Chapter 4: The First Step

The slums of Velmire were a cruel teacher, and Aedric had learned every lesson. Trust was a lie. Mercy was weakness. Strength was survival.

But now, something had changed.

He could feel it in the way the air curled around him, thick with unseen power. In the way his body no longer ached from hunger. In the way his mind felt sharper, more focused. The pact with the forgotten god had sealed something inside him—a force waiting to be wielded.

And he would wield it well.

Night had settled over Rat's Nest, cloaking the alleys in darkness. Aedric moved like a shadow, his steps light, his breath steady. He had no home, no family, but he had purpose.

He needed to test his power.

The slums were ruled by Cutthroat Gorran, a brute of a man who controlled the black market with an iron grip. He ran the debt collectors, the enforcers, and the smugglers who ensured that the poor never climbed too high. Aedric had seen him once—laughing as his men beat a starving mother who had failed to pay protection money.

Gorran was untouchable. His men were everywhere. His strength undeniable.

But Aedric was done living in fear.

If he was to rise, he had to start at the top.

And tonight, Gorran would learn that the slums had birthed something new.

The warehouse on the riverbank was heavily guarded. Oil lamps flickered in the cold air, casting long shadows over the wooden crates stacked high with stolen goods. Aedric crouched in the darkness, watching. Six men at the entrance. Two on the roof. Another three patrolling the dock.

Ten men. Armed.

A week ago, he would have walked away.

But now?

He closed his eyes and focused. The presence inside him stirred, its power seeping into his veins. When he opened his eyes again, he felt… different.

The first guard never saw him coming.

Aedric moved like mist, his footsteps silent. His fingers brushed the man's arm, and a surge of energy passed between them. The guard stiffened, his breath hitching. His pupils dilated, his body locked in place.

"Kneel."

The command wasn't spoken—it was a whisper in the man's soul.

With a strangled gasp, the guard dropped to his knees, his face twisted in horror. The other men turned, but it was too late.

Aedric stepped into the torchlight, his golden eyes gleaming like a predator in the dark.

Fear struck them like a storm.

One by one, they faltered, their weapons shaking. Their minds weren't their own anymore.

They were his.

Aedric let the silence stretch. Then he smiled.

"Tell Gorran the slums are under new rule."

And with that, the Phantom of Velmire was born.