“Pathetic,” He mumbled as he layed in an alley battered, soiled, bruised. Attempting to stand, pain electrified his body denying him that right. He was still but a child in all fairness, no one could expect him to have won, but all his effort had left his expectations high. He could have done better, yet still he was left broken and exhausted as his body surged with the energy of the fae, slowly undoing his failure.

Damien realized he may lay in this spot for hours as his supply of natura magic ran dry once again. Damien had recalled back in the village realizing that the further from the forest he strayed the thinner natura ran in the air. Here in the city was the epitome of that idea: There was nearly no passive natura meaning he was reliant on what miniscule amounts his body generated.

It was nearing dusk, and he was near some of the seedier elements in the city. He prayed no one found him as at best he would be ignored and he had no inclination to find out what they would do to a small elven boy in the worst case. Maybe he was being prejudiced, though; despite having broken several bones, those men did nothing particularly vile. It was his fault for not having been better.

Halting his thoughts, Damien noticed that his arms felt mostly fine ignoring some throbbing pain and his ribs probably mended their cracks. Confident he regained some mobility with his upper body, he eased himself over to one of the adjacent walls and propped himself into a sitting position.

City life had not been very kind to the elven families. This country was majority human and no one bothered mentioning to the children that there was pretty deep-seated discrimination and fear towards elves in these parts. Apparently, the humans and elves went to a war a while back and a large amount of them were slaughtered in the arising conflict by elven soldiers.

Whispers of “unearthly endurance,” and “monsters,” were heard by him and the others throughout the two months they’ve lived here. Maybe if there were more whispers of “really good fucking ears,” the small elven community wouldn’t have been as subjected to hearing the disdain held by this city’s entire damned population. Damien realized his temper was flaring again. “Calm,” he whispered to himself, “Anger solves nothing.”

Darkness draped over the landscape, and a chill swept through the streets. Then the city woke up. Chatter gradually became louder as Damien lay dazed. His mind flowed thought to thought unfocused and- Damien felt a chill shoot through him. Damien looked around in a panic. But saw no one. It felt like cold water was dumped on him, was his paranoia getting that bad? The preternatural unease left as soon as it came, but the hauntings of the feeling caused him to force himself up. Pain shot through his left leg, his knee still had not repaired from where it was stomped, but Damien didn’t wish to remain here any longer.

Having lied in that alley for hours, it was a welcome change of scenery as he made his way through a red light district, acquiring some queer looks due to his obvious childish nature.

He really regretted having picked the fight with those two men earlier. But he was glad that the guy they were following got away. If a human received half the damage he had it’d be magic if they weren’t crippled for life, literally.

Another chill swept through him, something that froze him in his tracks. It felt like he was being peered through, someone or something watching. Damien couldn’t pinpoint what was the root of this sensation whether it be instinct or paranoia, but he didn’t want to find out.

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Damien was fairly confident he was safe as long as he stayed here in the red light district. As it was lit with lanterns, both magic and mundane, nothing would start trouble with the brimming nightlife here.

Then Damien recalled how racist some people were, meaning weren't as many people here that would hop in to protect him as he was hoping.

He hobbled faster.

This feeling, this fear, it swept over him several more times as he made his way through the red light district to the slums.

Would it be considered slums or a ghetto? Damien wasn't sure having lived in an impoverished area before, was there a difference?

The elven tenement he lived in was on the other side of the slums, in what was considered the merchant's district in the center of the city. This area was also noticeably darker, though his enhanced sight meant that he could see easily enough.

As he continues his walk, he heard something off to his right side. He heard something. In the darkness of the alley, there was a gangly disheveled person who was quietly looming over a fallen man. Damien stepped off to the side and focused on listening not wanting to draw any ire. Damien peeked in and took in more information now that he was actively paying attention. The one still erect was pale, with limp, oily hair draped down to his shoulders. The person, no corpse Damien realized as he saw the dark glimmer of blood reflect off the moonlight. The man seemed to inspect the body, crouching down and caking his hands in something as he handled the body before standing up and moving around to the other side. Damien pulled from the corner, as the man would see him from the new angle. There was silence, followed by footfall.

Alarmed as the sound approached his direction, Damien fled. What in god’s name was that? Glancing over his shoulder he saw the spindly man walk out from the alley and shuffle his way forward. Damien slowed remaining as inconspicuous as possible. He felt the need to do something, a compulsion. He needed to intervene.

Damien froze, he why would he want to insert himself into that? The dude looked straight out a slasher film and it was the epitome of stupidity to get close to him. But the urge got stronger, it hounded at him. Damien could feel himself breaking into a cold sweat, his mind becoming fuzzy as he forced his body to stumble away. It felt like wading through molasses. His legs refused to obey him. Damien’s will cracked against the pressure of this death wish of an instinct. He spun on his heels immediately analyzing the situation behind him. The thin male was walking away from him and the body, heading down the path that eventually led to the red light district. Damien crept his way into the alley, desperate not to draw attention to himself. His stomach lurched as the body’s smell hit him. The compulsion from earlier reimposed itself demanding he confront the man but it was weaker at the moment. As morbid curiosity overcame him, Damien looked to see what the murderer did while looking over the body. Kicking the body over as he pinched his nose, Damien saw the man's face. This man was also pale, whether due to his current state or not having enough sun in life Damien was unsure, he didn’t know enough about bodies.

As moments passed he felt that urge flare again before disappearing. Was he feeling guilty? That didn’t fit his mental image of himself though, he had never been this righteous before his second life. Was part of being an elf, having some sort of stronger opposition to doing wrong? Damien’s mind flashed to the event in the woods with the blacksmith and that threw a shade of doubt on that theory.

Damien’s musings slowed as he noted a rectangularly shaped indent in the front of the guy's shirt. Curiosity gaining the better of him once more, he invasively raided the man’s cooling corpse and grabbed the object. He pulled out a relatively dry book. The bottom corner of its pages was damp. Under the moonlight, Damien noticed the leather cover was tinted red as he flipped it to glance inside.

It reminded him of one of those pocket bibles, his father had kept one on him nearly every day until he died. Shaking the decades’ old nostalgia, confusion arose as he glanced inside. Diagrams and a cryptic cipher was illuminated by the dim moonlight. Now this was interesting.