Before The Storm

Over the past week, Myth, Ashley, and Sira had been training harder than ever.

They'd picked up the basics of hand-to-hand combat—nothing polished, but enough to hold their own in a spar.

Sira always won.

She was stronger, faster, and learned quicker than either of them. Her punches hit like bricks, and she never seemed to run out of breath.

Ashley and Myth were more evenly matched.

Ashley fought with raw aggression. Myth was more calculated, using setups and feints—laying small traps during the match.

Sometimes she won. Sometimes he did.

But sparring wasn't enough anymore.

The next step was weapons—daggers, maybe even swords.

But with limited connections, acquiring them wasn't easy.

And training to use them effectively? That would take even more time.

Time they didn't have.

Myth had reached his limit.

If they kept waiting, kept gathering breadcrumbs, they'd still be clueless a month from now.

They sat around the table, their usual meeting spot in the safehouse.

Myth leaned forward, laying it out.

"Raev controls Street 8—that's where the arena is. Korin's influence is rooted in Street 6. And both those streets are closest to Inner Lowden."

Ashley picked up the thread.

"We've identified several VIPs from the arena—some factory owners, some hotel chains. Most of them aren't even based in Lowden."

"But their businesses are. And almost all are centered between Streets 6 to 9."

She paused.

Walker took over.

"It looks like Lazik's crew is trying to extend their grip over the outer sectors… but they're doing it quietly. Right now, Raev seems to be running that side of things."

Victor's voice was calm and composed.

"As for Korbel Construction—the cement claim checks out in Inner Lowden. It's the real deal."

"But in Outer Lowden… same bags, different contents."

A moment of silence followed.

Then Sira spoke.

"We're based in Street 2—that's under Zarin. People here respect him. To them, he's a protector. A known presence."

"Streets 1 to 3 are Zarin's. But who he works for… still unclear."

She didn't stop there.

"Streets 4 and 5? Rollo's turf. And apparently, he seems to have some kind of agreement with Raev."

Myth looked around the table, taking it all in.

"Lazik isn't focused on Outer Lowden. Neither is Raev—despite Raev advances."

"Zarin doesn't want to touch 4 and 5, probably to avoid a territorial war."

He paused.

"But make no mistake—Zarin's watching. Every time Rollo pushes forward, Zarin pushes back."

A long silence.

Then Myth's voice, steady and cold:

"Let's capture Rollo."

Everyone turned to Myth.

No one spoke. But they all understood.

They were entering the fray.

Their peaceful days were over.

Walker was the first to break the silence.

"You know what that means, right?" he said flatly.

"Even if we somehow pull it off—even if Rollo isn't a Seeker—Streets 4 and 5 will erupt. Cold war, at best. And we'll have Raev, Zarin, and the police crawling over everything… trying to figure out who killed him."

Myth nodded.

"We don't have time. The police, maybe even the military, are closing in. Riff already suspects we're not from around here."

"If they go public—say five people escaped the portal—then what? Riff, the bar, even our neighbors might turn on us."

He paused, eyes scanning the group.

"If that happens… we'll be forced to run."

He leaned in.

"So we place our pieces before the police make their move."

Walker didn't say anything more.

But his silence was agreement.

Ashley frowned.

"How do we even capture Rollo? We don't know where he is. We barely have any people. Apart from Walker and Victor, we're not even that strong."

Myth answered calmly.

"We use muskets. With a little rough treatment, finding his location won't be a problem."

Silence.

Everyone stared at him.

He wasn't just talking about taking Rollo.

He was talking about full-scale chaos.

About setting Lowden on fire.

Walker was the first to respond.

"Muskets? That'll bring the police and military into Lowden within the week."

Myth nodded again, voice polite.

"Yes. It's possible."

He paused—then continued.

"But think about this: they haven't gone public about the portal incident yet. If they find a lead—like the muskets—they'll try to handle it covertly. No panic. No news. That gives us time."

"If we survive the storm… we might even learn more. About them."

A heavy silence followed.

Victor spoke first.

"I agree with the plan."

Ashley shrugged.

"I'm in. Little increase in our strength won't make much difference."

Sira and Walker both gave slight nods.

Myth's voice shifted—steady, resolved.

"Then it's settled."

"In the next three days: – We bring our muskets back from Joeberg. – We make fake IDs and documents. – Victor, you find a safehouse—somewhere in the better districts. Somewhere you can work as a scientist."

He looked around the table, the tension still tight—but his tone now held a flicker of relief.

"Right after the capture—Victor you run to the safehouse. We regroup when the time is right."

----

They had a rough map now—a general idea of how things worked in the undercity, sharpened by Walker's cautious personality.

Bringing the muskets back from Joeberg hadn't been too difficult. The fake IDs, though, had cost them more than they'd hoped—obtained in a roundabout, messy way that drained their limited funds.

Victor managed to rent a decent one-bedroom apartment in a better district. Everything was in place. They were as ready as they could be.

And now, the day had arrived.

The muskets, loaded with cores, lay on the dining table. The group gathered around them, finalizing the plan.

Victor and Walker, steady as ever.

Ashley wore her mask of false confidence. Myth caught her glance and chuckled lightly.

Then his eyes shifted to Sira. He looked at her for a second longer than he meant to. There were things he wanted to say—but didn't.

Sira was nervous. Her usual cheerful smile had vanished, replaced by something else. A flicker of resolve burned in her eyes.

'Maybe winning in training helped her confidence,' Myth thought.

But his own condition was worse.

There was pressure—crushing pressure. The group had staked their lives on his decision. And he was the weak one. He couldn't carry them. Not really. He would have to be carried.

It was his decision…

A decision he might not be able to stand behind.

A decision that could get himself killed.

A decision that could get his friends killed.

A decision that could ruin lives. Or end them.

So yes—he was nervous.

Yes—he was scared.

But he was prepared to do anything.