Information

The slums were still cloaked in darkness when Lyra rose from her thin, worn mattress. The faint glow of the moon filtered through the cracks in the shack's walls, casting long shadows across the dirt floor.

She moved quietly, careful not to wake Zephyr and Jack, who were curled up on the other side of the room, unaware that they were already up.

They patiently waited for her to leave for work before waking up.

"Jack. Get ready. I'll bring the knife, better be prepared if things go south." I told Jack with a serious tone.

"Ok." Answered Jack with the same grim tone.

The plan was simple: watch, learn, and strike when the time was right. The former gang member, a man named Ryn, had been laying low near the eastern edge of the slums, avoiding Gorren's enforcers and anyone else who might recognize him.

According to Jack's sources, Ryn spent most of his days in a dilapidated shack near the edge of the slums, venturing out only at night to scavenge for food or supplies.

The sun had barely risen when Zephyr and Jack set out, the slums still cloaked in a hazy gray light. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting wood, a constant reminder of the world they were trying to escape.

Zephyr moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the narrow alleys and crumbling shacks as they made their way to the eastern edge of the slums. Jack followed close behind, his expression a mix of apprehension and determination.

"Are you sure about this, Zeph?" Jack muttered, his voice low. "This guy's not exactly known for being friendly."

"I'm sure," Zephyr replied, his tone calm but firm. "We need information, and he's our best shot. Just stick to the plan."

They reached the place just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, its faint light casting long shadows across the earth.

"Scout the area, I'll check the guy." I told Jack as we approached the shack, its wooden walls warped and splintered, the roof rundown and a strong smell of alcohol could be smelled from miles away. A faint glow flickered through the cracks in the walls—a candle, perhaps, or a small fire.

"No one's around."

"Good, stay here," I whispered, crouching behind a stack of rotting barrels. "I'll take a closer look."

Jack nodded, his jaw tight. "Be careful."

I moved silently, with steps light and deliberate. I spent years navigating the slums, learning how to blend into the shadows and move without being seen.

As I crept closer to the shack, I could hear the faint sound of movement inside—the scrape of a chair, the clink of glass. I pressed myself against the wall, my breath steady, and peered through a gap in the wood.

Inside, Ryn sat at a rickety table, his broad shoulders hunched over a half-empty bottle of cheap liquor. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow, but there was a hardness to him that spoke of years of violence and survival.

A jagged scar ran down the side of his face, and his knuckles were bruised and calloused. Zephyr's mind raced as he studied the man, piecing together what he could.

Ryn was dangerous, but he was also desperate—and desperation made people predictable.

Zephyr slipped back to where Jack was waiting, his expression thoughtful. "He's alone," he said quietly. "And he's drinking. Let wait, if nobody comes to see him today, we will make our move tonight."

Jack frowned. "But, how do we get him to talk? He's not just going to hand over information because we ask nicely."

Zephyr's lips curved into a faint smile. "We don't ask. We make him think it's in his best interest to tell us. Just do what I'll tell you."

We waited until nightfall, when the slums were swallowed by darkness, the only sounds breaking the silence being the distant howls of stray dogs and the occasional clatter of debris carried by the wind.

Ryn finally emerged from the shack, his movements slow and unsteady, and began to shuffle toward the tannery. My heart pounded as I followed at a distance, I checked the hidden knife in my clothes, and followed with Jack by my side, our footsteps barely making a sound against the cracked and uneven ground.

When Ryn turned into that narrow alley, I knew it was time. Jack stepped out of the shadows, his figure cutting a sharp silhouette against the dim light. His voice was calm but firm as he said, "Ryn. We need to talk."

I stayed back, hidden in the darkness, my hand gripping the hilt of my knife. My heart pounded in my chest, but my mind was clear. This was it—our chance to get answers, to finally piece together the truth about the magic of this world. If Ryn tried anything, I'd be ready. I'd cut him down from the back before he could even blink.

Ryn froze, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as they flicked between Jack and the shadows where I lurked. His hand twitched toward the inside of his coat, and I tightened my grip on the knife. "Who the hell are you?" he growled, his words slurred and rough.

Jack didn't flinch. "Someone who knows you used to run with Gorren," he replied, holding Ryn's gaze. "And someone who knows you've got nowhere left to go."

The weight of the moment settled over me, and I could feel the tension crackling in the air. This was the decisif moment.

Ryn relaxed visibly but his hand never left his coat. However Jack didn't move. "You're not with Gorren," Ryn said after a moment, his tone wary. "What do you want?"

"Information," Jack said simply. "About Gorren. About Essence."

Ryn let out a harsh laugh. "You're tired of living, aren't you? Sure, i don't care, but what's in it for me?"

Jack stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Protection. Gorren's men are still looking for you, aren't they? You've been hiding out here, scraping by, but it's only a matter of time before they find you. We can help you disappear—for good. We will fake your death."

Ryn's eyes flickered with uncertainty, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse. Then the man sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine," he muttered. "But if Gorren finds out I talked, we're all dead."

We followed him back to his shack, the air thick with tension. I kept my knife close, my eyes never leaving Ryn as he poured himself another drink. Jack and I sat across from him, our expressions guarded but intent, watching his every movement.

Ryn, too, never let his guard down, however he wasn't perfectly sober as everything happened quickly. I had already slipped the sleeping herb into the bottle when Ryn wasn't looking. He'd be out soon enough.

"Gorren's not just some thug," Ryn began, his voice low. "He's got power—real power. Essence, they call it. But it's more than that. He's got something called an innate ability. It's like... a special kind of skill that only certain people can use. He can make his muscles stronger than any human. I've seen him take on a dozen men and walk away without a scratch."

I leaned forward, my interest piqued. "An innate ability? How does it work?"

Ryn shrugged. "I don't know the details. But one night, when he was drunk, he let something slip. He said that if someone's sensitive enough to Essence, they can awaken their innate ability when they turn fifteen. He also mentioned he keeps a book about it—something he stole from a noble's library. It's hidden in his hideout, locked away where no one can find it."

My mind raced. A book about Essence and innate abilities—that was exactly what we needed. "Where's the hideout? How can we get in?" I asked, my voice steady.

Ryn shook his head. "You're not listening. Gorren's hideout is a fortress, he rarely leaves it. No one gets in or out without his say-so. And even if you did, once he knows about it, you won't live another day. You'd need a miracle to get your hands on it."

I exchanged a glance with Jack. We didn't need a miracle—we just needed a plan. But first, we had to deal with Ryn. We got what we needed.

He was already starting to sway, the sleeping herb taking effect. His words slurred, and his eyelids drooped. It was time.

"Alright, thanks for your cooperation, your time is up," I said, my voice cold.

"We can't risk leaving loose ends now, can we, brother?" Jack added, his lips curling into a smile.

Ryn's eyes widened, but it was too late. He slumped forward, unconscious, before he could even reach for his knife. I didn't hesitate. My blade slid across his throat in one swift motion, silencing him forever. No loose ends. No witnesses.

Jack and I worked quickly, cleaning up the scene and making it look like a random robbery. When we were done, we slipped back into the shadows, the weight of what we'd done settling over us. But there was no time for guilt or hesitation. We had a lead now—a dangerous one, but a lead nonetheless.

"Tomorrow," I said, turning to Jack, "we start preparing. We'll need a way to get into Gorren's hideout. This isn't going to be easy, but it's our only shot."

Jack nodded, his expression grim but determined. "Let's do it."