The slums of Nexus seethed like a nest of hornets stirred from sleep.
Oil-drum fires painted alleys in ragged orange, shadows stretched long and violent as figures gathered in waves. The Ash Rats — boys and girls no older than Jade, some hardened by powder, others sharpened by hunger — poured from tunnels and crawlspaces, armed with rusted pipes, jagged knives, and the occasional stolen stun-rod.
Their chants echoed down ferrocrete walls, raw and fevered:
"Burn the demon! Burn the shop! Burn the boy!"
The cloaked alchemist's poison had taken root. The embers of rumor now surged into a blaze.
Jade stood within his shop, fingers brushing the cool wood of the counter as his Void Sense rippled outward. He didn't need to see the mob — he felt them. Every pounding footstep, every fevered scream, every flicker of murderous intent scratched against the edges of his perception.
Seventy-two hours, the system had declared. But already, he sensed the Ash Rats' march would not take days — it would take hours.
His blindfold shifted slightly as he tilted his head, listening to the storm approach. The silvery-blue strands of his hair gleamed faintly in the neon bleed through the windows. Beneath the blindfold, his dual irises overlapped and glimmered. A child's face, calm as carved ice, hiding the hunger of something far older.
The translucent screen still hovered before him, its edges pulsing faintly.
Quest: Embers of Revolt.
Objective: Prevent the Ash Rats from reaching and destroying your shop.
Failure was not an option.
....
The bell above the door jingled.
Niamh entered first, cloak drawn tightly around her tall frame, lips pressed into a thin, furious line. She moved briskly, but Jade felt the sharpness in her aura — fear, and irritation bordering on panic.
Behind her came Gorvoth, slower, pipe clenched between his teeth, the faint smell of smoke trailing him. His weathered hands rested easily on his belt, near the haft of the heavy cleaver-sword he carried, though he made no move to draw it.
"You feel it," Niamh said flatly, voice low, eyes scanning Jade as though expecting him to collapse under the weight of the moment.
"Yes," Jade answered, calm.
"Then you understand why you'll do nothing. You will stay inside. You will not move a finger against what comes." Her voice was iron.
Jade's lips curled faintly. "If I do nothing, there will be no shop left to stay inside."
"Do not twist me with your riddles," she snapped, fists clenching at her sides. Her voice cracked, barely perceptible — a crack of worry. "You're seven. Do you hear me? Seven. This.... This should not be your burden."
Silence stretched.
Gorvoth finally exhaled smoke through his nose, eyes narrowing toward the window where faint glimmers of firelight began to grow in the streets.
"They're not here for a debate," he rumbled. "They're marching. And when a mob marches, they don't stop until they've spilled blood."
Niamh turned to him sharply. "Then you'll stop them."
The old warrior's gaze flicked to Jade, lingering longer than necessary. His scarred hands tightened around his pipe. "I could kill a dozen. Maybe twenty. But a tide like this?" He shook his head. "Not without making it worse."
Niamh's jaw tightened.
Jade finally rose from his chair. His turtleneck clung neatly to his frame, shadows clinging to him as though reluctant to let him go. He adjusted his gloves, then set a small box of neatly bottled potions onto the counter with deliberate care.
"I won't let them touch this place," he said softly.
Niamh's eyes blazed. "You will obey me."
Behind the blindfold, Jade's overlapping pupils spun faintly like twin galaxies. His smile was calm, sharp. "I always do, Niamh."
But Gorvoth caught it — the tone, the weight. That was not a child's promise. That was a predator's.
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Outside, the march grew louder. The Ash Rats spilled into the avenues, chanting, weapons clattering, torches raised. At their front, the mob leader — a boy with burns striping his arms, his eyes glassy from enhancers — raised his voice above the mob.
"Tonight we burn the demon's den! Tonight the city remembers the Ash Rats!"
The mob roared back, stomping in unison.
From his vantage, Jade watched through the thin slit of Void Sense as the tide of bodies surged closer. He could feel their hunger, their fear, the lies stitched into their throats.
His system flickered again.
Optional Sub-Quest Unlocked: "Break the Chains."
Objective: Unmask the instigator behind the Ash Rats' march.
Reward: Unknown.
Jade's fingers curled at his side. The alchemists… so that was your hand.
"Let them come," he whispered, frost already curling at his fingertips, the air in the shop dropping several degrees. "Tonight, the Ash Rats march. But I decide how it ends."
The bell above the door jingled once more as the first crash of stone against glass rang outside.
The first stone shattered against the window with a crack like thunder. Shards of glass rained inward, scattering across the shop floor. Frost bloomed instantly where the shards struck, sealing the gaps before fire could pour through.
Jade did not flinch. He simply raised his head, listening to the mob's chant outside.
"Burn the demon! Burn the shop!"
Niamh moved first. Her cloak swept around her as she drew a slim dagger from her sleeve, grip tight though her knuckles whitened with age. "Stay back," she hissed, as if Jade had ever listened when she used that tone.
Gorvoth did not draw his cleaver-sword. Instead, he leaned on it, pipe still clamped between his teeth, eyes fixed on the glowing horizon beyond the broken glass. The weight of his silence pressed against the room.
"They'll break through the barricades in minutes," he muttered. "And when they do, it won't matter if they're just children. A mob is still a mob. Their powder will carry them through fear until their bodies collapse."
Jade stepped past the counter. Frost whispered along the boards beneath his boots, delicate lines of white spiderwebbing outward.
"Then I'll break them before they reach collapse," he said softly.
Niamh spun on him. "Jade—!"
But her words died when she saw his blindfold tilt toward her, the faint glow bleeding from beneath it. His voice was steady, far too steady for a boy his age.
"This is my battle. Not yours."
....
Outside, the Ash Rats surged into the street, filling it from wall to wall. Torches bobbed like fireflies in the dark, knives flashing, voices roaring. The gang leader with the burned arms lifted his torch high.
"Break it down!"
They surged forward.
The first to reach the shop hurled his torch at the door. Fire burst—only to hiss into steam as a sheet of ice bloomed across the wood.
The second swung a pipe, smashing into the frost-crusted window. His weapon shattered in his hands, frozen clean through.
Confusion rippled through the mob.
And then Jade stepped into the doorway.
A boy. Small, blindfolded, framed in the glow of neon and torchlight. His silvery-blue hair shimmered in the heat, catching the firelight and scattering it like starlight.
The Ash Rats faltered. They had expected a monster. They had not expected a child.
The gang leader snarled, voice cracking from both powder and fear. "Don't stop! He's the demon! Burn him!"
Dozens of feet pounded against ferrocrete. Weapons rose. Torches flared.
Jade raised his hand. Frost swirled upward, curling around his fingers like ribbons of moonlight. The air dropped, each breath turning white.
"I gave you a chance to walk away," he said softly, voice carrying over the crowd. "You chose fire."
He snapped his fingers.
A wave of Frozen Aura burst outward, slamming into the front ranks. Torches guttered out in an instant, flames snuffed like candles. Frost exploded across the ferrocrete, crawling up their legs, binding weapons in jagged ice. Screams filled the street as the first ten Ash Rats stumbled and collapsed, frozen where they stood.
The mob recoiled, panic tearing at their frenzy. But the powder still sang in their blood. They surged again, climbing over their frozen comrades, desperate and wild.
Jade exhaled, his breath misting. His blindfold glimmered faintly as his dual irises shifted beneath it, twin lights overlapping in his eyes. He stepped forward once, frost blooming beneath each boot.
Behind him, Niamh's dagger trembled in her grip. "He'll kill them…" she whispered.
Gorvoth's voice was flat. "Or they'll kill him."
The second clash was about to begin.