Hala timed it perfectly. Moonlight caught the gold threads in their turquoise robes as they stepped into view, making their entrance divine. They lived for these momentsâthe sharp intake of breath, the widening eyes, the beautiful disruption they caused simply by existing. Tonight was no exception.
âWell, well... what do we have here? Tonightâs divas drinking straight from the bottle like alcoholics?â Halaâs heels clicked a rhythm against the stone as they approachedâclick, click, clickâeach step a reminder that they were that b*tch. âMay I join this tragic gathering, or is this pity party invitation-only?â
Without waiting for an answer, they took the wine bottle from Theaâs hand. âYou know what I adore about both your mothers?â A pause, then a generous swig before continuing, âAbsolutely nothing. Theyâre magnificent c*nts. Perfectly coiffed, viciously proper, and theyâve spent decades perfecting the art of saying âIâm disappointed in youâ with just a single eyebrow raise.â
Rings chimed against glass as they passed the bottle back, the sound as sharp as their smirk. âYou realize theyâve designed the game so you canât win?â
Their robes caught the windâor perhaps the wind caught their robesâturning turquoise silk into living flame that licked and coiled around their form. âSo hereâs my revolutionary suggestion: stop playing. Stop caring about their approval. Youâre already failures in their eyesâso why not be spectacular failures? Go full disaster. Do you have any idea how much youâve been holding back all because you were trying to be good little daughters?â
A scoff rolled off their tongue. âLike thatâs done either of you any favors.â
Moving with feline grace, Hala stalked a circle around the two women. âThe trick isnât avoiding their venom; itâs developing immunity to itâ,â their eyes glittered dangerously, ââand then learning to extract it and serve it right back to them.â
Mischief curved their lips. âGive them something worth talking about. Make them choke on their own standards. Let them see exactly what beautiful disasters theyâve created.â
Heat. Searing. Burning from inside. Throat dry. Tongue thick. Sweat. Everywhere sweat. Consciousness flickered like a dying bulb. Everything hazy, distant.
Awareness returned in fragmentsâhis own ragged breathing, the faint hum of electricity somewhere nearby. Zachariahâs fingers clutched at crisp linen sheets, the detergent scent sharp in his nostrils beneath the layer of his own sweat. His head pounded, each throb a hammer blow against his skull, and his tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth.
His eyelids lifted slowly, fighting against their weight. The ceiling above was unfamiliarâwater-stained in one corner but recently painted. The mattress beneath him felt firmer than what he was used to, the pillow flatter. This wasnât his bed. And this definitely wasnât his room. It had that not-quite-lived-in feeling of a guest space. Bare walls except for a single abstract print. Two mini-fridges hummed quietly against the baseboard. On a nearby chair sat folded clothesâdark jeans, black t-shirt.
When Zachariah tried to sit up, his muscles protested with the peculiar ache of disuse. How long had he been here? Days blurred together in his memory, a fever dream of shadows and whispers he couldnât quite grasp. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting cool hardwood. Standing took more effort than it should have, his legs leaden beneath him. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he shuffled toward the door, one hand braced against the wall for support.
The living area beyond opened up before himâsparse but lived-in. Stale cigarette smoke and the yeasty tang of old beer hung thick in the air. Neon lights cast colored shadows across the walls, their buzz barely audible above the buildingâs ancient radiator. Leather jackets draped over furniture and littered the floor like shed skins. By the door, combat boots were lined up, sized for smaller feet. A couch dominated one wall, its worn fabric patched with mismatched scraps.
Across a coffee table, papers were scattered: invoices, supply orders, all bearing the same headerâRavens Nest. The name triggered a vague memory of a tattoo shop downtown. Sketchbooks lay open, pages filled with intricate designs of skulls, roses, and geometric patterns.
No one else was in the apartment.
Thirst clawed at his throat with renewed urgency, drawing him back toward the bedroom.
Water. He needed water.
Zachariah yanked open the first mini-fridge. Bottles of water filled the shelf beneath wrapped sandwiches and fruit cups. He grabbed the nearest bottle and drained it in desperate gulps. Then another, and another.
The cool liquid soothed his throat but didnât touch the deeper ache that gnawed him hollow.
Was it hunger? The food looked appealing enough, but eating someoneâs food without permission felt wrong.
And⌠that wasnât quite it either.
Almost unconsciously, his hand drifted to the second fridge. The door swung open with a soft whoosh, and Zachariah froze.
Blood bags.
Rows of them, dark red verging on black in the refrigerator light. Dark liquid garnets. Forbidden wine. The plastic pulsed with promise, calling to something primal within him.
Saliva flooded his mouth, throat constricting with a want so profound it made his knees weak. His vision narrowed until all he could see was that gorgeous crimson. Every cell screamed for it, fingers trembling as they reached forward.
