Kadoc’s fingers curled tightly around the small pouch of coins as he stared at the man in front of him. The sewer tunnel reeked of mildew and rot, the faint trickle of water echoing in the silence between them. A single lantern hung from the low ceiling, its dim glow casting long shadows across the jagged stone walls.
Sitting across from Kadoc and rocking back in a worn-looking chair was, for lack of a better word, his dealer. The man was wiry, his thin frame swallowed by a patched cloak that had seen better days. His boots, scuffed and caked with grime, rested on a barrel, and his fingers played idly with the vial of "medicine" that Kadoc had come for. The dim light of a lantern above cast jagged shadows on his sharp, foxlike features, and his smirk was as slippery as the muck lining the tunnel walls. He reminded Kadoc of the boss in a lot of ways.
"You’re a regular little customer, aren’t you, Kadoc?" the man drawled, his voice thick with mockery. He leaned back further, balancing precariously as if the chair’s collapse would amuse him more than inconvenience him. "Every week, crawling back for the same thing. Almost makes me feel appreciated."
Kadoc stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the vial as it twirled between the man’s fingers. The liquid inside was thick and dark, catching the lantern’s faint glow. He’d stopped asking long ago whether it worked or if it was just another scam to bleed him dry. What mattered was that it was something, and something was better than nothing.
The dealer chuckled at Kadoc’s silence. "You’re no fun, you know that? Always so serious. Relax a little! You might even live long enough to see that poor lady of yours get better. Or…well." He shrugged theatrically. "You know."
Kadoc’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone calm. "Do you have it or not?"
“You’re lucky I’ve got any left,” the man said, his voice low and gravelly. He held up a small vial, the thick black liquid inside sloshing gently as he turned it in his fingers. “The stuff’s getting harder to come by, you know. Demand’s high. Supply’s low. You know how it is.”
Kadoc said nothing, his eyes fixed on the vial. His hood cast a shadow over his face, but his jaw was set, and his posture betrayed the tension running through him. The man smirked, leaning closer, his thin frame bent slightly as if to loom over Kadoc.
“Look at you, kid. Always scraping by, always coming back for more. You sure this is worth it? I mean, she’s still coughing up that sludge, isn’t she?”
Kadoc’s fist tightened around the pouch, the coins inside clinking softly. “Just give it to me,” he said, his voice sharp but low, careful not to draw attention.
The man chuckled, a dry, humorless sound, and tossed the vial lightly into the air before catching it again. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all touchy. You’ve got the coin?”
Kadoc thrust the pouch forward, his fingers brushing against the man’s calloused hand as he grabbed it. The man untied the string and peered inside, counting the coins with a practiced glance before nodding in satisfaction.
“Pleasure doing business,” the man said, pressing the vial into Kadoc’s hand. His smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. “Word of advice? You’d better find yourself another supplier soon. This stuff’s not gonna last forever. And neither’s she.”
Kadoc’s stomach twisted, but he kept his expression neutral. He shoved the vial into the folds of his cloak and turned on his heel, the man’s laughter following him as he made his way back down the tunnel. The faint light of the lantern faded behind him, leaving only the sound of his boots splashing against the damp stone.
As he moved deeper into the sewers, his mind churned. He hated dealing with men like that—always smug, always in control, knowing just how desperate he was. But what choice did he have? He clutched the vial through the fabric of his cloak, its weight feeling heavier than it should.
Whatever was in it, real or not, it was all he could offer his mother. And for now, it would have to be enough. It took less than an hour before Kadoc climbed the uneven wooden ladder that led up from the sewers, his boots slipping slightly on the damp rungs. He emerged into the dim light of the slums, the air heavy with the faint stench of refuse and decay. The walk back to his shack was short but felt endless. Every step was weighed down by the small vial tucked against his chest, its presence both a lifeline and a burden.
The shack greeted him with silence. The only sound was the faint whistle of wind slipping through the cracks in the walls. Kadoc pushed the door open quietly, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior. The single room that served as their kitchen was as he’d left it—bare and cold. He stepped to the back room, the vial gripped tightly in his hand.
