The morning in Rustwater didn't start with birds chirping. It started with the sound of a steam whistle screaming from the mines and the smell of coal dust.
In the small room of The Iron Lounge, the three fugitives were holding a war council over a plate of stale bread.
"We have a problem," Lyra announced, stacking three gold coins on the rickety table. "This is it. This is all the money we have left from the assassin's purse."
Briar frowned, picking up a piece of bread and tearing it aggressively. "That won't get us to the Elven border. We need supplies. Dried meat, water filters, warm cloaks. And we need to bribe the bridge guards to look the other way."
"So we need gold," Nyx said, leaning back in his chair. He was cleaning Requiem with a rag. The massive sword took up half the room. "I could just take it."
"No," Briar and Lyra said in unison.
"We are trying not to attract attention, Nyx," Lyra sighed, adjusting her robes. "If you rob a bank, the Empire will find us by lunch. We need to earn it. Legally. Or... semi-legally."
Briar stood up, wiping crumbs from her mouth. "There's a mercenary board in the town square. Locals post jobs. Monster hunting, caravan guarding, clearing out mine shafts. Dirty work."
"We're good at dirty work," Nyx noted, nodding his head.
"We'll take a job," Briar decided. "But we keep a low profile. No flashy magic. No eating people's souls. We hit it, we get paid, we leave."
They headed out into the streets of Rustwater.
The town was a hive of activity. Miners covered in soot trudged toward the pits, while merchants shouted over the clang of smithy hammers. It was chaotic, loud, and rough, everything the Palace wasn't.
Nyx walked between the two women, his height and the wrapped sword drawing wary glances. He noticed something, though. The people here looked tired. There was a tension in the air, a fear that had nothing to do with him.
They reached the town square. It was dominated by a large wooden board covered in parchment.
Briar pushed her way through the crowd of rough-looking mercenaries to read the postings.
"Let's see," Briar muttered. "Escort duty? Too slow. Rat infestation? Too gross. Here... 'Rock Wurm in Sector 4'. Pays fifty gold."
"That's perfect," Lyra calculated. "Rock Wurms are blind. I can distract it with sound magic, and Nyx can-"
"That's mine, Princess."
A heavy hand clamped onto Briar's shoulder.
Briar stiffened. She turned around slowly.
Standing behind her was a man who looked like a walking mountain. He wore rusted iron armor bolted directly onto his leather tunic. A gang tattoo, a cog with a skull, was inked on his neck. He was flanked by six other thugs, all smirking.
"You're new here, aren't you?" the man sneered, revealing rotten teeth. "I'm Gore. I run the Iron Hounds. And in Rustwater, the good jobs belong to us. You pay the tax, or you take the scraps."
Briar looked at the hand on her shoulder. Her red eyes narrowed.
"Remove your hand," Briar said calmly. "Or you lose it."
The thugs laughed. Gore grinned, leaning closer.
"Feisty. I like feisty. How about instead of paying the tax, you and your pretty friend pay with-"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Nyx stepped forward.
He didn't shove Gore. He didn't draw his sword. He just stepped into the man's personal space, towering over him.
Nyx looked down. His golden eyes were flat, bored, and terrifyingly empty.
"She asked you to remove your hand," Nyx said.
Gore looked up. He meant to intimidate the tall stranger, but when he met Nyx's gaze, his throat went dry. It felt like looking into a deep, dark well. The instinct that kept him alive in this lawless town screamed, A Predator.
Gore snatched his hand back as if he'd touched a hot stove. He stepped back, trying to regain his bravado.
"Whatever," Gore spat. "Take the job. But watch your back in the mines. Accidents happen."
The gang shoved past them, disappearing into the crowd.
Briar let out a breath, her hand relaxing from where she had been reaching for a hidden dagger.
"I hate bullies," Briar muttered. "If I had my armor..."
"If you had your armor, we'd be fleeing the city right now," Lyra reminded her. "Good job, Nyx. Intimidation without violence. That was... surprisingly mature."
"I just wanted breakfast," Nyx said, tearing the job poster off the board. "Rock Wurm? what are those things?"
"You know snakes? slippery, lengthy, disgusting things?. Rock wurms look like that but their skin is harder than the hardest diamond you can find" Briar said.
"Worms?, diamond? what is that?" Nyx tilted his head, It looked very tempting when a face like that made that kind of an expression.
"w-whatever, you'll see when we get there" Hiding her blushing cheeks, waving her hand slightly, she walked back. Lyra chuckled at her actions.
"There's so much you don't know Nyx, Don't worry you can ask I'll teach you everything" Lyra smiled at him causing him nod with a faint smile as well.
"Come on, Let's go kill those things" Briar said, cracking her knuckles.
They spent the afternoon deep in the mines.
The job went smoother than expected. The Rock Wurm was a massive, serpentine beast made of stone and muscle, but against a Lunar Realm warrior and a Void Vessel, it didn't stand a chance.
Briar distracted it, dancing around its crushing jaws with a speed that made the miners' jaws drop. When it exposed its soft underbelly, Nyx didn't even use Requiem. He simply punched it.
The impact of his fist, fueled by the strength of the First Shackle, cracked the creature's rocky hide like an eggshell. It was over in ten minutes.
They collected the bounty, a heavy pouch of fifty gold coins, and headed back to the surface as the sun began to set.