Just one taste. Just oneâ
Nausea slammed into him, sharp and cold. Zachariah stumbled backward, hand clamped over his mouth as he bolted from the room.
Bathroomâthere had to be a bathroom. He barely made it to the sink before his body convulsed with dry heaves.
When the spasms finally subsided, he gripped the porcelain edge with white knuckles and forced himself to look up.
The mirror showed a stranger. His skin had lost its color. His eyes held a glimmer heâd seen before. In others. In monsters.
With trembling fingers, he pulled back his upper lip to reveal what he already knew would be there. The pad of his thumb traced the sharp point of an elongated canine, confirming his worst fear.
Time: A.M. Location: River Port Streets Interactions/Mentions:@Conscripts@mole Equipment: Knife, drugs, and wallet looted from dope peddler
â â â â â
The laugh that rolled out was all bourbon and poker chips. âWhat kinda lunatic you figure me for, big fella?â The orc didnât answer, and Vasco didnât give him one either.
Auroraâs talk of goodness set his skin crawling something fierce. There was a way about her faith in him that felt wrong, a silk handkerchief wrapped around a lead pipe. Couldnât figure why it bothered him so. Better to let sleeping dogs lie than chase that particular thought down any dark alleys.
Ahead loomed the storehouse, its roof cutting a jagged line against the sky. Barrock was yapping about being careful, about making plans. But the nut had Vascoâs blood singing a different tune altogether.
âPlan?â Backward he walked, arms spread wide, every bit the carnival barker. âWhatâs to plan? Big fellow like you ainât exactly built for the quiet approach.â He jerked his chin toward Aurora. âAnd the dame ainât gonna be throwing hands, is she?â
A crooked grin split his mug, all red-stained promises and bad decisions. âHereâs your plan: Iâll kick up enough dust out front to wake the dead, while you two slip in the back door and grab your princess.â The nutâs effects were really hitting now â turning everything bright, sharp and soft at the same time. His heart drummed a jazz beat against his ribs as his blood fizzed. âSimple as gin in a teacup.â
Without waiting for their verdict, off he went, riding that high wave right toward the man at the door. The guy barely had time to register surprise before knuckles introduced themselves to jaw with a satisfying crack that wouldâve made Dempsey proud. The poor sap went flying through the door, and in followed a grinning mobster, devil himself dancing in his eyes.
âCharlotte.â Rynâs whisper barely disturbed the air.
The Lady jumped, a small, startled movement like that of a fawn catching an unexpected scent. When she turned to find him with his finger pressed against his lips, her shoulders eased.
âFancy meeting you here,â she breathed, mustering a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.
Ryn returned the smile. âIf you were poisoned, should you be out here eavesdropping rather than on your way to a doctor?â His voice carried more fondness and little reproach.
He withdrew the enchanted lenses from his coat pocket, studying her magicae briefly before extending them towards her. âThese symptoms⌠do they feel similar to that night at the masquerade?â Accepting the lenses once Lady Charlotte inspected herself with them, Ryn set a glass bottle filled with water beside her.
He had not dawdled in following her. The moment she had risen from her seat, Ryn made straight for Captain Wasun. A courteous bowââI am terribly sorry we havenât been properly introduced, Captain, I do hope weâll remedy that soonââfollowed by a meaningful squeeze of Lord Vael-Damienâs shoulder. Then he slipped out of the room, taking two glass tumblers and a bottle from one of the serving stations along the way.
Now, he lifted the borrowed tumblers with a conspiratorial arch of his eyebrow. At Lady Charlotteâs puzzled expression, he demonstrated, pressing the glass against the heavy oak door and leaning forward to rest his ear against its base. The muffled voices on the other side sharpened.
⢠Height | 6â2â (188 cm) ⢠Build | Lean and athletic with broad shoulders ⢠Eye Color | Vivid emerald green ⢠Hair Color & Style | Dark espresso brown, long and tousled, falling past the shoulders in silky waves ⢠Skin Tone | Warm porcelain ⢠Notable Marks | Tattoos along his collarbones and throat; a silver scar under his jaw barely visible ⢠Typical Clothing Style | Practical yet elegant ⢠Aura/First Impression | Hauntingly beautiful, magnetic, and distant â an elegant predator wrapped in quiet melancholy ⢠Voice | Smooth and low with a velvety rasp, deliberate and calm
⢠Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 3 ⢠Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3 ⢠Romantic Preferences | Serious ⢠Current Romantic Interests | Not at the moment. ⢠View on Forbidden Relationships | Nice on paper, not so much in reality. ⢠Biggest Turn-ons | âŚKind âŚFunny âŚSincere ⢠Biggest Turn-offs | âŚSadistic âŚManipulative âŚApathetic ⢠Known Friends | He had friends in the Wardens, however, now that he has turned, heâs not sure if they still consider him as one. ⢠Known Enemies | All vampires ⢠Known Family | Parents and younger sister are still alive and well, but his twin brother is still missing.