His mother lay on the bed, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her face was pale, her hair damp with sweat, and her frail hands clutched the thin blanket as though it might anchor her to this world. Beside the bed, a dark puddle stained the floor—the black sludge she’d vomited during the night, its edges crusted over where it had begun to dry.
Kadoc’s throat tightened as he crouched beside her, his free hand brushing the damp hair from her forehead. Her skin burned under his touch, the fever relentless despite all his efforts.
“Mother,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. She stirred at the sound, her eyelids fluttering weakly before they opened halfway. Her dull eyes focused on him with effort, and she managed a faint smile.
“Kadoc,” she rasped, her voice barely audible. “You’re… back.”
“I got the medicine,” he said, holding up the vial. He tried to sound hopeful, though his voice wavered. “It’ll help, like it always does.”
Her smile faltered, but she nodded weakly. “Good boy,” she murmured, though her gaze seemed distant, as if she wasn’t entirely there.
Kadoc uncorked the vial with shaking hands, the thick liquid inside catching the faint light. He lifted it to her lips, supporting her head gently as he coaxed her to drink. She swallowed slowly, her throat convulsing with the effort. When the vial was empty, he set it aside, adjusting her pillows and tucking the blanket tighter around her.
For a moment, there was silence. Kadoc allowed himself a flicker of hope, his fingers brushing against her hand as he sat beside her. But then her body convulsed, her breath hitching as a violent cough wracked her thin frame.
“Mother!” Kadoc cried, leaning forward as she doubled over, clutching her chest. A wet, gurgling sound escaped her lips before she turned her head to the side and vomited. The thick black sludge splattered onto the blanket, and Kadoc’s stomach churned as he saw streaks of crimson laced through it—fresh blood mingling with the bile-like liquid.
“Stay with me,” he whispered, panic creeping into his voice. He reached for a rag, wiping at her mouth and the mess with hurried, trembling hands. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes fluttering closed again.
Kadoc pressed a hand to her forehead, his palm slick with sweat and shaking with helplessness. She was burning up, her body quickly deteriorating against a sickness he couldn’t fight. The medicine wasn’t enough—it never had been. But what else could he do?
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them away, swallowing the lump in his throat. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead, his lips trembling against her hot skin. “I’ll find something better,” he whispered, though he didn’t know how. “I promise.”
Her breathing steadied slightly, but she didn’t respond. Kadoc sat there for a moment longer, his hand lingering on hers, before rising to his feet. The shack returned to silence as Kadoc closed the door behind him, heading directly to the boss's shop.
***
“You owe me more than that,” Kadoc said, his voice trembling but firm as he stood before the boss’s desk. His fists were clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. “I’ve done every job you’ve asked, taken every risk. You can’t just keep giving me scraps while I—”
The boss raised a hand, his thick fingers adorned with gaudy rings, silencing Kadoc mid-sentence. He leaned back in his fur-lined chair, the flickering firelight casting deep shadows over his wide face. A thin smile tugged at his lips, but his small, sharp eyes were devoid of humor.
“You dare?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You come in here—into my shop—and demand more money? Do you think you’re special, boy? Do you think I owe you anything?”
Kadoc’s heart pounded in his chest, but he didn’t back down. “I’m the one taking the risks. Without me—without all of us—you’d have nothing.”
The boss’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, steely glare. He reached for the cane propped against the side of his chair, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring what was about to happen.
“You forget your place,” he said, rising to his feet. The cane was heavy, its handle carved into the shape of a snarling wolf’s head. He gripped it tightly as he stepped around the desk, his bulk casting a shadow over Kadoc. “You’re nothing but a gutter rat I took pity on. I gave you a roof, food, a purpose. And this is how you repay me?”
Kadoc stood his ground, though his body screamed at him to flee. “I’ve earned more,” he said, his voice cracking but defiant. “You—”
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The cane came down hard, the wolf’s head cracking against Kadoc’s cheekbone with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in his head, and he stumbled back, clutching his face as blood seeped from a split in his skin.
“Earned?” the boss snarled, his voice rising as he brought the cane down again, this time across Kadoc’s ribs. “You earn what I say you earn!”
