Hézo
Hézo wandered through the streets of Edo, with Onyx trotting lazily beside him.
He didn't really know where he was going.
In his head, the horror that had struck Wura's family kept looping like a funeral drum.
And yet, deep down, he refused to fully believe it.
Wura was alive. She had to be.
Even if she now carried, forever, that invisible scar.
His fingers absentmindedly played with the pendant hanging from his neck — two moonstones set in silver, joined together in one chain: his, and his mother's.
He sighed and resumed his walk.
After more than an hour of wandering, he crossed a bridge leading to another district. A cool wind, scented with damp earth, brushed his face. He looked up — the sky had darkened without him noticing. The first drops splattered on the brown ground, dotting the dust with dark stains.
He hesitated, then turned back. The bridge would make a decent shelter.
He guided his horse down to a dry strip of earth by the riverbank. Kneeling, he plunged his hands into the cool water and brought them to his lips. The water was clear, clean. He let Onyx drink freely. The animal flicked its ears, then lay down, content.
Hézo leaned against him, the rhythm of the rain wrapping him like a lullaby. Sleep soon found him.
***
A sharp tug at his neck yanked him from his slumber.
He shot up, startled.
Two hooded figures stood before him.
One held his sword.
The other — a scar running down his cheek — dangled Hézo's pendant between his fingers.
— These stones… must be worth a fortune, the scarred one sneered.
A wicked grin split his face as he drew Hézo's blade.
— Stay still if you want to live.
— And with clothes like that, the scarred man added, you're not from around here. You've got enough to make it worth our while.
Hézo stared at them, unmoving.
Two pathetic thieves.
His gaze fell on the bulging satchel slung across the scarred man's shoulder, no doubt filled with stolen goods.
— Hand it over, the scarred man barked.
Without warning, Hézo lunged.
He dodged two strikes and drove his fist squarely into the first man's nose. Blood spurted.
— Damn it! the second one cursed, caught off guard.
The scarred man stuffed the pendant into his bag and charged.
Hézo blocked, kicked him in the face, then turned and drove another kick into his partner's gut.
He seized the man's arm, twisted hard until the sword clattered to the ground.
Both thieves staggered, groaning under the rain of blows.
Hézo reclaimed his weapon, swung it in a clean arc, and sliced through the strap of the satchel.
With one final move, he kicked each of them hard in the stomach. They tumbled into the river, swept away by the swollen current.
Silence fell again, broken only by the soft murmur of the rain and the steady rush of water.
Hézo stood there, panting, then finally sank to the ground.
He reached for the bag, opened it, and pulled out his pendant.
— Taking back a thief's loot isn't stealing, he murmured. Right, Onyx?
The horse snorted as if in reply.
— I bet you're starving too, Hézo added softly.
— Don't worry. We'll manage.
***
Hézo made his way back up the sloping streets of the lower city, far from the noble quarters on the other side of Edo.
The streets were grey, the few passersby avoiding each other's eyes.
Ahead, the outskirts' market stretched beneath a wind-battered awning.
He spoke to an old porter, traded a few words, a few coins.
The man pointed him to a small stable beside a leather workshop.
There, for two cowries, Hézo got a bundle of dry, coarse hay — clean enough — which he shared with Onyx. He made sure the animal chewed slowly, gently stroking his tangled mane.
He was about to sit in a shaded corner when one of the stable hands called out:
— Hey, we're closing up! the man said, tossing a rag over his shoulder, boots caked in mud.
— Already? Hézo frowned.
The sun hadn't yet set; only the first lazy shadows of evening stretched across the cobblestones.
A younger worker pulled the heavy door shut with a squeal.
— We always close early before a Cursed Night. Not a good idea to be outside after dusk.
— The Cursed Night? Hézo repeated quietly, lifting his head.
The older man nodded gravely.
— Demons don't just roam, they hunt. If you don't have a home, find a safe spot… or a good prayer. I've got a family to keep safe.
They vanished into the alley, leaving behind the smell of oiled leather and wet wood.
Hézo stayed alone with his horse, crouched in a sheltered nook out of the wind.
The sky darkened, and even the city itself seemed to hold its breath.
He bit into the sandwich he'd bought earlier, his jaw tight around a single thought.
The demons of the Cursed Night…
The townsfolk feared them.
The Black Warriors fought them.
But him?
He sought them.
If he truly wanted to grow stronger… this was the moment.
Those demons weren't just monsters, they were trials.
He glanced at Onyx, half-asleep on his feet, full and calm.
— Stay here. If I don't come back before dawn… you'll know I at least tried.
The night hadn't yet fallen.
But it was waiting for him.
And for the first time in days… Hézo was ready to face it.