⢠Hobbies/Interests | âŚExploration âŚMovies/TV shows âŚBoard games ⢠Likes | âŚClear communication âŚStrong Coffee or tea âŚSound of rain and crackling fire ⢠Dislikes | âŚOvercrowded spaces âŚBeing caught unprepared âŚInvasive touch ⢠Fears | âŚLosing control of his own mind or body âŚAnything bad happening to his family âŚBeing tied up or bound (Merinthophobia) ⢠Habits | âŚRecord-keeping âŚDaily training routines âŚChecking locks and exits twice ⢠Vices | âŚWorkaholic tendencies âŚCaffeine dependency âŚPrivate brooding
Core Motivation
Protect humanity.
Personality Overview
Zachariah Reed embodies discipline and stubbornness as two sides of the same coinâhis focused determination allows him to maintain control while simultaneously making him resistant to changing course once committed. He views the world through a critical lens, quick to form judgments about othersâ character and intentions, especially those he deems morally compromised. Although outwardly stern, there is quiet compassion that occasionally reveals itself. Above all, his loyalty defines himâunwavering and absolute to those who earned his trust, willing to make any sacrifice necessary to protect what matters to him without hesitation or compromise.
⢠Current Occupation | Unknown if heâll be able to continue to work as a Warden ⢠Level of Schooling | MSc Finance & Accounting ⢠Past Occupations | Warden and independent consultant ⢠Socioeconomic Status | Middle Class ⢠History Summary | Zachariah and Elijah Reed were inseparable from birth. Twin brothers growing up in a modest home on the edges of Halcyon, they were ordinary boys with ordinary dreams. The twins spent their days exploring the cityâs hidden corners, racing bikes through narrow alleys, and making trouble with their small group of friends.
At fourteen, the boys were fearless, convinced of their own immortality. Theyâd dare each other to venture into abandoned buildings, sneak into movie theaters, and explore the parts of the city their parents had warned them to avoid. They knew nothing of the supernatural world that existed in the shadows around them, protected by the Glamour that kept ordinary citizens oblivious.
It was a humid summer night when Zachariah, Elijah, and three of their friends decided to explore an abandoned warehouse. The building had been condemned for years, but rumors of strange noises and lights had piqued their teenage curiosity. They didnât know they were trespassing on newly claimed vampire territory.
The attack came without warning. One moment they were laughing, flashlight beams dancing across graffiti-covered walls; the next, inhuman shapes moved through the darkness. The boys were surrounded, overpowered, and dragged deeper into the building to a hidden underground chamber where a gathering of vampires had been feeding.
For three days, the vampires tormented them. The boys were kept in makeshift cells, brought out for the amusement of their captors. The vampires fed on them slowly, drawing out their suffering, using them for entertainment. The Reed brothers watched as their friends were broken, one by one - their spirits crushed before their bodies gave out.
On the third night, as Zachariah was being dragged from his cell, gunfire erupted through the complex. The Wardens had tracked the vampire nest and launched an assault. In the chaos, Zachariah saw one of the vampires grab Elijah by the throat and flee through a hidden passage. He screamed his brotherâs name, struggling against his bonds, but there was nothing he could do as his twin disappeared into the darkness.
To protect Zachariahâs family from the truth, the Wardens staged a tragic accident. A gas leak explosion in the abandoned building claimed the lives of Elijah and their friends, leaving the young Reed as the sole survivor with no memory of the incident due to trauma. His parents, devastated by the loss of one son, focused their attention on helping the other recover. But Zachariah remembered everything. The Wardens approached him discreetly, offering purpose for his rage and grief. He accepted without hesitation, beginning his training in secret while maintaining the facade of a normal life for his familyâs sake.
Throughout high school and college, Zachariah lived a double life. By day, he was a student pursuing degrees in finance and accounting. By night, he trained with the Wardens, learning to hunt, to track, to kill. He channeled his trauma into precision and focus, becoming a disciplined and lethal force.
After graduating, Zachariah established Reed Financial Forensics, an independent consultancy specializing in uncovering financial irregularities, fraud investigation, and due diligence for mergers and acquisitions. His Warden connections steered clients his way, quickly building his reputation in Halcyonâs business community as meticulous, discreet, and thorough.
This role provided the perfect cover. As a third-party consultant, Zachariah could access the books of businesses owned by vampires, lycans, and fae. He could examine property holdings, trace shell companies, analyze cash flows, and identify suspicious transactionsâall under the guise of professional services. No one suspected that, through their accountant, the Wardens were mapping their networks and tracking their movements.
When he wasnât fighting numbers, Warden Zachariah Reed was hunting monsters. Over the years, he eliminated a number of vampires, each kill bringing him no closer to peace but feeding the cold resolve that had replaced his heart. All the while, he searched for any trace of the vampire who had taken Elijah, or any hint of his brotherâs fate.