Kadoc crumpled to the floor, his arms instinctively wrapping around his torso as blow after blow rained down on him. The cane struck his back, his shoulders, his legs, each impact drawing a grunt of pain that he tried—and failed—to stifle.
“You think you’re better than me? That you can dictate terms?” the boss spat, his voice growing ragged with exertion. “You’re a tool, boy. A tool I can replace any time I want.”
Kadoc didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. The world was a blur of pain and humiliation, his breaths shallow and ragged as the beating finally stopped. He lay motionless on the floor, his body trembling, blood trickling from his face onto the worn wood beneath him.
The boss loomed over him, panting slightly, the cane tapping rhythmically against the floor. “Get out,” he growled. “Before I decide you’re not worth the trouble.”
Kadoc pushed himself up slowly, his arms shaking beneath him. He staggered to his feet, his vision swimming as he limped toward the door. His head throbbed, and every breath sent a sharp pain through his ribs, but he didn’t look back.
“Don’t forget, boy,” the boss called after him, his voice venomous. “You’re alive because I allow it. Remember that.”
Kadoc stumbled out into the cold night air, his body screaming in protest with every step. The shop door slammed shut behind him, and for a moment, he just stood there, his breaths fogging in the chill. He wiped at the blood on his face, his fingers trembling as they came away smeared red before heading down the street.
Kadoc trudged through the empty streets, his body aching with every step. The cold night air stung against his bruised face, and each shallow breath sent sharp pains shooting through his ribs. He kept his head down, his hood pulled low, trying to ignore the wetness of blood still trickling from his split cheek. All he wanted was to get back to his shack and let the darkness swallow him whole.
“Kadoc!” a voice called, breaking through his haze of pain.
He froze, his shoulders tensing. Turning slowly, he saw Theodore jogging toward him, his blond hair catching the faint light of a nearby lantern. The boy’s face was bright with concern, his usual easy grin absent.
“What happened to you?” Theodore asked as he came closer, his eyes widening as he took in Kadoc’s battered appearance. “You look like you went ten rounds with a horse and lost.”
“It’s nothing,” Kadoc muttered, turning away and continuing down the street. He didn’t have the energy to explain—or argue.
“Like hell it’s nothing,” Theodore said, falling into step beside him. “Who did this? Was it the boss? Did you say something to him?”
Kadoc’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The silence stretched between them as they walked, the occasional flicker of a streetlamp casting long shadows on the uneven cobblestones. Finally, Theodore let out a breath and glanced sideways at Kadoc.
“Listen,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I heard something today. Something… interesting.”
Kadoc’s gaze flicked toward him, though he didn’t respond.
Theodore hesitated, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Down in the sewers, near the eastern tunnels, there’s someone looking for workers. Not just regular jobs—special jobs. Big ones.”
Kadoc frowned, his steps faltering. “Special how?”
Theodore shrugged, though his expression turned serious. “Don’t know the details. Just that they’re willing to pay a lot. Like… a lot a lot. Enough to—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Well, enough to make it worth the risk.”
Kadoc’s mind churned at the words. A big job. Enough money to matter. Enough to finally buy real medicine, or even get his mother out of the city entirely. But the thought came with a twinge of unease. Nothing came easy in the slums, and the bigger the reward, the bigger the danger.
“What’s the catch?” Kadoc asked, his voice flat.
Theodore’s grin returned, though it was smaller this time. “Always the suspicious one, huh? I didn’t get all the details, but I heard they don’t care who you are, as long as you’ve got guts. Might be worth checking out.”
Kadoc glanced at him, searching his face for a hint of deceit, but Theodore’s expression was open, if a little mischievous. He meant well, Kadoc knew, even if his schemes didn’t always pan out the way he intended.
“You’re not thinking of going yourself?” Kadoc asked.
Theodore laughed, shaking his head. “Me? Nah. I’ve got enough trouble staying off the boss’s bad side. But you… you’ve got to be the best thief these slums have seen in a long time. Like you’re already thinking about it if that look is anything to go by.”
Kadoc said nothing, turning his gaze back to the road ahead. The idea tugged at him, tempting in its simplicity. One job. One big score. But the risks loomed large, and the bruises on his body were a stark reminder of what failure could cost.
