Meanwhile, at the Southern Gate...
Two boys hurried down the stairs of Athergate Station, toward the Gloamrest district. Their footsteps were quick, almost frantic, as if they were fleeing from something. Dark oil stains smeared their faces, deliberately applied, and their worn-out clothes, dulled from years of wear, were similarly marked.
They weaved through the streets, never glancing back. The further they moved from the crowded station, the faster their pace became. It was clear now, they weren't just walking; they were running.
When they finally reached an empty street, they broke into a full sprint.
They ran for a long time, leaving the streets behind until they reached a dead end. The alley was narrow, barely wide enough for a carriage to pass, its walls flanked by abandoned homes. If anything happened here, no one would come to their aid.
The older of the two, Emil, bore an air of nobility despite his rough life. High cheekbones, a straight nose, and piercing eyes held a mix of defiance and longing, a stark contrast to the grime clinging to his skin.
"Do you think they'll chase us this far?" He muttered while running a finger through his dark, unkempt hair, tangled and matted from life in the slums.
"Does it even matter? They'll come after us sooner or later," Theo panted, his breath ragged from the long run. He braced his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "We should move to the Gideon area. At least we'd be safe for a while and we'd have some savings too."
Emil fixed him with a sharp look. "That money is for our birth certificates, our only chance to get into Zul'vharra." His voice was firm, edged with frustration. "If we work for six more months, we'll have ten solari, enough for the papers and at least a month's rent in the upper district."He narrowed his eyes. "I know you've been eyeing that money, but if you start thinking about wasting it again, spending instead of working, then forget it."
Before they could argue further, a figure emerged at the entrance of the alley, a man older than Emil, towering over them with broad shoulders and a build like a war machine. Whether his strength came from raw muscle or something more sinister was unclear, but the metallic, golem-forged arm at his side left little doubt. Engraved with sigils or powered by some hidden mechanism, it gleamed under the light as he advanced, seven boys following close behind.
Their eyes told the story of hunger and cruelty, hardened them, their eyes gleaming with the triumph of predators closing in on helpless prey. Among them, one figure stood out, a boy of Theo's age, lean and scarred, his broken nose marred by fresh stripes. Unlike the others, his confidence wavered, but he still walked with them.
The mechanical hand men didn't speak at first. He just stared, head tilting slightly, his unreadable eyes sweeping over the boys like he was measuring how much fight they can.
A long silence stretched between them. Too long. Emil's breathing slowed, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. They were waiting for something, for what?
"Why did you stop running, rats?"
Emil squared his shoulders, forcing confidence into his voice. "Listen, Mad Hallow, there's no conflict between us, don't try to start one." He gestured pointed toward the boy with the broken nose, his tone firm. "We pay Mad Eye's cut on time, every day. You have no reason to involve yourself. This is our personal fight. Stay out of it."
The boy responded instantly, his voice laced with accusation. "Since when did a one-sided beating become just a personal fight? Last evening, I came to your shack, you didn't pay yesterday's cut. Not only that, you broke my nose. And Theo? He tried to talk some sense into you, but you just said, 'I don't care about Mad Eye's people. If they want to come, let them.' Are you going to lie about that too?"
He wasn't just telling the story, he was twisting it, playing the victim, knowing full well that Emil and Theo wouldn't deny the truth, no matter the consequences. Growing up in the slums, they both had always stuck together, their bond unshaken despite the harsh world around them. Somehow, they had managed to hold on to their innocence, their hearts still untainted.
But they didn't yet understand a cruel truth, sometimes, a well-placed lie is the only thing that can keep the blade from your neck. The boy just wanted to see regret flicker across Emil's face, to watch him hesitate.
"Tsk… you're just twisting words," Emil muttered, his jaw tightening. He was older, slightly wiser, and he understood the game, the boy was painting them as the aggressors, making himself the victim.
