a thin man carrying crates, muttering to himself. Kael followed, keeping to the shadows.
"Hey! Who's there?" the man demanded, spinning around. His eyes widened as he took in Kael's calm stance. "You… you're not from here, are you?"
"I could ask you the same," Kael replied evenly. "This place… what is it? Who runs the streets?"
The man hesitated, then muttered, "Depends where you go. The docks? Fangborn's people. Market? Guilds run it, mostly. And don't ask about the Red Veil. That's just whispers… stories. No one knows if it's real."
Kael's mind sharpened. Fangborn, guilds, Red Veil… Already, he could see the rough structure of power. Each name carried weight, reputation, and fear.
He nodded. "Tell me… who survives here?"
"People like me," the man said bitterly. "Weak die fast. Strong—or clever—get by. Some get lucky. Some join someone powerful. Others… disappear."
Kael studied the man, weighing his words. Observation first, action later. That was the only way to dominate a place like this.
Over the next few days, Kael wandered the docks, the markets, even alleyways where street thugs lingered. He asked questions, sometimes disguised, sometimes directly, watching reactions, noting who bowed to whom, who spat on whom, and who whispered names like Fangborn with fear.
Minor characters he observed or interacted with:
Dockworker: "Rough waters, stranger. Keep your head down, or Fangborn'll gut you before breakfast."
Merchant: "Trade's controlled by the guilds. But the Red Veil… they leave marks, don't they? People vanish, and nobody's sure who did it."
Street Kid (Sera): "Watch the alleys. Fangborn enforcers patrol at night. Only fools get caught."
Kael learned quickly: this world had hierarchies, territories, and unspoken rules. Brute force alone would not suffice. He had to understand alliances, fear, and reputation before acting.
At night, he sat on a high crate, looking over the foggy docks. His thoughts drifted to Earth, to the reputation he once commanded. One name struck him, perfect for his purposes here. A name that would terrify anyone who heard it:
Varg Black.
Not yet spoken aloud. Not yet used. But it would become his legend, the seed of fear to plant in this new world.
For now, Kael Draven remained silent, patient. Observation first. Planning next. Action would come when he fully understood the web of power surrounding him.
And from that patience, a new force—the Red Veil—would eventually rise.