Chapter 4: Seeds of Dissent

The cool night air was alive with the faint sounds of the city—distant laughter from taverns, the creak of cart wheels on cobblestone, and the occasional bark of stray dogs. Valen leaned against the wall of an abandoned warehouse, his sharp eyes scanning the streets for any sign of movement. He had spent the better part of the past week weaving his way into the lives of the gang's rank-and-file members, quietly nudging them to see things his way. Tonight would be no different.

A soft shuffle of boots on stone drew his attention. A young gang member, lean and wiry, with a patchy beard that failed to make him look older, approached nervously. This was Orek, one of the newer recruits. Valen had made a point to speak with him on several occasions, planting the idea that the gang's current leadership was holding them all back.

"You're late," Valen said, his tone neutral but firm.

Orek rubbed the back of his neck, looking around nervously. "Sorry. Had to lose one of Bastien's guys. They've been watching me since... you know."

Valen didn't need clarification. The increasing paranoia among Bastien's trusted circle had been palpable ever since Valen began stirring the pot.

"Good. You weren't followed?"

Orek shook his head quickly. "No, I'm sure of it."

"Then let's not waste time." Valen gestured for him to sit on the overturned crate beside him.

The young man hesitated but finally plopped down, his nervous energy spilling over as he tapped his foot against the ground. "What did you want to talk about?"

Valen crouched down, bringing himself to Orek's eye level. His voice was calm, measured—like a teacher explaining a simple truth. "Tell me, Orek, why did you join the gang?"

Orek blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Well, uh... for coin, I guess. What else?"

"Coin." Valen repeated the word as if tasting it. "And how's that working out for you?"

Orek glanced down, avoiding his gaze. "Not as good as I thought. Bastien takes the biggest cut. The rest of us get scraps."

"And yet you're the one out here every night, taking the risks. Facing the city guards. Handling the merchants' hatred. Tell me, does that seem fair to you?"

Orek's foot stopped tapping. His eyes narrowed slightly. "No. But what choice do I have?"

Valen leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You have plenty of choices, Orek. You just need the right person to show you the way."

Orek stared at him, confusion mingling with a flicker of hope. "And you're saying you're that person?"

Valen smiled faintly, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "I'm saying the current leadership is bleeding this gang dry. Bastien doesn't think beyond his next drink or his next haul. He doesn't care about the lives he throws away or the opportunities he's too blind to see. You deserve better."

Before Orek could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the nearby alleyway. Valen's demeanor shifted instantly, his calm gaze turning sharp as a knife. "Someone's coming. Stay quiet."

Both men pressed themselves against the shadows of the wall, waiting. Moments later, two gang members—Lark and Gendo—stepped into view, their conversation loud and carefree. Gendo, a portly man with a laugh that could wake the dead, was swaying slightly, a bottle of rum in hand.

"I'm telling you," Gendo slurred, "that merchant today? Should've seen her face when I smashed that jar of honey. Thought she was gonna cry, she did!"

Lark, taller and wiry, snorted. "You're an idiot, Gendo. Bastien told us not to cause too much trouble in the market. That kind of stunt could bring the guards down on us."

"Oh, come off it," Gendo scoffed, waving the bottle around. "Like Bastien cares. He's too busy counting his coins to notice what we're doing."

Valen exchanged a glance with Orek. Gendo's careless words were another gift, another crack in the foundation of the gang's unity. He stepped out of the shadows, his sudden appearance silencing both men.

"Evening," Valen said, his voice low but commanding.

Gendo stumbled back, nearly dropping his bottle. "Wha—Valen! What are you doing skulking around like that?"

"I could ask you the same," Valen replied, his eyes cold and assessing. "Does Bastien know you're out here drinking away his coin instead of working?"

Lark bristled. "Watch your tone, Valen. We don't answer to you."

"Not yet," Valen said smoothly, his gaze locking onto Lark's. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Gendo opened his mouth to speak, but Valen cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Save it. I'm not interested in your excuses. What I am interested in is the fact that even you can see Bastien's flaws. He's losing control, and you both know it."

Lark shifted uncomfortably. "What are you trying to say?"

Valen took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I'm saying that this gang could be more. It could be stronger, richer, more feared. But that won't happen with Bastien at the helm."

The two men exchanged uncertain glances, the seeds of doubt already taking root. Valen straightened, his cold gaze sweeping over them. "Think about it. You've got two choices: stay loyal to a man who's leading you nowhere, or be part of something greater. The decision is yours."

Without waiting for a response, Valen turned and walked away, Orek following close behind. As they disappeared into the night, Valen's mind was already calculating his next move. Every word, every action, was another step closer to his goal. The cracks in Bastien's rule were growing wider, and it was only a matter of time before the entire structure came crashing down.