A Little Girl's Disgust

The Western City always had a different kind of hum compared to the Northern Underground. Especially at night, when the dying lamplights flickered and the alleyways whispered louder than the rooftops.

A pair of city guards were doing their rounds, nothing out of the ordinary. They held torches that trembled slightly in the wind, chatting idly about the new rotations and how someone from the south patrol swore they saw a floating creature during their post last week.

Then, it happened.

A sharp glint in the air and the two guards froze mid-sentence. One opened his mouth to say something else but never got the chance.

An impossibly long zweihander flashed through the air. It cut through both men without resistance. No hand wielded it. No figure guided it. It floated, spun, and arced once more, slicing through a third figure emerging from the side lane before embedding itself into the cobbled wall.

The weapon hovered, vibrating faintly, then dropped silently to the ground with a low hum.

A few rooftops over, Shimmer landed softly on the curved ceramic tiles of an old bakery. Her knees bent perfectly, arms spread slightly to absorb the momentum. Her body had learned not to make a sound. She exhaled with relief, brushing a few strands of her hair away from her flushed cheeks.

Behind her, Arletta landed with the silent grace of a mist-covered shadow. Her eyes flicked from the carnage below to the young girl in front of her. Her gaze lingered, not in judgment—but in something between fascination and mild disbelief.

A ten-year-old had just summoned a flying zweihander and let it loose without a flinch. The blood of grown men painted the cobblestones now, and there wasn't even a flicker of hesitation in the child's eyes.

Shimmer noticed. She turned her head slightly, catching Chainless's expression, and she smirked.

"I know what you're thinking," she said with a dry voice. "'She's just a kid. She shouldn't be able to do this.' Right?"

Chainless tilted her head slightly, lips pressed in a line.

"I destroyed an entire city when my mom died," Shimmer added softly, her gaze fixed forward now, eyes distant. "I mourned her with fire. The entire city was gone by morning. This? A couple of guards? That's nothing."

Chainless didn't nod. She didn't smile. But her eyes lowered for a moment. As if in quiet respect. Or pity.

They said nothing more. They didn't need to.

The red line from the rune on Chainless's arm stretched before them like a path carved through the invisible winds. The two moved in perfect tandem now—rooftop to rooftop—leaping across alley gaps, sliding along shingles, stepping over cloth lines like dancers in a dark ballet.

The line began to bend and curve. And soon, it pointed downward into the inner sectors of the city, into a place most of Insignia's members never stepped foot into without a dozen armed veterans behind them.

The dark alleys.

Beneath the city's façade of glowing lanterns and structured gates lay a shrouded network of medieval stonework and uneven, mold-drenched roads. The alleys twisted like serpents, wide enough for carts but crooked like they were drawn by a madman's hand. Cracked arches formed low passageways. Thick vines—unnatural ones—hung from doorways, and every wall was etched with claw marks, graffiti sigils, or old bloodstains left to flake away with time.

The air here smelled of soot, rust, wet parchment, and sweat. The kind of place where words died in throats and people moved only in shadows.

But it was the people that caught Shimmer's attention.

As they dropped down into one of the alleys, following the line that danced into the gloom like a mischievous spark, the two finally saw them—the inhabitants.

They were humanoid in structure, but their skin was too white. Porcelain, unmarred, as if painted from moonlight. Their ears were long and pointed, not unlike elves but instead of grace, their expressions were feral. Some had horns spiraling from their temples, others had jagged claws in place of fingers, and a few had eyes too large, pupils slit like panthers or serpents.

They watched from doorways and broken windows, saying nothing. Some hissed faintly. Others clicked their tongues or scraped claw against wall. They were the gutter born of this place, mutated remnants of the city's darker experiments, or perhaps things not even Insignia fully understood.

Shimmer didn't flinch. She held her gaze forward, and Arletta kept pace beside her, every footstep soundless.

Then they turned a final corner and stopped.

Eighteen figures blocked the path—men, mostly. Robed in dark leathers, tattered cloaks, and boots scuffed to hell. Some held rusted daggers, others makeshift cudgels. Their teeth were yellow. Their eyes drunk with greed.

They'd seen two cloaked women—one tall and lean, the other small and childlike—and that was enough.

"Looks like a couple of lost birds found their way into the thorns," one of them sneered. His breath stank of fermented fruit and rotted meat. "Cloaked ladies don't walk this part unless they're selling something."

Another laughed from the side, eyeing Shimmer with a disgusting leer. "Think the kid's some rich noble's brat. Could fetch a good coin from the auctioneer."

"Oh we'll fetch something," one said, brandishing his blade.

The others snickered, stepping in, forming a rough circle.

Shimmer's body language shifted instantly.

Her hands lowered from her cloak. Her eyes, bright with icy gold, narrowed just slightly. The zweihander behind her, cloaked under illusion, shivered in anticipation.

She glanced at Arletta. The woman hadn't moved. Her eyes were still calm, but her hand hovered near the small dagger sheathed beneath her tunic.

Shimmer exhaled and muttered, "Mistake number one…"

The men chuckled, mistaking her calm for fear.

She took a single step forward and stared at the nearest one. "You thought we were lost."

Her voice had changed, no longer a child's tone. It was deeper. Older. Wrought from something jagged.

They paused just a moment. Some instinct in their gut screamed to run.

Shimmer raised her hand slowly.

"Let me show you what happens when you mistake a wolf pup for prey."

The wind stopped. The alley silenced.

And the zweihander behind her shimmered into reality—floating, rotating slowly above her like a dark halo of death.

Behind her, Chainless didn't move. She simply stood still and watched.

But something in her expression changed now—not shock. Not awe.

Something closer to pride.