Chapter 2: The Weight of a Name

1 – A Deal in the Dark

The tavern's warmth did little to ease Elias's wariness. He studied the man before him—Dain, self-assured, relaxed, but with a sharpness in his eyes that betrayed careful calculation.

The kind of man who measured every word, every movement.

The kind Elias once dealt with in backroom negotiations and corporate betrayals.

Dain took a sip of his drink, watching Elias over the rim of his cup. "You've got the look of a man with no home, no coin, and no clue what's waiting for him outside these walls."

Elias didn't react. "That supposed to be an offer of help?"

Dain smirked. "It's a fact. You wouldn't be sitting here making deals if you had other options." He set his drink down. "The Forsaken don't get the luxury of wandering aimlessly. Not unless they want to end up hunted."

The word sat heavy between them.

Hunted.

Elias had already seen it in the eyes of the people on the road. The way the guards at the gate had hesitated. The whispers that followed him.

He needed answers.

"What do you know about the Forsaken?" Elias asked, keeping his tone even.

Dain chuckled. "Enough to know you should be dead."

Elias remained silent, waiting.

Dain leaned forward, tapping the table lightly with his fingers. "The Mark of the Forsaken isn't just a curse—it's a death sentence. The moment people see it, they assume you're a walking disaster. And usually, they're right."

Elias narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Dain shrugged. "History. Every Forsaken before you brought ruin in some way. Some lost control and burned everything around them. Some went mad. And some… well, some became exactly what people feared they'd be."

Elias exhaled slowly. Then it's not just prophecy—it's a pattern.

"You don't look like a man eager to start a massacre," Dain continued, tilting his head. "So the question is… how long before the world makes you into one?"

Elias met his gaze. "That depends."

"On?"

"How this world treats me."

Dain laughed, leaning back. "A practical answer. I like that."

A brief silence passed between them, broken only by the low murmur of the tavern.

Then Dain folded his hands. "Here's my offer. You're new here. You don't know how to survive in this world, but I do. You need protection, information, and a way to make yourself useful before someone decides you're a threat."

Elias raised a brow. "And in return?"

Dain grinned. "You work for me."

Elias had expected as much.

He glanced at the other patrons—merchants, hunters, townsfolk with tired faces and wary eyes. Dain wasn't like them. He carried himself differently, like a man used to standing above others.

"What exactly do you do?" Elias asked.

Dain's grin widened. "I solve problems. Sometimes those problems are people. Sometimes they're… opportunities waiting to be taken."

So, not just a common sellsword.

Elias recognized the type—mercenary, broker, manipulator. Someone who thrived in the gray areas of society.

And right now, Elias had no allies, no resources, and no clear path forward.

For now, he needed leverage.

He extended his hand. "We'll see how useful you really are."

Dain's smirk didn't fade as he shook Elias's hand. "That's the spirit."

The deal was made.

For better or worse.

---

2 – Blood on the Streets

Draeven's streets were quieter at night. The market stalls were closed, and most people had retreated to their homes.

Dain led Elias through winding alleys, moving like a man who knew every shadow and shortcut in town.

"So what's the first job?" Elias asked.

Dain smirked. "Simple. We collect payment from someone who thinks he can run off without settling his debts."

Elias glanced at him. "And if he refuses?"

Dain's smirk widened. "Then we remind him why that's a bad idea."

A test, then. A way to gauge Elias's usefulness.

Elias had done worse in his old life.

They stopped outside a run-down building on the outskirts of town. The windows were boarded up, and the door was slightly ajar.

Dain gestured toward it. "Inside."

Elias pushed the door open.

The interior was dark, the air thick with the scent of sweat and old wood. A single candle flickered on a nearby table, illuminating a man slumped in a chair.

His eyes snapped open at the sound of footsteps.

"W-wait," he stammered, scrambling to his feet. "I—I just need more time—"

Dain sighed, stepping inside. "That's the problem, Yorin. You had time."

Yorin swallowed hard, glancing between Dain and Elias. "Who the hell is he?"

Elias didn't answer.

Dain gave a casual shrug. "He's the reason you're going to pay me."

Yorin took a step back. "I—I don't have it."

Dain exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Yorin, Yorin. You see the problem here?"

"I swear—I just need—"

Dain's expression darkened. "You're out of second chances."

Before Yorin could react, Dain moved.

A flash of steel—his dagger pressed against Yorin's throat in an instant.

Elias remained still, watching.

Yorin trembled, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "P-please…"

Dain's voice was calm. "Coin. Now."

Yorin's hands shook as he fumbled through a pouch, dumping a handful of silver on the table. "It's all I have."

Dain glanced at the coins. Then, satisfied, he stepped back, sheathing his dagger. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Yorin exhaled shakily, barely able to stand.

Dain turned to Elias. "What do you think?"

Elias met his gaze. He understood what Dain was really asking.

Would Elias have done the same? Would he have hesitated?

In his old world, he wouldn't have. Power came to those who took it, those who enforced it.

But here…

Elias looked at Yorin, the way he still shook, the way his chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. He wasn't a threat. Just desperate.

Elias had no problem with force when it was necessary. But fear wasn't always the best weapon.

He turned back to Dain. "There are better ways to handle things."

Dain raised a brow. "Is that so?"

Elias picked up a silver coin from the table and flipped it once. "Fear works. But respect lasts longer."

Dain studied him, then chuckled. "Interesting."

As they left the building, Dain's smirk didn't fade. "You're different."

Elias glanced at him. "Because I didn't kill him?"

"No." Dain's eyes glinted in the moonlight. "Because you don't let the power go to your head."

Elias said nothing.

As they walked through the quiet streets, one thought lingered in his mind.

He had made a choice tonight.

But how many more choices lay ahead? And how long before he was forced to become what the world feared?

The Mark of the Forsaken pulsed against his skin, as if whispering the answer.