They walked in silence for a while longer, the weight of the conversation settling between them. As they reached the edge of the slums, Theodore clapped Kadoc on the shoulder—a little too hard for Kadoc’s battered state.
“Just think about it,” Theodore said with a grin. “Sometimes the only way out is to take a leap.”
Kadoc watched him disappear down a side street, his laughter echoing faintly behind him. He stood there for a moment, his mind racing, before turning toward his shack. The thought lingered, growing louder with each step.
A special job. Enough to change everything. But at what cost?
***
The sewers were busier than usual, the narrow tunnels alive with the hum of voices and the clinking of coins exchanging hands. Kadoc pushed his way through the crowd, his hood pulled low over his face. The air was thick with the mingling scents of damp stone, mildew, and the sharper tang of illicit goods. Vendors called out their wares in hushed tones, their tables laden with everything from stolen trinkets to questionable vials of liquid.
Kadoc barely spared them a glance. He moved quickly, weaving through the throng of buyers and sellers until he reached a quieter section of the tunnels. Here, the stone walls were slick with moisture, and the air grew colder. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze catching on the shadows of others moving in the same direction. Kids mostly, like him—thin, wiry, eyes darting nervously. But there were adults too, their faces harder, their postures tense.
The farther he went, the more apparent it became that they all had the same destination. By the time he reached the small tunnel Theodore had mentioned, the crowd had thinned, leaving him among a group of about fourteen others. They clustered near the entrance, their murmurs low and uncertain. Kadoc hung back slightly, observing.
Standing in the middle of the tunnel was a man who clearly didn’t belong. His fine clothing—a tailored doublet of rich blue fabric, trimmed with gold—caught the faint light of the torches, glinting in stark contrast to the filth around him. His face was pale, his expression pinched as though the very air offended him. He held a silk handkerchief over his nose, his other hand fidgeting with a gold ring on his finger. Everything about him screamed wealth—and discomfort.
Behind him, standing as still as a statue, was a man clad in plate armor. The torch light reflected off the polished steel, highlighting the intricate engravings that decorated the chest piece. His helm was tucked under his arm, revealing a face devoid of emotion, his sharp features set in a stony mask. His presence alone was enough to make the gathered group uneasy; his hand rested lightly on the hilt of a sword, a silent reminder of the authority he carried.
Kadoc’s eyes narrowed as he leaned against the damp wall, taking in the scene. The rich man shifted uncomfortably, his gaze sweeping over the group with poorly disguised distaste. He muttered something to the armored man, who didn’t respond but gave a slight nod.
The murmurs among the group grew louder, curiosity and tension mingling in equal measure. One of the older boys, broad-shouldered and brash, stepped forward, his voice carrying in the confined space. “What’s this about? You dragged us all the way down here for what?”
The rich man flinched slightly at the tone but quickly composed himself. He cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and addressed the group with a voice that wavered just enough to betray his unease. “You are here because you were told there is an opportunity. An… unusual one, yes, but one that offers considerable reward.”
Kadoc crossed his arms, his brow furrowing as he listened. Whatever this job was, it had already drawn the attention of too many. And if this man was involved, it was bound to be dangerous.
The rich man gestured toward the armored figure. “Sir Oren here will provide the details. But let me be clear—this is not a task for the faint of heart. If you wish to leave, do so now. Otherwise, stay, and you will be compensated handsomely—if you succeed.”
The armored man, Sir Oren, stepped forward, his boots echoing against the damp stone floor of the tunnel. His presence was commanding, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group like a hawk surveying prey. The uneasy murmurs fell silent as he stood in the center of the crowd, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
“You have been gathered for a single purpose,” Sir Oren began, his voice deep and unyielding, each word deliberate. “You are to infiltrate and rob the Orsantsy Manor.”
A stunned silence followed his words. Kadoc felt his stomach drop, the weight of the task hitting him like a blow. The Orsantsy Manor was infamous in the city—a sprawling estate owned by one of the most powerful noble families not just in the city but perhaps the whole kingdom. It was said to be second only to the city’s keep in terms of its defenses, with layers of professional guards, locked gates, and rumors of traps hidden within its halls.
