The night air was cold and dry as Niko sat at the edge of the alleyway, his gaze tilted upward toward the moon. It was full—massive—and glowed like a silver eye watching over the city. He let the silence settle, his thoughts beginning to weave themselves into a plan.
Should he tell Iri?
She was sharp, resourceful, and always three steps ahead. But something about this… something about the dragon crest and the girl, the shadows beneath this "sanctuary" city, made him feel like this was his burden to carry. His jaw tightened. No, he told himself. Not yet. I'll handle this.
He turned and made his way back into the alley, where the three remaining men were still bound, trembling in silence. They flinched as he approached, but he didn't draw his weapon this time.
Niko crouched down, his expression unreadable, eyes like pools of darkness.
"I've decided," he said simply.
The men said nothing, barely breathing.
"I'm going to take you up on your proposal. I won't kill you," he continued, his voice flat but sharp, "but you're going to help me."
They blinked, confused, wary. One of them dared to ask, "H-How?"
Niko leaned forward just slightly. "We're going to set the meeting… just like you planned. You'll tell him you've got someone new—quiet, confused, doesn't know what's going on."
He stood and motioned to himself with two fingers. "That someone will be me."
"You?" one of the men croaked.
"Yes," Niko replied. "I'll play the role. Scared, ignorant. Like I was just taken from some far-off corner of the rings. You make the deal look real… and when he comes close—" he paused, letting the implication hang, "—I'll see who he is."
He started to pace slowly, arms crossed.
"I want to see this man's face. I want to know who trades in fear and silence."
The men nodded quickly, still unsure whether this was mercy or something far worse.
"Tomorrow night," Niko added. "Same alley. You'll lead him in."
"And if he doesn't show?" another man asked cautiously.
Niko stopped pacing. He looked over his shoulder, the moonlight flashing across the edge of his eye. "He will."
Then, with a voice barely above a whisper, cold as winter steel:
"If you run… if you try to warn him… if I sense anything off—I'll make you disappear so thoroughly even the House will forget you existed."
Not another word was spoken. Niko turned again, the tails of his cloak dragging behind him as he disappeared around the corner, leaving the men in the still silence of the night.
He didn't sleep when he got back to his room.
He just sat by the window, watching the moon vanish slowly behind drifting clouds, sharpening the edge of his blade.
…
…
…
Iri stirred awake, the warmth of morning sun filtering through the curtains and gently kissing her face. For a moment, she didn't move—her body sinking into the softness of the bed, her limbs unwilling to rise. She blinked a few times, half expecting the ceiling to crack, the air to distort, or the world to remind her she was still deep in the belly of the House.
But none of that happened.
Instead, peace.
She exhaled, deeply and fully, realizing it was the best sleep she'd had in years. Since before the Pale Arc. Since before wandering the endless halls and void sectors—since living on high alert, where every breath could be your last. She rubbed her face, feeling the softness of the pillow still lingering on her cheek. "Damn," she whispered, "forgot what this felt like."
She rolled out of bed and stretched, joints lightly popping. A rare smile curved her lips as she glanced at the sunlight peeking through the cracks of the window. The wind outside carried the faint scent of livestock and fresh bread. It was surreal—this city, this ring, this strange illusion of life in a place that shouldn't allow it.
She headed for the public showers next, tossing on a towel and her change of clothes. The water was warm—comforting—and for once, she let her guard down. She let it wash through her hair, over her face, across old bruises and fading marks of war. She didn't brace herself against phantom attacks. She didn't keep a weapon nearby. She just… let herself be.
Steam clung to her as she stepped out and dried off, her eyes catching her own reflection. For a second, she didn't recognize the girl staring back. Less tense. Less wild. A survivor still—but human again.
When she returned to her room, refreshed and calm, she decided to check on Niko. She walked down the hall and knocked on his door. Two knocks. Nothing.
"Still asleep?" she muttered. She knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer.
She frowned and turned, heading downstairs. The front desk clerk was jotting something down in a ledger, barely looking up as she approached. "Hey," she said casually, "can I get another key for the room next to mine?"
