Dangerous Hands

Lior woke to emptiness.

The cramped room still smelled like last night's supper—stale bread and something vaguely fishy—but his mother was already gone. So was his father. That was normal. They were always gone before dawn, vanishing into the city like ghosts, only to drag themselves back by nightfall with aching bones and tired eyes.

Cass, though—Cass was still here.

Or at least, he had been.

Lior blinked sleep from his eyes, stretching with a long, lazy yawn before rolling onto his side. Cass's spot was empty.

Nothing strange about that. His brother had a habit of being awake before the city itself, slipping out before Lior could ever ask where the hell he was going.

Normally, Lior would've let him.

But today?

Today, something tugged at his gut.

He rubbed his eyes and crawled out of his makeshift bed, feeling the cold stone through his shirt as he stumbled toward the entrance.

Tally had been sent to Old Huang, as usual. She liked the old woman, and Old Huang liked her well enough, even if she never smiled. The woman had lost her son to a bar shooting years ago and had since filled the void by fussing over stray children like they were her own.

Lior figured that was fine.

Tally was safe.

Which meant he could worry about the real problem.

He yawned again, stepping outside, rubbing the sleep from his face—then froze.

Cass.

Sneaking out.

He was near the sewer gates already, moving like a shadow in the half-light. Slipping past rusted bars and half-collapsed walls, quick, quiet, deliberate.

Lior frowned.

Cass didn't sneak.

Cass was loud. Arrogant. He strutted through the streets like he owned the place. But this—this was different.

This was Cass being careful.

Which meant he was up to something.

Lior's heart picked up speed.

He should've gone back inside. Should've told himself it wasn't his business. Should've let Cass do whatever stupid, reckless thing he was about to do.

But instead—

He followed.

***

Lior was following him.

Cass didn't have to look back to know. The little shit wasn't exactly subtle. His footsteps were too light, too careful, like he thought Cass wouldn't notice if he just tiptoed behind him long enough.

He noticed.

He always noticed.

Cass could have told him to go home. Could have turned around, pointed to the sewer, and told him exactly where he could shove his curiosity.

But he didn't.

Because, for some stupid reason, he'd wanted Lior to follow.

The sky above Blackmire was its usual shade of dying ember, the gas lamps flickering like they might give up at any moment. The air stank of coal, piss, and desperation—same as always.

Cass didn't slow his pace. Didn't turn around. Just stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and kept walking.

Lior hurried to keep up. Too eager. Too trusting.

"You still haven't told me why we're out here," Lior said after a while, his voice small but steady.

Cass smirked. Didn't answer.

They walked past a couple of dockworkers arguing over a shipment, their voices thick with ale and bad tempers. A man in a too-clean coat looked like he was about to ask Cass for directions—until he saw Cass.

Cass didn't break stride. Just tilted his head, let his lips curl into that lazy, sharp-edged grin that always made people uncomfortable.

The man turned away real quick.

Coward.

Lior saw it. Cass could tell by the way his little brother's footsteps stuttered for just a second.

"You scare people," Lior muttered.

Cass snorted. "No shit."

"Why?"

Cass glanced at him now. The kid was staring up at him, frowning, like he actually expected a real answer.

Cass rolled his shoulders, stretching like a cat. "Because I can."

It was true.

Kids his age feared him. Older ones hated him. Adults only ever spoke to him if they had to—and God help them if they spoke down to him, because Cass had perfected the art of telling grown men to fuck off with a smirk that made them either angry or afraid.

Either way, he won.

Lior was quiet for a long moment. Then—

"Where are we going?"

Cass sighed, long and dramatic. "Why do you always need a reason?"

"Because I know you." Lior crossed his arms. "You don't just let me follow you around unless you've got something planned."

Cass grinned, sharp and mischievous.

Smart kid.

The truth was, he hadn't told anyone about the things he did when he was out here.

Not his father. Not his mother. Not even Lior.

But for some reason, tonight—he wanted the kid to see.

He stopped walking. Lior nearly ran into him.