Zachariah was investigating financial irregularities at a high-end nightclub rumored to be a vampire feeding ground and was on his way there when he noticed something unusual in a darkened alley. Following his instincts, he diverted from his path to check it out. What he thought might be a simple matter quickly escalated into a violent confrontation. Though his Warden training served him well, a vicious slash across his chest sent him staggering backward. As blood soaked through his shirt, a powerful blow to his head slammed him against the brick wall and everything went black.
He awoke to the Sanguine Curse burning through his veins.
⢠Born or Turned? | Turned ⢠Blood Source Preference | Synthetic ⢠Blood Addiction Risk (1-5) | 3 ⢠View on Fae Blood Ban | Couldnât care less about it ⢠Views on Mortals | Must protect the innocent ⢠Views on Fae | Reluctantly tolerates⌠for now ⢠Views on Lycan | Dislikes them, but not as much as vampires ⢠Views on Vampires | Must exterminate
Ms. Persephone had not uttered a word in some time, Ryn noticedâher eyes darted about the room like a trapped sparrow. At first, he had attributed her unease to the rather delicate matter of her current situation. Impersonating nobility while Count Damien sat mere tables away was hardly conducive to a relaxing evening, after all. The grandeur of the setting by itself could unsettle those unused to such displays of wealth and power, let alone those who regarded them with contempt.
Orâand this thought gave him pauseâpossibly he was the source of her discomfort. He struggled to pinpoint any particular offense; their interactions since the masquerade had been limited to passing pleasantries. Hardly the stuff of lasting grievance. Still, with these things, one never knew.
Watching her, however, he realized it was not any one thing causing her distressâit was everything. The sounds, the smells, even the very air seemed to press against her like a physical weight. As voices rose around them, the shadows beneath her eyes deepened, and something flickered behind her gazeâa darkness that made him think of storm clouds gathering before thunder.
He was about to suggest she might benefit from some fresh air when soft arms encircled him from behind.
Lady Charlotteâs embrace was tender, warm, yet it sent an inexplicable chill down his spine. Not a word passed her lips, but the gesture carried all the weight of a farewell. Then she was gone, offering Mr. Kazumin both an embrace and affectionate words.
âKaz.â The whisper was so faint, Ryn nearly missed it. âOutside. Now. Please.â
Words rose to his lips and died there. If his earlier assessment of her discomfort around him held any truth, his presence would only compound her distress. Best to leave this to someone she trusted. Ryn caught Mr. Kazuminâs eye and gave a slight nod, watching as he hurried after her.
With a quiet sigh, Ryn divided his attention between Duke Vikenaâjust in case the man decided to make this evening even more interestingâand the high table. Lady Morrigan, silent as she had been at the theatre, now leaned close to Prince Callumâs ear. Though her words were lost to distance, Ryn could read the shape of her question clearly enough: Who are you?
Or what? he added. The princeâs magicae had altered dramatically since Ryn's last assessment, and not in ways that suggested natural progression. The dark entityâs presence raised many troubling questions: Had it been invited inâthrough a spell of the prince's own castingâor had it found its way in through other means? A curse, perhaps, tied to one of those artifacts he and his maid had discovered? Or had something fundamental shifted within the prince himself these past few days?
Captain Wasunâs suggestionââCharlotte, you should go find doctorââcut through Rynâs musings. He took a moment to consider everything he had observed throughout the evening. While Duke Vikena might be correct about Lady Charlotte feeling the sting of rejection, Ryn was not entirely convinced it was by Mr. Deacon. There was also the Captain himself, whose gaze kept straying to a beautiful woman who was in the company of Lord Vael-Damien with an ache that mirrored Lady Charlotteâs own. Not quite the same story, nonetheless written in the same ink.
Perhaps he should check. âYou do look unwell, Lady Charlotte. Would it help if Lord Cassius Damien escorted you to the infirmary?â
Hala blinked once, twice, their pearl-dusted eyelids catching the chandelier light as reality sank in: Milo had actually left them standing there, alone, in the middle of this sorry excuse for a banquet like last seasonâs shoes.
A slow burn crept up their spine, hot and electric. The nerve. The absolute nerve of Milo St. Claire to chase after someone else while they were in the middle ofâ
Something stirred against their ribsâa tiny tremor that snapped their focus away from the simmering indignation. Instinctively, Halaâs hand slipped beneath the folds of their outfit, fingers finding soft fur that quivered beneath their touch.
âShhh, habibti,â they whispered, âMamaâs just having a moment.â
Glancing up, Hala caught Little Miss Divine herself slipping through the double doors with another woman. Sharp as a catâs claws, their lips curled upward. Well then, if Milo wanted to waste the honor of their company...