But then Theo's face faltered, regret flickering in his eyes for just a moment. And that was all it took. Mad Hallow, the right hand of Mad Eye, had seen enough.
"Mad Reapers, it's time to feast," He declared, to the boys standing behind him while spreading his arms wide.
The boys didn't hesitate, they closed in like wolves scenting weakness, swift and relentless.
The first punch came from a boy missing teeth smashing into Theo's face like a hammer, jerking his head sideways. White sparks exploded behind his eyes. Theo staggered, but before he could recover, another blow crushed into his ribs, pain shot up his spine.
Emil barely had time to react before a fist slammed into his gut, folding him in half.
Theo saw the fist coming this time. He ducked, then swung wild, reckless, but desperate. His knuckles cracked against the boy's face. A grunt, a stumble.
For a second, just a second, hope flared in his chest.Then someone grabbed his arm, twisting it until his shoulder screamed in protest.
Emil tried to help theo but a heavy boot caught his leg mid-stride. He crashed face-first into the dirt. Before he could push himself up, fists rained down on him.
A boot to the ribs. Something cracked.
A knee to the back.
A knuckle, sharp like iron, cut across his cheek. Blood spilled onto the ground.
Theo, dazed, tried to rise, only for the same boy grab him by the hair and slam his face against the stone wall. His vision blurred. A sharp, unbearable pain tore through his mouth and he lost consciousness.
Something hard hit the ground.
His tooth.
Emil coughed, struggling against the weight of the boys pinning him down. They weren't just beating him, they were enjoying it. A heavy fist smashed into his jaw, then another. The taste of iron filled his mouth.
They weren't just losing. They had already lost.
By the time the gang stepped back, Theo lay motionless against the wall, his breath ragged unconscious. Blood dripped from his mouth. Emil curled on the ground, his arms barely shielding his face, his entire body screaming in agony.
Some time passed before the two boys stirred, their minds struggling to piece together what had happened. What had they done wrong? Why had it come to this? But their misfortune had only begun. This was the price of defiance, the cost of refusing to follow the crowd, of resisting the illusion society forced upon them.
Mad Hallow watched as they regained consciousness, his expression unreadable. "Hold them tight," he ordered.
At once, his men obeyed, yanking the boys up by their hair, twisting their arms behind their backs, gripping their necks, offering them up like sacrifices before Mad Hallow.
Then, with a simple gesture, he signaled to the boy whose nose Emil had broken. "Break his nose." His eyes shifted to Theo. "And the other one, his leg."
The boy's grin widened instantly. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and drove a brutal punch into Emil's face, putting his full strength behind it. Blood burst from Emil's nose in a sharp streak, splattering onto the ground. But one punch wasn't enough. He swung again, then again, yet Emil, built slightly stronger, didn't fall so easily. His nose held, refusing to break.
Mad Hallow watched, unimpressed. With a single motion, he shoved the boy aside. Then, raising his mechanical arm, he delivered a devastating punch to Emil's face.
A sickening crack echoed through the alley.
This time, his nose fractured instantly. Blood, no longer just a trickle, gushed like a fountain, some of it spraying onto Mad Hallow's face and clothes. But he didn't flinch. He didn't even seem to notice.
And he wasn't finished.
Without a word, he turned to Theo. His hand clenched. And then, he reached for the boy's leg.
For the first time that day, fear flickered in Emil's eyes. Through all the pain, through the brutal beating, he hadn't let it show. But now watching Mad Hallow reach for Theo's leg his resolve wavered.
If you dared to dream big, you had to have the courage to bear the cost.
Blood pooled in Emil's mouth, thick and metallic, clogging his throat. He coughed, choking on it, but they didn't loosen their grip. His ribs screamed in protest with every breath. He knew what was coming next.
Theo. His leg.
He had to stop it. He knew how much Theo cherished his limbs, and worst of all, it was happening because of him.
"Ngh… s-stop…" He gagged on the words, his vision swimming. "I… I have money…"