Cass turned, finally meeting his brother's eyes.

"You wanna know why I let you come?"

Lior hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Cass leaned in, voice low, amused. Daring.

"Because I think you're finally ready for some real trouble."

And with that, he turned on his heel—and ran.

Lior swore and chased after him.

Lior had seen every ugly corner of Blackmire.

He had walked past the alleys where the stones were still dark with blood from yesterday's fight. He had heard the cries of children left on doorsteps, the ones who didn't cry anymore. He had smelled the rot of hunger, the stink of filth that clung to the people who lived too close to the sewers and had nowhere else to go.

And yet, somehow, the part of Blackmire Cass led him through felt worse.

The streets here were narrow, suffocating, lined with houses that leaned like drunken men. The gas lamps barely flickered. Their light was weak, like even the fire didn't want to stay.

Lior ran after Cass, his breath coming in sharp gasps as they weaved through the maze of broken streets.

Then, suddenly—Cass stopped.

A small, crooked house stood before them, its roof bowed, its windows smeared with grime. The door hung slightly off its hinges, like it had been kicked one too many times.

Cass stepped inside without hesitation. Lior hesitated.

Then followed.

The inside was warmer than expected. A fire burned low in a stove, filling the air with the scent of old wood and something vaguely metallic. The furniture was scarce—a battered table, two chairs, and an old couch that sagged in the middle.

And at the table, staring at them with sharp, amused eyes, sat a huge man.

His arms were thick as tree trunks, covered in faded tattoos. His face was lined, his hair graying, but there was something about him that felt dangerous.

On the table in front of him were several cards, lined up in a neat row.

The man leaned back in his chair, cracking his knuckles. Smirking.

"Well, well," he rumbled. "Little Chief brought company."

Lior frowned. Little Chief?

Cass groaned. "Don't call me that, old man."

The man ignored him, turning to Lior instead. His eyes studied him, unreadable.

"That your brother?"

Cass shrugged. "Something like that."

Lior scowled. "I'm actually his brother."

The man chuckled. "Is that right?"

Lior eyed the cards on the table.

"What are those?"

The man raised an eyebrow. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, he gestured at them. "Fortune cards."

Cass snorted. "Bullshit."

Lior ignored him, stepping closer. "Fortune? You mean… they tell the future?"

The man's grin widened. "Something like that." He picked up the deck, shuffling them between his thick fingers. "Wanna try?"

Cass leaned against the wall, arms crossed, looking bored. "Don't bother, Lior. It's all nonsense."

But Lior's curiosity itched.

"…Fine. What do I do?"

The man spread the cards in front of him. "Pick one."

Lior hesitated. Then reached out.

His fingers brushed over the edges of the cards—rough, worn with time. He let instinct guide him. He pulled.

A single card.

He flipped it over.

Light.

For a moment, everything seemed to hold still.

The flickering fire cast golden reflections over the card's gleaming trim. The ink shimmered, twisting in the dim glow, as if the word itself breathed.

Lightbringer.

The man's expression shifted.

"Well, well," he murmured, turning the card in his fingers. "Lightbringer."

Lior blinked. "What's that mean?"

The man tapped the card. His voice was different now. Lower. Measured.

"It means you see the path when others don't. It means you bring hope in places that shouldn't have any. It means…" he paused, smirking. "It means you're gonna be real important one day, kid."

Cass laughed. Hard.

Lior felt his face heat. Him? Hope? That was the funniest damn thing he'd ever heard.

Cass clapped him on the back. "Yeah, sure, this idiot's gonna save us all."

Lior scowled. "Shut up."

The man chuckled, setting the card aside. "Alright, alright. Let's get down to business."

They leaned in. Talked in hushed voices.

But none of them noticed.

None of them saw the Lightbringer card slip from the table, fluttering silently to the dusty floor.

And none of them saw which card rose to the top.

A single word.

Jagged ink.

Malice.

The fire crackled. The air shifted.

And the cards sat there. Waiting.