They adjusted their garment before gliding toward the doors. But firstâ
âNadim,â they called to the massive black dog padding faithfully at their heels. They jerked their chin toward where the Shehzadi sat. âGo give Nana some love.â
Nadimâs eyes lit up like it was his birthday. He bounded across the polished floor, making a beeline for Nahir. They doubted she had time to register what was coming before ninety-nine pounds of pure enthusiasm planted both paws on her shoulders and began thoroughly redecorating her face with slobber.
When the Shehzadiâs gaze caught Hala through the messy kiss, they wiggled their fingers in a wave and sashayed out the doors. Their heels clicked softly against the marble as they passed beneath arched windows streaked with moonlight. A quick study of the buildingâs layout earlier had proven usefulâquite useful indeed. They emerged into a dimly lit side courtyard just as voices carried over from the front steps.
âAre you doing okay?â
Halaâs smile sharpened as they followed the sound.
They ran down the alley, boots sounding like scattered drum beats. Behind them, the door shuddered and groaned, but the makeshift barricade heldâat least long enough for a head start.
By the time the thugs figured out the front exit might be a faster way to catch them, they were already a good few meters ahead of them. However, the Slop Shack was built on the shoreline by the piers, so until they progressed deeper into the slums, there werenât that many options for where they could run. The four ruffians still had them in their sights, so they would have to get a bit creative.
Wulfric picked up the first piece of sizable debris that came under his hands â a discarded plank. He threw it at their first pursuer; the thug leader with his muscular frame and longer stride was the fastest. The burly man seized the plank mid-air, and ripped the rotting wood apart with a shout. âSomeoneâs angry,â the prince noted idly even as he jogged onwards, gaze flicking here and there for more environmental aids and opportunities.
âI canât imagine why,â came Hendrixâs voice from distinctly not where heâd been three steps ago. âAll we did was taunt them, embarrass them in front of the entire establishment, barricade them behind a door, and now weâre throwing whatever we can at their heads.â Tracing the playful voice upward, Wulfric found the count practically skipping along the wallâs coping like it was a garden path.
âItâs their own fault for being so inept,â Wulfric commented. âLet me know if you see anything useful from up there,â he said even as he kicked an empty barrel, sending it rolling under their pursuersâ feet. He weaved in and out of alleys while Hendrix pranced above on the walls and rooftops. âYou fuckers!â the pugilist roared, and returning like with like, threw an empty bottle towards Wulfric. The knifeless man was trying to pelt the count with stones. None of the projectiles reached, but they did cause an awful racket. Thankfully, the docks were practically abandoned at this time of night, though the prince did spot a few curious souls take a peek through the window only to dismiss the activity as none of their business. There was a stray drunkard who tottered along the edges of the street, but he still had enough wits about him to stagger out of the way of the group of men charging through like a crash of rhinos.
In the distance, he heard a party of cavorting folks. To avoid them, Wulfric gave the area a wide berth. However, his path took him to an unfamiliar yet densely packed area. Wooden shacks were littered around. Navigating by the stars was possible, but the scant light did little in the way of illuminating the path.
Across the open shores, the salt-laden breeze danced freely. It was trapped by the confines of the alleyways, succumbing to stagnation. Garbage infested the streets, along with the stench of piss and shit, rat corpses clogging the gutters. The susurration of sand under his boots gradually shifted to the soft squelching of mud. He slowed down to scope out the surroundings when he was reminded he did not have to do so all on his own.
A different city existed on the rooftops. In the spaces betweenâwhere buildings almost touched but did not quiteâRyn spotted routes the earthbound would never see. âTake the next left!â he called down to the prince who was doing a remarkable job of not getting caught so far.
Wulfric did not hesitate to take the turn, and was not led astray.
Night wind rushed around him as Ryn leapt between buildings. His boots barely touched the neighboring roof before he was moving again, muscles coiling and releasing. All the while, he kept watch over Prince Wulfricâs progress through the maze.
âRight at the crooked lamp post,â Ryn directed, rolling smoothly across a slanted roof. âMind theââ He winced as the prince discovered the pile of fish guts. âNever mind.â
Wulfric grimaced as he waded through a knee-high heap of discarded viscera. The scent reminded him of that unfortunate fish stew, and his stomach shuddered at the memory, bile rising to the back of his throat. However, he ran on, waving a dismissive hand towards Fritz. âIâll live,â he gritted out. âNo need for extraneous data,â he reassured. He was confident he didnât need to concern himself over the count who was multitasking marvellously, yet he was just as sure it would be simpler for Hendrix if he didnât have to parse the kinds of details the royal could do without. âFocus on whatâs important.â
That, Ryn could do.
