The scroll in Song's hands felt heavier than it should, its parchment crisp but its words a chain around his future.
"Herb Gatherer" and "Junior Attendant"—two meager options, scrawled under "Recommended Occupation," stared back at him.
His Tattoo of Dominion pulsed faintly beneath its bandage, a reminder of his First Lord status, mocked by the elders' disdain.
Song reread the scroll, his dark eyes narrowing, his mind struggling to grasp the insult.
Only two? he thought, a bitter edge to his hope.
The Magistrate's labyrinthine corridors loomed around him, their stone walls cold, their torchlight casting long, flickering shadows.
Rill approached, her qipao swaying, her brow furrowed with concern.
She peeked over his shoulder, her gasp muffled by a delicate hand.
"So few?" she whispered, her voice a mix of shock and pity.
"It's… unheard of."
Song's jaw tightened, his pride stinging.
The elders' contempt wasn't new—slaves with one-stripe tattoos were less than dirt in this world.
But Rill's reaction, her genuine surprise, sparked a flicker of doubt.
Is this a mistake, or a message? he wondered, his instincts honed by years of survival.
He sighed, meeting Rill's worried gaze.
"What would you advise, Miss Rill?" he asked, his voice steady despite his turmoil.
"I don't know the rules here."
Rill bit her lip, her eyes darting to the scroll.
"Hmm," she hummed, her tone thoughtful.
"Both are… difficult. Herb gathering is grueling, exhausting. Medicinal herbs are rare, and the merit points are pitiful. Junior attendant is no better—dirty work no one else wants. Cleaning latrines, slaughterhouse duties, garbage collection. And…"
She hesitated, her voice softening.
"The stigma sticks, no matter what you achieve later."
Song's chest tightened, the weight of her words sinking in.
Two paths, both leading to scorn.
His memories—fragmented, painful—flashed: the slave pens, Grue's whip, the searing pain of the Fruit of Raging Fire.
He'd survived worse.
He'd survive this.
"Thank you, Miss Rill," he said, his finger tapping "Herb Gatherer" on the scroll.
"I'll try this."
Rill's eyes brightened, a small nod signaling her approval.
"A good choice," she said, her smile warm but tinged with worry.
She turned, her steps light, and beckoned him.
"Come, I'll take you to Dark Star City's Forbidden Garden."
Song hurried after her, his white robes rustling, his eyes scanning the corridors.
The Magistrate was a maze of stone and secrets, its halls bustling with servants carrying scrolls or tools.
He memorized each turn, each carved vine on the walls, knowing he'd likely return alone.
Stay sharp, he told himself, his survival instincts kicking in.
Rill's voice broke his focus, her tone soft but vivid as she described their destination.
"The Forbidden Garden is part of the Ancient Forest," she said, her hands gesturing animatedly.
"It stretches thousands of kilometers to Mount Karrat, older than the mountain itself. It's sacred, revered by all Dark Star City's powers."
Song listened, his awe growing.
The forest sounded alive, a force of beauty and terror.
"It feeds the clans and sects," Rill continued, "but it's dangerous. Beasts lurk there, strong enough to raze cities. A great wall surrounds it, guarded day and night by the city's finest warriors."
She paused, her eyes gleaming.
"But the Garden is safer, a haven for herb gatherers. Monsters rarely appear there, making it perfect for new servants."
Song nodded, his mind racing.
A safe haven sounded too good to be true, and his life had taught him to distrust such promises.
The Fruit of Raging Fire had changed him, but its power was a mystery, and his tattoo's warmth felt like a warning.
What's the catch? he thought, his unease growing.
They exited the Magistrate, the air warm and scented with moss.
The servants' quarter unfolded, its courtyards shaded by towering trees, their canopies like bamboo umbrellas.
Stone paths wound past statues of mythical beasts—dragons, tigers, serpents with glowing eyes.
Song's tattoo pulsed, a faint connection to the runes he'd seen before, hidden in the palace's shadows.
This place is alive, he thought, his senses sharp.
The Forbidden Garden's wall loomed ahead, a monolith of seamless stone, its surface etched with coiling vines.
Massive gates stood closed, their iron reinforcements glinting, but a smaller, sturdy door was set within.
Rill stopped, her expression serious.
"Wait," she said, handing him a scroll.
"This is a novice's guide. It lists the city's clans and sects. When you gather herbs, you'll need to choose who to sell them to. Choose carefully—working for multiple powers isn't done here. Your choice will shape your future."
Song took the scroll, its weight grounding him.
"You could sell to the Magistrate," Rill added, "but their prices are lower. It's your call."
She smiled, her eyes soft.
"The scroll also has details about the servants' quarter. Study it."
"Thank you, Miss," Song said, his gratitude genuine.
Rill's kindness was a rarity, a lifeline in this unforgiving world.
She continued, her voice low.
"Your housing is set now that you've chosen a trade. You won't return to the courtyard—that room was temporary. If not for the Black Cloud Clan's influence, you'd be in a common barrack."
Song's heart warmed, a silent vow forming to repay the clan's aid.
They approached the door, a lone guard blocking their path.
His armor gleamed, his spear upright, his eyes sharp.
"Who are you, and why seek the Forbidden Garden?" he demanded.
"Senior Attendant Rill greets the valiant guard," Rill said, bowing slightly.
"I escort a novice herb gatherer."
She nodded toward Song.
"Where is Senior Alchemist Eydzh?"
The guard gestured to a low building against the wall, its barn-like annex weathered but sturdy.
"In the Herb House," he said.
"Thank you, sir," Rill replied, bowing again.
Song followed, his steps cautious, the guard's gaze lingering.
The wall's runes pulsed faintly, invisible to Rill, but Song's tattoo burned in response.
Something's watching, he thought, his unease sharpening.
The Herb House was close, its wooden door ajar, but the air grew heavy, the forest's presence pressing against him.
A shadow flickered at the wall's edge, too quick to track.
His tattoo flared, a whisper of danger in his mind.
What lies beyond that door?
To be continued…