The pounding on the door splintered Elisha's dream.
"Elisha! Up, you lazy brat!" The madam's sharp voice cut through the thin walls of the storage room.
He groaned, dragging the blanket over his head. Sunlight barely filtered in, pale and cold, the kind that told him it was far too early for anyone sane to be awake.
"It's six in the morning," he muttered. "Not even the gods are up yet…"
Another bang rattled the wood. "Don't make me drag you out! There's water to fetch!"
With a grunt of irritation, Elisha rolled from the straw mattress. His joints ached, his body heavy with yesterday's fatigue. Still, he trudged into the biting morning air, bucket in hand. The well water sloshed onto his shirt, chilling him awake.
By the time the sun rose fully, he had fetched water, chopped wood, and swept every corner of the restaurant until his muscles screamed. The aroma of frying meat and steaming rice filled the hall, blending with the chatter of early customers. The madam barked orders at the girls rushing with trays.
Elisha moved between them without enthusiasm. His steps lacked grace, his hands unsteady — but the job got done. For that, he earned two meals and a bed under a roof. That was enough… or so he told himself. Beneath the thin comfort lurked a chain he could not break.
I've traded one prison for another, he thought bitterly.
He had just slumped onto a bench when wheels ground over gravel outside. A heavy carriage stopped before the inn, its crest glinting black and silver.
A hush fell. Patrons stiffened, whispers buzzing.
"That's the Black Raider family."
"The king's backing…"
"The heir—rumor says he sold his heart."
Elisha snorted so loud heads turned. Sold his heart? To who? The devil? A market vendor? If he's cold, he should sit by a fire instead of parading it around. Idiots, worshipping men who piss the same as they do.
The madam's shrill voice nearly pierced his eardrum. "Elisha! Get up this instant and serve them!"
He tilted his head lazily. "What for? It won't make you younger."
Her hand twitched, but with guests present, she swallowed her anger. "Move, or you'll regret it."
Instead of hurrying, Elisha strolled away deliberately, earning scandalized gasps.
The Raiders entered, draped in silk and steel, presence so heavy it pressed on the room. At their head was Nathan.
He looked every inch the heir: tall, broad-shouldered, obsidian hair pulled back, eyes sharp as glass. When those eyes swept the hall, they paused, narrowed, and hardened.
He recognized him instantly. That damned servant.
The memory of spilled water gnawed sharper than it should. Nathan clenched his jaw, suppressing a scowl. Still insolent. Still unworthy.
"Elisha, now!" the madam hissed, shoving a tray into his hands. He carried it to their table, dropped the bowls with little care, and met Nathan's stare head-on. For a breath, neither looked away. Then Elisha smirked faintly, a flicker of mockery in his eyes.
Nathan's grip tightened on his chopsticks.
The madam rushed forward with bows and apologies. Elisha walked off, hands in his pockets, unconcerned.
Nathan exhaled slowly. He wouldn't be baited. Not here. Not now.
"Lord Nathan," one of his men said softly, leaning closer. "Should we… deal with him?"
Nathan shook his head. "Not here. Not for something so small. Focus."
Another man, older, tapped the table with a calloused finger. "The maps, young lord. Word spreads that copies are leaking. The Western Cliff route. Others plan to move within days."
"Let them," Nathan said coolly. "Greed drives them like blind hounds. They'll die at the first twist of the Temple."
"They say two routes are smooth," another muttered. "Could it be—"
Nathan's gaze snapped up, silencing him. "Smooth? Nothing in Mei's Temple is smooth. Every map is a gamble. Every path hides teeth."
His men quieted, watching as he reached into his robes. He pulled out a folded parchment, edges worn, ink lines precise. He set it on the table, pinning it with his chopsticks.
"This is ours. My father believes it true. If the Heart of Mei exists, this road leads closest. But we do not rush in like children. We prepare. We plan. That is why others will fall, and we will rise."
A murmur of agreement circled the table. But not all were convinced.
"Even if it is true," the older raider said cautiously, "your father… he will want the Heart for himself. And if you stand in his way—"
The air shifted. Nathan's jaw tightened. Beneath the table, his hand curled into a fist.
"That is between me and him," Nathan said evenly. "You need only worry about surviving the journey. Do that, and you will all be rewarded."
His voice carried a steel edge that brokered no argument. The older raider bowed his head.
Elisha, lingering nearby with an empty tray, caught fragments of their words. Heart of Mei? Maps? Temple? He scoffed inwardly. More lunatics chasing fairy tales. They'll all end up corpses, same as the rest.
Nathan, noticing his presence, shot him another glare. This time, Elisha didn't even pretend to care. He simply wandered off toward the kitchen, humming under his breath.
Nathan's teeth ground together.
The rest of the meal passed with heavy talk — about provisions, mercenaries for hire, rumors of shifting walls and beasts with eyes like flame. Nathan listened, spoke little, but every word from him was final. He was already a leader, even if his father still lived.
When they finished, he rose first. The inn fell silent as the Black Raiders filed out. Nathan paused at the door, glancing once more toward the kitchen where Elisha vanished. For a fleeting second, he almost ordered his men to drag the boy out, to teach him respect.
But no. Not today.
Outside, his carriage awaited. The streets parted for him as he mounted. His men climbed behind, their murmurs low.
Elisha, watching from the window, scoffed. "Black Raiders. Devils dressed in silk."
Nathan rode on, maps burning in his mind. The Temple called. The Heart of Mei waited. And soon, he would claim it — no matter the cost.