A crumbling stone wall stretched up ahead, a remnant of an old building torn town. It served as a partial barrier between two tiny neighbourhoods within the docks, and provided a semblance of privacy to the residents on each side. Eyeing the obstacle, Wulfric took a page out of the countâs book of tricks, and went on to scale it. At the edge of the wall, convenient pieces of debris were scattered on the road, precariously balanced. Scanning them in the scant seconds as he sped closer, he judged which ones to use as a springboard. In a hop, a skip, and a jump, he reached its highest point with his palms, and vaulted up onto it in one fluid motion. It wasnât to show off - well, maybe just a little, the whistle and applause from Hendrix did tickle his ego - but to get an overview of the situation and plan their next steps together with the count.
âThey are not that far away,â he said of the thugs, who were lagging only a few streets behind. Looking this way and that, he imprinted as much of this unknown part of the cityscape into his mind map as possible. Given he had only a few steps left before he ran out of the rampart, that wasnât much. But it was enough to give him an idea. Off in the distance, two neat rows of lights stretched along a lengthy road. The Peasant Lane. âThere are more patrols there,â he murmured. âIf we cannot shake them off otherwise, let us arrange a handover, and have someone else deal with these idiots, shall we?â The end of the wall was right in front of him.
âI am entrusting the route planning to you.â His gaze lingered on Fritz for a beat longer. Yes, he did in fact trust him enough to rely on him. There were certainly ways he could rationalize the whys, but in that moment, it was the pure conviction that the man wouldnât let him down. In the next breath, he jumped off of the wall. Landing in a crouch, he broke his fall with a roll. Now back to street level, he dashed onwards as soon as he picked himself up, running pace unbroken.
The irony was not lost on the countâthe heir apparent of Caesonia, the great-grandson of Julian and Ida Danrose, trusted Ryn to guide him. Rynâs laugh came out as a breath, sharp and fleeting. Trust. What a fragile thing.
Momentum carried him sideways, boots scraping against soot-stained brick. A leap, a pivot off a dangling shop signâThe Rusty Anchorâthen a drop onto an awning. The canvas groaned but held, slingshotting him forward into a balcony.
They were a mismatched arrowhead in the districtâRyn above, Wulfric belowâcutting between row houses and heaps of refuse that even rats avoided.
A flicker of torchlight caught his attention. There, at the intersectionâa familiar silhouette multiplied. Metal glinted beneath dark cloaks.
Rynâs gaze darted between the waterâs edge and the thugs still in pursuit. âKeep going, Iâll be back,â he called, already changing course across the rooftops, leaving the prince to wonder at his sudden departure.
Well then.
It was time to lure the pursuers elsewhere, and Wulfric knew exactly where he would lead them to. He slowed down a tad, weaving between buildings until the gangsters noticed only one of their targets remained in sight.
âHa-ah!â the leader laughed even as he puffed. âFriend ditched you?â
âI told youâŚâ Wulfric raised his voice just so, âI am enough to take you all on!â Running between the final line of buildings, he emerged onto the docks. It was a clear area with few obstacles and even fewer places to hide. That had both its advantages and disadvantages, but for now, itâd work. He edged his way towards the piers, scoping out the field where they would face off.
âWhy not jusâ do thaâ in tâ firsâ place, huhh?!â That was the bruiser who was the second closest on his tail. While the other men, shaggy-hair and pony-tail lagged behind, these two were already encircling him, eyeing him cautiously as they took the chance to regain their breath. âPlanninâ sumthinâ, huh?â
Wulfric smirked with all the arrogance befitting a prince. He adopted a condescending attitude, full of swagger as a means of provoking them into irrationality. âWhy, are you afraid to fight two-on-one? Cowards,â he mocked.
The taunt had the predicted effect, and the two teamed up against him. The burly leader ran at him with a shout, aiming to put him into a grappling hold. Meanwhile, the bruiser was positioning to the side to hem him in. So, the two were used to working together. The fatigue from the chase and the anger both worked against them, their movements less precise as a result. Of course, Wulfric was not unaffected from all the running either, but he had had about half a minute longer to rest than them. It would have to do. He fell into a crouch, spreading out his arms as if readying to meet the leader head on. At the last moment, he grabbed one burly arm, shifted sideways, and with a counter-grab over the manâs neck, swept his legs underneath him, throwing him over his hip.
Of course, the bruiser wasnât merely standing there twiddling his thumbs. He came at Wulfric with a series of hits, a fierce sequence of hands, feet, elbows, and knees. An open area worked well for his opponent, and the prince was left mostly blocking and evading. If he had a blade, the fight would be finished by now.
If I had a blade, it would be finished - bloodily.
Shaggy-haired and pony-tail finally caught up, joining in. Largely, they were harassing the prince and limiting his movement options. Not only was that extremely annoying, in a prolonged fight, it would have likely cost him the victory. He edged to the border of the wharf, seeking a way out while the goons got the impression they were cornering him against the waterfront.