"Easy money," Briar grinned, tossing the pouch in the air. "We can buy supplies tonight and leave tomorrow morning."
But as they walked back toward The Iron Lounge, the mood in the streets had changed.
The market stalls were smashed. Smoke rose from a nearby shop. And in the center of the square, a crowd had gathered.
Nyx stopped. He smelled steel iron like smell, It smelled familiar, smell felt familiar becuase the blood that seeped out from the gaurds back at the sewer smelled the same .
Briar pushed through the crowd. She froze.
In the center of the square, the innkeeper, the dwarf with the mechanical eye, was on his knees. His face was beaten and bloody. Standing over him was Gore, the leader of the Iron Hounds.
"I told you, dwarf," Gore shouted, kicking the innkeeper in the ribs. "You don't rent rooms to strangers without asking me first. That's a violation of the Iron Law."
"Please," the innkeeper wheezed. "They paid gold..."
"And now you pay blood," Gore raised a heavy iron mace.
"Stop!"
Briar didn't think. She didn't calculate. She acted.
She burst out of the crowd, placing herself between the innkeeper and the mace. She didn't have her armor. She didn't have her royal sword. She only had a cheap dagger she had bought earlier.
"Well, well," Gore laughed, lowering the mace. "The feisty girl is back. You think you're a hero?"
"No," Briar said, her stance shifting into a perfect combat form. "I'm just someone who pays her tab."
Lyra grabbed Nyx's arm in the crowd. "Nyx, we can't get involved. If she uses her Fire Arts, people will recognize the Imperial style. We have to go."
Nyx looked at Briar. She was outnumbered ten to one. She was trembling slightly, not from fear, but from rage. She looked small against the wall of thugs.
But she stood her ground.
"She isn't leaving," Nyx said.
He pulled his arm free from Lyra's grip.
"So neither am I."
Nyx walked into the circle.
He moved silently, coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Briar. He didn't draw Requiem. He didn't raise his fists. He just stood there, looking bored.
"Two against ten?" Gore sneered. "You must have a death wish."
"Eleven," Nyx corrected, looking at a shadow on the roof. "Twelve if you count the archer behind the crate."
Gore blinked. "How did he know?"
"Get them!" Gore roared.
The thugs charged.
Briar moved like a whirlwind. She ducked under a swinging chain, slashed the leg of one attacker, and elbowed another in the throat. She was fast, brutal, and skilled.
But Nyx... he was something else.
A thug swung a heavy axe at Nyx's head.
Nyx didn't dodge. He caught the axe handle with one hand.
"Stop," Nyx said.
He didn't drain the man. He simply exerted force. He snapped the oak handle like a twig, then backhanded the thug. The man flew ten feet through the air, crashing into a fruit cart.
Another thug tried to stab him. Nyx sidestepped, grabbed the man by the belt and collar, and threw him into Gore.
It wasn't a fight. It was housekeeping.
Briar, seeing Nyx handle the bulk of the group, grinned. She grew bolder. She swept the legs of two attackers, then spun and punched a third in the jaw.
For a moment, amidst the chaos, their eyes met.
Briar was sweating, her hair wild, a smear of blood on her cheek. She looked alive. Dangerous. Beautiful.
Nyx felt that heat in his chest again. The First Shackle hummed, not with hunger, but with approval.
"Behind you!" Nyx warned suddenly.
Briar ducked instantly. A crossbow bolt whizzed over her head, embedding itself in Nyx's shoulder.
Nyx didn't flinch. He looked at the bolt sticking out of his arm. Then he looked at the archer on the roof.
His golden eyes narrowed, anger pulsing through his veins.
"Mine."
He reached up and pulled the bolt out. He threw it back.
He threw it with such force that he unknowingly broke the sound barrier. Crack.
The bolt hit the archer's crossbow, shattering it into pieces and knocking the man off the roof.
The square went silent.
Gore, the only one left standing, looked at his decimated crew. He looked at Briar, who was spinning a dagger. He looked at Nyx, who was bleeding but looked annoyed rather than hurt.
"Monster," Gore whispered.
He dropped his mace and ran.
Briar stood there, breathing heavily. The crowd erupted into cheers. The miners, tired of the gang's oppression, surged forward to thank them.
Briar turned to Nyx. She saw the blood on his shoulder.
"You're hit," she said, her voice frantic. She reached out to touch the wound.
"I heal fast," Nyx said.
But Briar didn't listen. She ripped a strip of cloth from her tunic and pressed it against his arm. Her hands were shaking.
"You took an arrow for me," she whispered.
"I calculated the trajectory," Nyx said stiffly. "It was non-lethal."
"Shut up," Briar said, but she was smiling. It was a soft, genuine smile that made her look very un-warrior-like. "Thank you."
Lyra ran up to them, looking pale.
"That was... statistically improbable," Lyra gasped. "And extremely loud. We need to leave. Now. Before the rumors start spreading."
Nyx looked at Briar. She was still holding his arm, he liked it when she cared about him.
"Agreed," Nyx said.
They helped the innkeeper up, gave him half their gold for repairs, and slipped out of the cheering crowd.
As they walked back to the inn to pack their bags, Briar walked a little closer to Nyx than before. Their shoulders brushed.
She didn't pull away.
Neither did he.