Chapter 8: New Beginnings at Stillbrew

Bari was nine when he stepped beyond the crumbling edges of the outskirts and walked into the sprawling maze of North Quadrant Seige Capital ( NQSC) The years in the slums had carved him lean and sharp — not just in body but in mind. He knew the gutters too well, and he'd vowed never to sink into them again. Not because a hand pulled him out, but because he would build his own ladder — rung by bruised rung, hunger by stolen knowledge.

The city greeted him with a storm — not just in the sky but in his chest, a restless wind that tangled with every step. The buildings here were different: taller, harsher, and packed so tightly the narrow streets swallowed light. Neon buzzed faintly beyond alleyways, and the hum of distant engines mixed with chatter and cries.

He wandered the streets like a ghost for days, watching, learning, breathing the unfamiliar air. Then, one rainy morning, he found Stillbrew — a small corner café nestled between a cluttered repair kiosk and a bookstall spilling dusty novels onto cracked pavement. No neon glow, no flashy sign — just the warm, rich scent of coffee and music crackling softly from an old speaker.

Inside, a broad-shouldered man wiped down tables with rough hands, his face weathered like the leather apron he wore. Toma — the owner — glanced up and caught Bari's eyes lingering in the doorway. There was no surprise in his gaze. Only recognition.

"You lookin' for work, kid?" Toma's voice was low, no trace of judgement, only an edge of kindness.

Bari swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Without hesitation, Toma stopped what he was doing and walked over and handed him a mop. "Then get to it."

That was the beginning of something new.

The café became Bari's world. He cleaned tables until his knuckles cracked, brewed drinks with careful precision, and memorized the routines of regulars who stopped by day after day. He fixed the ancient espresso machine more times than he could count, scavenging parts from junkyards and forgotten stalls. In quiet moments, he sat by the rain-spattered window, nose buried in books — everything he could get his hands on. History, survival, the Nightmare spell, even dusty fiction worlds far from his own.

The back room — a cramped space with peeling paint and a cot — became his refuge. Toma "accidentally" left the back door unlocked one evening, and by morning, Bari's few belongings were settled there, the cot his new bed. No questions asked. No prying into the past he kept locked tight.

Toma taught him more than coffee recipes. He showed him the unspoken rules of the city — how to read the undercurrents of clans, avoid trouble without seeming weak, and carry yourself steady when the world tried to grind you down. When rude customers snapped, Toma's lessons were clear: "Stay calm. Never throw the first punch, but don't back down either."

They shared silence as much as words. There were no fancy dinners or family gatherings — just slow afternoons filled with shared quiet, a rhythm that grew steady and comforting. Over time, the gruff owner became something like family — not by blood, but by trust, time, and quiet loyalty.

Bari learned to navigate this new world with sharper eyes and steady hands. Each day was a small victory, a step farther from the slums that had tried to claim him. And in the quiet moments before dawn, when the city's noise dulled to a distant murmur, he allowed himself a brief peace — the scent of coffee, the crackle of old music, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new.

***

Days folded into weeks, and weeks into months, yet something about NQSC never quite settled right in Bari's chest. The city bustled with life — but there was an odd stillness beneath the surface, a subtle hum he couldn't place. People moved with a grace that felt too practiced, smiles that seemed rehearsed, eyes that shimmered like they hid secrets.

At first, Bari chalked it up to city life, the way folks put on masks to survive. But over time, the little things gnawed at him. The café's regulars were... too perfect. A woman with skin so flawless it caught the light like glass, a man whose eyes flickered an unnatural shade of violet, others whose voices carried a melody that sent chills down his spine.

It wasn't just their looks. Their conversations hinted at things he didn't understand — cryptic mentions of "Awakening," and "The Dream Relm". Words whispered in shadowed corners, like a secret language he was never meant to hear.

One rainy afternoon, as the city was wrapped in mist, Bari found himself sitting with Toma after a long day's work. The café was quieter than usual, the rain tapping soft rhythms against the windows.

"Do you know why things… seem off?" Bari asked, his voice low. "Like the people — it's not just them but the city too."

Toma wiped his hands on his apron, eyes thoughtful. "You're seeing the cracks, kid. This world is not normal, not everyone here is classified as humans, well technically anyway."

Bari's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Toma leaned in, voice dropping low. "You've heard of the Nightmare Spell, right?"

Bari shook his head.

"It's an ancient curse, a warping of reality itself," Toma said slowly. "It traps souls, It's how people can awaken powers, why some have abilities that defy logic. This city, this world... it's overtaken by the spell. Several countries fell, once your hit by the nightmare spell, you fall into a deep slumbe you get sent into a trial by the spellr—many dont wake up from it in fact. Those that do, they come back with wondrous powers and abilities."

The words hit Bari like a wave crashing over stone "I.. see"

Bari remembered, the novel Shadow Slave, he read it once, it was one of his favorite's, along with One peice and other dark novels and manga.

Toma's eyes met his with steady calm. "Dont worry about for now, well actually do so. Train your body like you already have, but harder. From now on, ill tell you more about it, but not now."

"Back to work we go." Tomas voice run in Bari's ear as he got up and continued his work

Panic bubbled up, sharp and cold. The stories Bari had lost himself in — Shadow Slave and others — they weren't just tales. They were reflections of worlds, the threads that tied fate and power. He was trapped in a place where reality bent and magic stirred beneath the surface.

For the first time, the storm in his chest wasn't just hunger, it was restless. It was a warning.

Bari moved on to helping out customers, heart pounding. The fight wasn't over. It had only just begun.