There! A glimmer of approaching lanterns, the flutter of cloaks in the wind, outlines of men armoured and armed. Just a bit moreâŚ
âWeâre not lettinâ you run this time!â Having noticed him peering around, the pony-tailed man lunged in, a twisted piece of metal wielded as a baton, ready to strike. Wulfric braced for impact even as he tried to evade, when some sort of a makeshift projectile - a rock, by the sounds of it - hit pony-tailâs rod, knocking it off-course. The prince was as surprised as his opponent. He knew the guards were on the way, but this had come flying from another direction. Which meantâ
âWhuâ Where didâ?â
Before the pony-tailed man might get clued into the countâs presence, the prince improvised.
âGuards!â he hissed.
âAs if weâd believe that!â
âWait, noâ boss, theyâre cominâ over fer real!â
âWhen didâ?!â
Sensing opportunity, the royal acted.
SPLAAAASH!
Having pushed one man into the sea, Wulfric began a mad dash back towards the alleyways.
âROY!â the leader roared.
âBastard!!â That was the bruiser.
âFuckâthe guardsâre almost âere!â
âOOYY! Whatâs goinâ on there!â that was one of the guards hollering at the lot of troublemakers causing a commotion.
âDamn it! DAMN! We canât waste time on that fuckinâ bastardâŚâ The words receded into incomprehensible shouting as the prince gained distance.
While the thugs were all a-tizzy, frantically working together to pull their ally out of water, Wulfric was full-on sprinting. One of the guards had split off from the rest to pursue him, but the royal had a head start. He vanished into the first alley-way he came across, taking sharp lefts and rights to impede the lone guard from catching sight of where exactly he had gone.
There was that familiar, practically soundless padding of feet across a rooftop nearby. A whisper of his name was carried to him by the nightâs breeze, gentle as a petal floating off a flowering tree. Wulfric followed the call to the countâs silhouette outlined by moonlight, where he crouched on the roof and extended a hand down to him.
Ghostly pale. Beckoning him.
The prince approached a nearby windowsill at a run. Once the toes of his right boot were on the narrow ledge, he channeled all of his momentum into one powerful, vertical jump. He grasped Hendrixâs hand, and the count pulled him up with strength he wouldnât have expected given the manâs frame. His free hand grabbed onto the edge of the roof, his boots found purchase on the wall, and he landed next to Fritz in an awkward half-crouch. If the man hadnât moved out of the way, Wulfric would have ended half on top of him, so though not as graceful as he would have liked, the maneuver ended better than it could have.
A couple of streets away, the tell-tale clink-clink of someone running in armour could be heard. âImpeccable timing,â Wulfric huffed a near-silent laugh. The two used a fallen beam as a catwalk to the next building over, and found a convenient nook in its half-exposed attic to hide within. There were crates, wooden panels, and a variety of clutter they could use as cover, so it was simply a matter of waiting until the guard gave up on chasing them.
The small attic nook seemed to shrink with each passing heartbeat, or perhaps that was just Rynâs awareness narrowing to the man beside him. Prince Wulfric radiated heat like a furnace after their midnight chase, his presence filling every corner of their hiding spot. Each measured breath ghosted across Rynâs skin, raising goosebumps despite the warmth of the summer air. A bead of sweat traced down the princeâs temple, catching the moonlight, and Ryn found himself transfixed by its slow descent.
The prince shifted beside him, and the movement only brought them closer together in the confined space. What had been noticeable heat before now pressed against him fully, and Ryn could feel each rise and fall of Prince Wulfricâs quickened breath.
And it was at that moment when the smell decided to join them. Fish guts.
âI guess youâll be needing another bath,â Ryn whispered with a soft laugh, though considering he had skipped his own wash earlier, he was hardly one to talk.
Wulfric turned to Hendrix, arched eyebrow raising sardonically, only to realize how very close they were. Breaths intermingling, bodies pressing together. He didnât even mind the smell of sweat, had adapted to it without realizing. Yet, he was able to detect something distinctly Fritz in the manâs scent. His mouth grew drier, and not only because of the need to hydrate. He resisted the urge to stare.
Huffing, he shook his head, and redirected his attention outside, watching out for the guard. When it was safe to do so, he descended back to street level. âThat was an impressive feat of marksmanship back there,â he referenced Hendrixâs rock throw. He had not seen him do it, but he knew he must have been the one to disrupt that one thugâs attack. âHas anyone ever told you that you take on more work than needed?â he asked jokingly. Really, the count was far too good at making himself reliable.
Ryn looked up, âDo I?â
Tilting his head at the man, scrutinizing, he replied with meaning, âYes.â A pregnant pause followed as he considered whether to say more.
