The slums of Nexus never slept. They simmered.
Narrow alleys coiled like veins, their walls streaked with rusted pipes bleeding vapor into the stale air. Neon signs flickered against broken glass and dented metal, their letters half-burnt so words stuttered into nonsense. The recycled oxygen was thin here, tinged with chemical tang, heavy with grease-smoke from fry carts manned by hollow-eyed children.
The deeper one walked, the louder the pulse of desperation grew: arguments over scraps of synth-bread, the rattle of makeshift weapons in gang hands, the cough of addicts strung out on cheap neuro-powders. The slums were a place where law was merely rumor, where the city's shining spires seemed as distant as another star system.
And into this ruin crept a new whisper.
A boy. A blindfolded boy in the inner city who brewed miracles in bottles.
Some said his potions could knit bones and purge plague overnight. Others swore he was touched by the void, that each vial he sold carried a piece of his soul. Already his name, Jade, slipped between cracked teeth like a prayer or a curse depending on the mouth.
---
Tonight, two gangs met in a collapsed rail tunnel, a single glowing vial at the center of their circle.
"It's mine," snarled a scarred man with a jagged piece of metal strapped to his forearm. "I paid the brat's runner two hundred credits."
"Your credits mean nothing," spat a woman with violet tattoos swirling over her scalp. She held a knife carved from recycled bone. "That potion was meant for the Ash Rats. You think you can cut us out?"
The circle tensed. Eyes gleamed in the dark. Half a dozen children peeked from shadows, watching with wide hunger.
The scarred man snatched the vial from the crate. Blue liquid shimmered inside, faint light pulsing like a heartbeat. The woman lunged. Steel clashed with bone, sparks against stone. A moment later, the vial tumbled from his hand—
—and shattered.
A scream ripped the tunnel as two fighters slipped on the spreading frost, the miracle potion bursting into wasted ice. Blood followed quickly after, knives sinking where desperation guided them.
By the time the dust settled, three bodies lay cooling on the broken rail, frost still glimmering over their wounds. The survivors stumbled back, faces pale, voices thick with hate.
"It's cursed," one spat, shaking. "That brat sells death. He's no alchemist—he's a demon."
And so the ember spread.
...
Not all whispers were born of fear. Some were planted.
In a smoke-choked den above the tunnel, a man in a grey cloak leaned against a crooked table. His fingers were ink-stained, his eyes calculating. He was a Tier-2 Alchemist, low in the Guild but sharp enough to sniff opportunity.
Before him crouched the leaders of the Ash Rats gang—teenagers barely older than fifteen, their skin marked by old burns, their hands twitching from too many enhancers. They hung on his words as if he spoke prophecy.
"I've seen the child myself," the cloaked man murmured, tone smooth, practiced. "Do you think it's natural for a boy of seven to brew potions stronger than your city's best? No. He doesn't craft them. He bleeds them."
The gang leader frowned. "Bleeds?"
"Yes." The alchemist let his smile stretch thin. "Orphans vanish from the alleys, don't they? Where do you think they go? His shop devours them. Their lives ground down into elixirs. That's why the Guild refuses to acknowledge him."
The children shifted uneasily. Some muttered, others glanced toward the tunnel below where the potion had spilled.
"Poison," whispered one.
The cloaked man leaned closer, voice dropping to a hiss. "And poison spreads. Already the rich fawn over him. If you let him rise, if you let him grow, do you know what will happen? He'll drag the rest of you down. No credits, no scraps, no oxygen rations left. Only his shadow."
He tossed a small box onto the table. Credits clinked inside, enough to feed the gang for weeks. Alongside them lay sealed capsules of neuro-powder, gleaming temptations.
The gang leader's eyes burned. He clenched the box tight.
"Burn his name," the cloaked alchemist whispered. "Burn his shop. Show the city he is no miracle. He is plague."
And so the ember was stoked.