The clerk glanced up, his eyes lighting with faint recognition. "Looking for the boy you came in with?"
Iri's posture straightened slightly. "Yeah… you saw him?"
The clerk nodded with a small smile. "He left just after sunrise. Said he was going to explore the city."
Iri rolled her eyes, half amused, half annoyed. "Of course he did," she muttered. "He better not get himself arrested."
She turned and climbed the stairs again, slipping back into her room. She changed quickly—into a simple cloth shirt and a pair of dark sweats. She tied her hair up with practiced speed, then pulled on her light boots. Her clothes weren't flashy, but they let her move easily. Move quietly.
Before she stepped out again, she checked her small pouch of runes—just a few minor ones she'd kept. Even without a blade, she was far from helpless.
Descending the stairs again, Iri's face was unreadable. The warmth of her earlier peace was gone, replaced by sharp purpose. The clerk gave her a brief nod as she passed, but she didn't return it.
She stepped out into the street, the sunlight bouncing off cobbled stones and merchant signs, and disappeared into the crowd.
She was going somewhere.
But no one—not the clerk, not the city, not even Niko—knew exactly where.
..
Niko stood in the dim room, surrounded by cracked stone walls and the flicker of torchlight. The air was stale, tainted with sweat and fear. This was the base—the hideout—of the three men he had spared. They sat tensely across from him, backs pressed against the walls, all too aware of the storm sitting in front of them.
Niko didn't speak at first. His eyes scanned the space—every creak of wood, every rat skittering in the corner. The silence was oppressive.
Then, calmly, Niko spoke. "Let's be clear," he said, his voice low, steady. "If any of you try anything… if you so much as look at me wrong… I will absolutely obliterate you. You get me?"
The men nodded quickly, one of them sweating despite the cold.
Satisfied, Niko knelt and began going over the plan again. The meeting would be arranged in the open—an innocent-looking trade, just like the others. Only this time, Niko would be the one "sold." He'd act the part of a naïve traveler, alone, unaware. The men would carry out their roles exactly as they had before.
"But when the buyer shows up," Niko said, leaning in, "you say nothing. You do nothing. I'll handle it."
The three nodded again, slower this time. Not just out of fear—but because they were starting to believe him. His presence was undeniable. The quiet rage behind his calm demeanor—like a sleeping beast wearing a child's face.
Once he was sure they understood, Niko stood and dusted off his hands. "Good."
He turned and left the base without another word, boots echoing lightly down the stone corridor as he stepped out into the alleyway. The sun was higher now, bathing the city in gold. A light breeze rustled through market cloths and the occasional cluster of hanging flowers. The sound of hooves, chatter, and bartering voices rose into the air, painting the city as alive and bustling as any major kingdom.
Niko took a long breath. His eyes lifted to the horizon.
And there, towering in the far distance—so far it seemed like it belonged to another world—was a structure that made him stop cold.
A massive black tower pierced the sky. It was far—at least 600 kilometers by his guess—but visible even from here, that's how large it was. Its walls were impossibly smooth, unlike any brick or stone he'd seen. The material shimmered oddly in the sunlight, as if it rejected light itself.
Niko squinted, trying to make sense of it.
Curious, he turned to a nearby merchant stacking fruit and asked, "Hey… that tower way out there—what is it?"
The merchant followed his gaze and gave a simple answer. "Ah, that's where the Family stays. The Dark tower they call it."
"Family?" Niko asked.
The man nodded. "The first ones. The ones who survived the Pale Arc long ago. The founders of this place. They built Sanctuary. They rule it now, more or less."
Niko blinked, surprised. "So there's… royalty here?"
"Something like that," the man said with a shrug. "People say they're the reason we can live safely in this ring."
Niko nodded, offering a quiet thanks before continuing down the road, his eyes still trailing the distant tower.
Even here… even in a place birthed by survival… power finds its throne.
He walked on, thoughts swirling. Something told him that tower—and the ones who lived in it—would become very relevant, very soon.