Ultimately, he did. âIf we are to be allies, you can depend on me, at least for some things.â
This time, it was the other man who paused. â... Such as?â
âSuch as trusting I can handle myself in a fight, so you can rest easy and not worry too much,â he drawled. With a tiny nonchalant shrug, he added, âGenerally, I am inclined to assist in matters which are aligned with our goals.â Heâd figured that much was self-evident, though by the way Hendrix was looking at him, he was judging how far he could extend that trust. Well, that feeling was very much mutual. âWhy, do you have something in mind you would like a princeâs help with?â he inquired curiously.
â... A lot of somethings,â Ryn smiled weakly at the prince. âMany of which Iâm not sure what to do⌠or if⌠â He looked away from the prince and sighed. âIâm sorry. Thereâs things that I still need to make sense of.â Then, with a brand new smile, Ryn faced Prince Wulfric. âThanks for offering, Adel. Youâll be the first to know when I need your help.â
Wulfric hummed. âDo keep it in mind. I rarely make this kind of offer, so it would be rather a waste.â Rolling his neck, he cast a glance upwards. It was getting late, but he did not wish to wrap up the night just yet. âSo, is there anything else that you would like to see?â he turned Hendrixâs earlier question back on him.
âSomewhere other than a bathhouse? Hmm.â Rynâs gaze traveled across the expanse of Sorian before settling on the capitalâs tallest building.
From the bell towerâs height, the two men watched Sorian surrender to the deepest hours of night. Most windows had gone dark, though scattered lamplight still pierced the darkness below like earthbound starsâtaverns, brothels, and gambling houses burned the brightest. Darkness claimed the slums, their shapes lost in the shadows, broken only by the occasional flicker of illicit fires. Beyond the harbor, moonlight painted a silver path across the waters, stretching toward the horizon where sky and sea became one.
âAmazing,â Ryn breathed, his words carried away by the wind that played among the towerâs ancient bells.
Perched on the parapet edging the small viewing area located beneath the bell towerâs roof, Wulfric canted his head, watching the starred expanse above as a small carefree smile played about his lips. Hendrixâs whisper tickled his ears, stirring old memories even as this very moment created a new one, a recollection he might cherish in the future. âBreathtaking, isnât it?â he murmured.
He stretched out a hand, reaching above, to the stars. He traced the path they lighted, a vast expanse of darkness in between rendered trivial only due to its unfathomable distance. Yet, the illusion that it was close enough to grasp incited boundless desire. His extended fingers lingered at the boundary between the heavens and the earth, the line between them blurring as they joined into one. Even as his hand retracted, a sense of nostalgia permeating him, he posed a quiet question. âHave you ever wondered what it would be like to sail amongst the stars?â
âNot in many years,â Ryn eyed the profile of the princeâs face, noting the childlike wonder on it. âHave you?â
âYes, butâŚâ a hint of wryness crept in, âMy answer is the same as yours, truth be told.â Folding one leg up, he leaned an elbow on it, resting his head on a palm. âIt has beenâŚa while.â Their adventures of the day recalled a time long past. âI havenât had this kind of fun in many years. I never even knew running away could be so enjoyable,â he mused. Facing the count, he said plainly, âThank you for today.â For giving me a chance is what he meant perhaps, though whether the prideful prince could even be aware of such a notion was unknown.
Ryn stared at the prince for a long moment, the words forming slowly, as if they had to travel a great distance to reach his tongue. âThank you, Your Highness,â he said finally, âfor giving it a chance.â Because none of thisâthe chaos, the laughter, the strange, unexpected joy of it allâwould have happened if the prince had not taken a chance with him.
Absorbing Miloâs praise, Halaâs chest expanded like a peacockâs plume. Obviously people would want to immortalize them in artâthat was the natural order of things. Shame those attempts would only ever catch a sliver of their essence. Still, hearing it said out loud made Hala glow brighter.
âPlease,â they exhaled, their voice textured with amused impatience. âHumble is cute, but confidence is what makes blood rush to all the interesting places.â A smirk crossed their lips. âYou orchestrated that whole scene without even trying. Own your genius. Donât waste your talents on modesty.â With an elegant flick of their wrist, they added, âThe worldâs already drowning in mediocrity.â
Around the dining hall, fragments of drama unfolding in every corner caught their ear. Their expression turned positively feline. âDo you hear that?â Hala leaned in, close enough to smell Miloâs cologneâan original blend, they guessed, and tastefully applied. âAll this wasted material, just begging for you to turn them into something unforgettable.â
Without waiting for permissionâa thing Hala rarely didâtheir hand slipped into the crook of Miloâs arm. Their bangles chimed softly with the movement. Against their fingertips, the fabric of his jacket felt expensive, and they allowed themselves a moment to appreciate both the tailoring and the arm underneath it.
âNow that you know you're being watched so closelyâŚâ Dark and rich, their voice dipped like chocolate with a hint of chili. âShow me what masterpiece you can create, artiste.â They gestured to the hall, giving Milo the honor of escorting them to the stage of his choosing.
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