Ember 21, 2999 – Friday | 4:00 PM
Lena Cordash's Mansion – Duskhaven Inner Ring
The sun hung low behind swirls of Ember haze, casting the sky in tones of peach and crimson. Nexus heat had settled in again, thick and lazy. Shiro, freshly showered and half-dressed, stood near the glass wall of Lena's private lounge, sipping something cold while Dez's voice buzzed over the call.
"Yooo She traced the place back to a laundering facility tucked in Lower Cirrus Point," Dez said. "Outer ring, no signage, but they push cash and relic parts through a shipping front. Quiet. All the right permits. Probably dirty as hell."
Lena lounged behind Shiro on the sofa, legs curled, gaze half-lidded. Zarrah sat cross-legged nearby with a tablet, glancing over blueprints. Grakka sharpened a short axe at the kitchen bar, her eyes flicking to Shiro's screen now and then.
"And you're sure it's linked to the Choir?" Shiro asked.
"My girl got names and movement charts. Said they've got enchanted crates marked for ghost flow—standard laundering shit—but a few crates leave with flesh signatures in 'em. Living. Half-dead. One might've had Choir branding."
Lena sat up. "When?"
"Two days. Night of Ember 23."
Zarrah looked up. "Where will you be?"
"I'm checking another lead east side. Something… lab-like. Can't confirm it's Morrow yet, but if it smells off, I'll dig."
Grakka muttered, "You better not get snatched or that's you ass."
"I got my elf," Dez replied smugly. "She'd turn the fuck up if I got grabbed."
Shiro grinned. "Good. Send me everything."
"Already on the way. Oh—and if you step outside? Watch your back. That bounty buzz is pickin' up."
The call ended.
⸻
Duskhaven Streets – 4:45 PM
Shiro stepped out with a slow, casual strut—robe open, gold fang glintin', long dreadlocks loose and wild. Black designer pants, and his direwolf-hide gauntlets hung lazily from a belt hook.
He didn't just walk.
He moved like sin had rhythm.
Eyes locked on him the moment he crossed the street. Beastwomen gasped and elbowed each other Woah. Dwarf girls nearly tripped spilling beer Hey there. A dragonkin waitress fanned herself with a menu. A couple highborn human men turned red with jealous whispers.
Shiro took a bite from the meat-skewer he bought off a goblin vendor, gold fang flashing as he chewed. The vendor stammered through the sale like he'd just met a demigod with tattoos.
The streets of Duskhaven loved beautiful chaos. And Shiro was dressed in it.
His comm buzzed.
NSFW CREDIT: +12,000 Aurix
Message from: Lena Cordash
"Buy something nasty. Surprise us."
Shiro licked his lips. "Spoilin' me again, huh?"
He turned into a sleek alley boutique lit with red glass and velvet runes. The shopkeeper, a curvy kitsune in a lace top, nearly dropped her ledger.
"C-Can I help you, sir…?"
He grinned. "You got anything that's… bite-proof?"
She turned red immediately.
⸻
20 minutes later – Still in Duskhaven
Shiro walked out with a bag of exotic NSFW trinkets—gold-etched silk cuffs, rune-slicked ropes, a vial of heat elixir, and a custom collar inscribed with "Mine" in Infernal. For Lena? For Zarrah? Maybe both.
As he stepped onto the open street, his grin faded.
Something itched.
Not physically.
Primal.
Behind him. Not close. Not even aggressive. But someone was watching. Carefully. Repetitively.
He didn't stop walking. Just slowed. Let his shadow stretch. Tilted his head slightly like he was admiring the skyline.
Then his eyes slid sideways.
Two cloaked figures across the street. Trying to blend in with a merchant stall. Faint mana haze. Wrong breathing patterns.
Shiro licked his fang.
"Curious little fleas…"
He took a deep inhale. The bounty scent—desperation, cheap enchantments, silverblood potion. Contract chasers. Probably amateurs. But even amateurs get brave when someone labels you wanted.
He didn't turn back.
Not yet.
He just kept walking, slow and beautiful, letting them follow.
Letting them think they'd picked the right prey.
Because tonight… he'd decide if they lived long enough to regret it.
Ember 21, 2999 – Friday | 5:15 PM
Duskhaven Lower Market → Deadend Alley off Thornhook Street
The streets thinned as Shiro led them deeper into the belly of Duskhaven.
Vendors became shadier. Neon-glass signs buzzed like broken insects. The music shifted from smooth jazz to jagged synths and muffled moaning behind closed curtains.
Shiro turned a corner casually—chewing on a stick of glazed meat, bag still slung lazily at his side.
Behind him, two shadows followed:
– One moved too quiet for his size. Human. Superhuman, judging by the heat signature pulsing in his chest.
– The other clacked against the cobblestone. Hooved steps. Rhythmic. A centaur, tall and armor-clad under a ragged hood.
They thought he hadn't noticed.
They thought wrong.
He led them into a tucked-away alley near Thornhook Street—a place no patrols wandered and no cameras worked. Just walls, filth, old graffiti… and the faint smell of blood.
Shiro stopped near a faded rune-tag on the wall and slowly turned.
"Alright," he said, loud enough to echo. "That's far enough."
No response.
