Chapter 5: A Name in the Dark

The slums had never known true silence—there was always the distant wailing of beggars, the drunken shouts of thieves, or the muffled cries of someone who had lost the night's gamble. But as Aedric walked away from the warehouse, leaving a trail of trembling, broken men behind, the night felt different.

A rumor had been born.

A shadow had moved through the dark.

And the slums would remember its name.

By dawn, whispers filled the Rat's Nest. The guards at Gorran's warehouse—hardened killers who had never bowed to anyone—had been found cowering, speaking nonsense of a boy with golden eyes who had made them kneel with a mere look.

Some scoffed at the story, calling it drunken madness. Others shivered, sensing a change in the air.

Gorran himself was furious.

Inside his hideout, a dimly lit tavern known as The Rusted Fang, the crime lord paced before his men, his thick fingers tapping against the pommel of his dagger. Gorran was built like a bull, with a scarred face and arms thick from years of breaking bones. He had ruled these slums for a decade, and no street rat was going to change that.

"You're telling me a single boy did this?" he growled.

The guard on his knees before him flinched, sweat rolling down his temple. "He… he wasn't normal, boss. It was like—like my mind wasn't my own."

Gorran sneered. "You're afraid of a damn trickster? A street rat with a parlor trick?"

The guard swallowed hard. "Boss, I felt something. My body stopped listening to me. He just… spoke, and I was on my knees before I even realized it."

A chill ran through the room. The other enforcers, men who had killed without hesitation, exchanged uneasy glances.

Gorran's face darkened. "Find him. Bring me his head."

The hunt had begun.

Aedric watched from the rooftops as Gorran's men spread out through the slums, questioning beggars, roughing up shopkeepers, offering gold to anyone with information.

They wouldn't find him. Not yet.

He needed a hideout, allies—something more than just power in the shadows. He needed someone who could move where he couldn't, ears in places his own couldn't reach.

He knew exactly where to start.

The Nightfangs were a gang of thieves that operated on the edges of the slums, avoiding Gorran's rule by sheer cunning. Unlike the brute enforcers of the crime lord, they didn't rely on strength, but information. They were whispers in the night, blades in the dark. And their leader, Lirian Vale, was as ruthless as she was smart.

Aedric found her exactly where he expected—inside a candle-lit den hidden behind a crumbling tavern. The room was filled with stolen goods, maps, and ledgers. And at the center, lounging against a pile of cushions, was Lirian.

She was young—maybe eighteen—but her eyes were sharp as daggers, watching Aedric as if she could already see the blood on his hands. Her short raven hair framed a face that knew more secrets than any noble in the city.

"You're either very brave or very stupid," she said, tapping a dagger against her boot. "Gorran's men are hunting you."

Aedric stepped forward, the dim candlelight flickering across his face. "Then it's a good thing I'm here first."

Lirian smirked. "And what do you want, Phantom?"

Aedric paused. Phantom. The name had already spread. He liked the sound of it.

He met her gaze, his golden eyes glinting in the low light. "I want Gorran's throne."

A flicker of amusement crossed Lirian's face. Then she laughed, low and dangerous.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."