One of the adults in the group, a small man with a scar running down his cheek, let out a low whistle. “The Orsantsy Manor? Are you mad? That place is a fortress.”
Sir Oren’s expression didn’t waver. “It is heavily defended, yes. But it is not impenetrable. And for those who succeed, the rewards will far outweigh the risks.”
The rich man behind him shifted uncomfortably, dabbing at his brow with his silk handkerchief. “The Orsantsy family is in possession of… certain items of interest that belong to me,” he added, his voice thinner, lacking the steel of Sir Oren’s. “Items that must be… retrieved. You will be provided with what you need to complete the task, and you will be compensated generously.”
“What kind of compensation?” someone from the back called out.
The rich man hesitated, glancing at Sir Oren before answering. “Gold,” he said simply. “Enough to change your lives…For the better, I hope.”
Kadoc’s fingers twitched at his sides. Gold. Enough to change his life. Enough to buy proper care for his mother, to leave this city behind and never look back. But the thought was quickly drowned by a wave of doubt. The Orsantsy Manor wasn’t just a difficult target—it might as well be suicide.
Another voice spoke up, this time from one of the older boys. “Why not send your knights or mercenaries? Why us?”
Sir Oren’s gaze locked onto the boy, and for a moment, the silence was palpable. “Because you can move where knights cannot,” he said, his tone as sharp as the blade at his side. “You can slip through cracks, blend into shadows, and disappear when necessary. You are the tools for this task. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Kadoc bristled at the coldness in Sir Oren’s words but said nothing. He glanced at the others, noting the mix of fear, greed, and calculation on their faces. Some of them were already weighing the risks against the reward, their gazes flickering with desperation while others were looking to the tunnels behind them.
“There is no room for hesitation,” Sir Oren continued. “You will be briefed on the details and provided with the tools you need. But once you accept, there is no turning back. Failure will not be tolerated.”
The rich man stepped forward again, his eyes scanning the group. “Decide now,” he said, his voice trembling slightly despite his attempt at authority. “If you wish to walk away, do so. But if you stay, you will see the greatest riches you’ve ever dreamed of.”
A heavy silence hung in the tunnel as the group processed the weight of the task before them. Faces tightened with fear, some with determination, others with doubt. The older boy who had questioned Sir Oren shook his head, stepping back.
“Not worth it,” he muttered, his voice low. “I’m out.”
One by one, five others followed suit. An older woman muttered a curse under her breath before retreating toward the black-market crowd, while two younger kids exchanged nervous glances and scurried off together. Each departure chipped away at the group’s numbers until only eight remained.
Kadoc stayed rooted in place, his fists clenched. He wanted to leave—to turn around and disappear into the city’s shadows like the others. But the image of his mother flashed in his mind, lying fevered and weak in her bed. The promise of gold was too great to ignore. It wasn’t just about the money—it was about survival, for both of them.
“Very well,” Sir Oren said, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “The rest of you have made your choice.”
Kadoc glanced at the remaining group. A mix of kids and adults, all of them carrying the same desperate look he felt etched into his own face. They didn’t trust each other; that much was clear. But for now, they were bound by the same dangerous purpose.
The rich man adjusted his cloak, the fine fabric brushing against the slick walls. “Let’s not waste time,” he said, his voice tight. “We need to move quickly.”
Without waiting for further protest, Sir Oren turned and began walking deeper into the tunnel, his armored boots ringing against the damp stone. The sound echoed ominously, a rhythmic reminder of the path ahead. The rich man followed close behind, his discomfort barely hidden as he sidestepped puddles and clutched his handkerchief to his face.
Kadoc fell in line with the others, his steps hesitant but resolute. The group moved as one, their figures swallowed by the dim light of the tunnel. The black-market noise faded into silence behind them, replaced only by the faint trickle of water and the occasional drip from the ceiling.
The tunnel grew darker, the air colder. Each step took them further from the world above, further into the unknown. Kadoc’s chest tightened, the weight of his decision settling fully as they pressed on. Whatever awaited them at the Orsantsy Manor, one thing was certain: there was no turning back now.