He exhaled, eyes glowing faint red, and tossed the meat skewer aside.
"You followed me for seven damn blocks. That means y'all either bold… or dumb."
The shadows stepped out.
The superhuman pulled back his hood—hair shaved on the sides, one eye replaced by a cybernetic lens. He wore black bracers engraved with bounty-house glyphs and flexed as he cracked his knuckles.
The centaur beside him towered over him—part-warlord, part-brute. His lower body was a tank of armored muscle. His upper torso glimmered with magical bindings. A double-bladed poleaxe hung on his back.
"Shiro Connelly," the superhuman said. "Beastman of Hollowbay. Marked Class S on the Choir's soft bounty."
The centaur snorted. "You're worth more alive. But I ain't picky."
Shiro grinned, gold fangs sharp.
"I love it when y'all open with that bounty talk. Makes me feel warm inside."
He dropped the bag gently to the side, rolled his neck, and cracked his knuckles.
"You got one chance to walk away."
The centaur moved first—hooves sparking as he charged with surprising speed.
Shiro vanished.
A snap of air. A blur of black and red.
And then—
CRACK!
Shiro reappeared mid-air, upside down, driving both feet into the centaur's spine from above. The beast crashed into the wall with a bellow, bricks collapsing around him.
The superhuman lunged, fists glowing with kinetic enchantments—
SLAP!
Shiro backhanded him so hard his body skipped across the alley like a flat stone on water.
"Shoulda stayed home," Shiro muttered.
The centaur roared and spun, trying to swing his poleaxe, but Shiro dropped under it, claws sliding on stone. He slammed a gauntleted fist into the centaur's gut, then yanked the poleaxe from his grip with his other hand and snapped it over his knee.
"Didn't need this," Shiro said. "Just needed your attention."
The superhuman stood, bleeding from the mouth. He activated a blink device on his bracer—but Shiro was already in front of him.
"Try somethin'."
The man hesitated. Blinked.
Shiro leaned in, voice low.
"I ain't gonna kill you."
The man started to relax.
"I'm gonna embarrass you."
Shiro slammed him into a dumpster, bent his leg back at the knee just enough to scream but not snap, then pimp-slapped him with the flat of his direwolf gauntlet.
WHAP!
The alley echoed with humiliation.
Shiro leaned over him. "Tell your boss. Choir, bounty house, I don't care. I ain't hidin'. And next time, I'll start with the painful part."
He turned to the centaur, who was limping backward.
"You," Shiro growled. "You're lucky you big enough to be furniture. Go."
The centaur grunted. Limped. Left.
Shiro straightened his robe, grabbed the NSFW bag, and walked back toward the main street like nothing happened.
Under his breath?
He chuckled.
"Weak ass bounty hunters."
Ember 21, 2999 – Friday | 5:35 PM
Duskhaven Alley Exit – Near Thornhook Street
Shiro was barely a block away from the wrecked alley, humming to himself with the bag slung back over his shoulder, when a sharp female voice cut through the haze of heat.
"Stop right there."
He froze mid-step.
Behind him, boots hit the ground hard. Professional. Weighted. Trained.
Shiro turned slowly.
And saw her.
Nearly six feet tall, broad shoulders wrapped in regulation dusk-leather, a badge shining on her hip. Her frame filled out the uniform in all the right ways—sand-colored skin kissed by sun, and legs like twin spears of judgment. Twin pigtails whipped behind her as she stepped closer, eyes sharp, one brow raised.
Amazonian.
Built like trouble. And heat.
She stopped a few feet from him, fingers resting near the pulse baton at her hip.
"You the one who lit up that alley?"
Shiro tilted his head and looked her up and down—not subtly.
"Depends," he said with a slow grin. "You gonna cuff me?"
Her jaw twitched. "I heard a fight. What happened back there?"
"Two clowns tried to dance. I gave 'em the hands. No casualties. Just bruised egos and one broken weapon. Well… two, if you count pride."
He took a step forward—slow, casual, eyes gleaming.
"You patrolin' out here solo? Bold. You don't look scared, though…"
"I'm not," she said flatly. "I don't scare easy."
"Mmm." Shiro's grin widened. "Neither do I. That mean we should get dinner or throw hands?"
Her eyes narrowed. "I should report you for unlicensed combat."
"But you won't." Shiro raised both hands mock-innocent, his robe sliding open just enough to flash his toned chest. "'Cause I'm incredibly handsome, and you already asked yourself what my lips taste like."
Her lips parted.
Then pressed into a tight, annoyed line. "What's your name?"
He winked. "Shiro."
"Officer Alke," she replied, reluctantly. "Now go home before I actually arrest you."
"I like the way you say that." He winked, backing away with no shame. "Guess I'll behave—for now. But next time we run into each other… I'm askin' for your number instead of trouble."
"Try it," she said dryly, already turning back toward the alley. "And I'll hit you harder than they did."
Shiro laughed and kept walking.
Neither of them noticed the shadowed sigil etched into a hidden corner of the alley wall—a faint glyph pulsing once before vanishing.
⸻
Unseen to them both—Officer Alke had already been investigating the Black Choir from within the Duskhaven Guard's corruption division. She wasn't just patrolling.
She was hunting.
And Shiro's name? Was about to cross her desk.