---
In the heart of the city, the shop glowed like a lantern against the night.
Jade sat behind the counter, blindfold drawn neat across his eyes, black turtleneck folded perfectly over his collarbones. Before him, herbs floated in grav-containers, roots twisting like slow dancers as he clipped them with patient precision. To a passerby, he was only a quiet boy at work.
But within, his Void Sense stirred.
Each scream, each whisper, each bloody oath from the slums rippled against the fabric of space like stones breaking water. He felt the tension coil and crawl closer, threads of violence slowly weaving a net with his name at its center.
Jade's hands did not falter. His face was calm. Yet beneath the blindfold, his dual pupils shifted, overlapping irises glimmering faintly.
The slums moved. Faster than he expected.
The door chimed. Niamh stepped in, her cloak trailing dust from the street. She carried herself with that ageless poise Jade had long since learned to read—chin high, movements precise, not a hair out of place. Yet her aura was sharp tonight, edged with irritation.
"You feel it, don't you?" she asked without preamble.
Jade tilted his head slightly, listening. "The slums. The whispers."
Her mouth tightened. She set down a basket of fresh herbs too sharply, bottles rattling. "Then you also know you will not step foot there. Do not even ask."
"I wasn't going to," Jade replied smoothly. "But ignoring them will not make them stop."
"You are seven," she snapped, sharper than she intended. Her hands curled into fists, then forced themselves flat against the counter. "Do not mistake talent for invincibility. The slums will eat you whole."
Silence pressed between them.
From the shadows near the door, Gorvoth exhaled a slow plume of smoke from a thin metal pipe. His broad frame filled the corner easily, one hand resting against the haft of his weapon as if it were casual. But his eyes—deep, scarred, searching—flicked between Niamh and the boy.
He said nothing. But Jade felt the weight of his gaze. There was history there, old and tangled, a web between him and Niamh that Jade only glimpsed in moments like this.
Finally, Niamh turned away, cloak snapping as she crossed to the shelves. "Tend to your shop. Leave the slums to rot. That is an order."
Jade did not answer. He simply lowered his chin, returning to his herbs. Outwardly obedient. Inwardly, cold calculation churned.
Orders bind children. But I am more than a child.
---
Far away, the slums gathered.
The Ash Rats lit fires in oil drums, shadows stretching across cracked concrete. Dozens of voices rose, chanting in unison, fueled by powder, by hunger, by lies.
"Burn the demon! Burn the shop! Burn the boy!"
The cloaked alchemist smiled from the edge of the crowd, slipping away unseen as the mob swelled.
---
Back in the shop, Jade paused mid-cut. His Void Sense screamed suddenly, a tide surging against his mind. He inhaled slowly, steadying, feeling the direction of the storm.
Then, with a flicker of light, a translucent screen unfurled before him.
---
DING!
Quest Alert!
Title: Embers of Revolt
Objective: Prevent the Ash Rats from reaching and destroying your shop.
Time Limit: 72 hours
Rewards: +5 to all stats, 1 Skill Point, ??? Artifact Shard
Failure: Shop destroyed. Reputation permanently reduced in Nexus.
---
Jade's lips curved, faint and cold, beneath the blindfold.
"So the fire begins."
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Mini Theater:
ML: (Grabs the author by the throat);" what do you think you're doing??, You said soon a lot of chapters ago!"
Author: ( Choking ); "it haaa....ss...n't e.....ven been th..th..at ma....ny Cha..kkkk... kh.."(choking noises)
Goddess ASTARTEA: ( Trying to wrestle the Author's neck from the ML 's clutches with all her might); "Now now, calm down will you ?. If you kill her , you won't ever get the chance to appear!. "
ML: ( releases the author begrudgingly); "one last chance!. Or you're cooked the next time I catch you!".
Author: ( gasps for breath loudly): I'll try my best ( coughing noises).
Jade: -_- " Fucking idiots"…..