As the pounding of the hooves got closer, Gant started to worry. They had never gotten this close to finding him; the blood keepers were always extremely disgusted by these slums and tried never to come here. They almost never needed to; the cases of nobility actually needing to come down to the slums to find prostitutes were almost unheard of. They had high-class ones where they could be sure no child would be born.

But it seemed today was the day someone started to breathe down their necks—a troop of five men, with their scaly forearms and angular features, most likely some highborn children too stupid to join the real army, but just strong enough to beat up some bastard children.

Gant sprinted through these streets. He knew them like they were his home because it was his home. Dashing in and out of buildings was easy, but the hooves seemed to get closer; it seemed they had some way of tracking him.

Dashing through these gross streets, he kept feeling himself get felt up at every turn, along with random fluids getting rubbed onto him. The slums were so jam-packed that running through was an overstatement; he was madly waddling through with people attempting to pickpocket him at every turn. He could only hope that liquid was sweat and blood; anything else, he would need to double his weekly rinses.

"Please stop, please!" The screams of people were getting louder as the hooves seemed to get closer. It was clear the blood keepers had no desire to value the lives of the people here in the slightest. Gant knew that all they valued was every single drop of dragon's blood they were able to extract from him. Each drop might as well have been part of the national treasury, and right now, he was trying to rob them of another potential bribery. They valued the lives of the people so low that even if they were planning on paying them back, they would spare pennies to the families, let alone any real money.

After finally reaching his destination, he turned into a dark alley. He knew the blood keepers had seen him; he had no misconceptions that he had lost them, but now they would need to get off their horses. At the end of the alley sat a small tunnel. The slums had many of these; some rumored it was the ruins of what was once a sewer system before the slums were slums. But, for now, it was Gant's normal way home and his only solace. Those keepers would need to take off their armor to get to him and climb through shit. Something he was more than willing to do if necessary, but some highborn with lots of dragon's blood in their veins probably weren't.

"He's getting away, that filthy thief."

"Find where that tunnel goes and catch him on the other end."

His heart was pounding out of his chest, but he was able to let out a small sigh of relief and smiled. The keepers clearly weren't briefed on the slums before their rampage, or they would have known the tunnels led everywhere in the city. Climbing down into the manhole, he had to be careful; the handles were slick, and there was always someone who met an unfortunate end just trying to take a shortcut home. After a gross and quiet yet relieving trip in the sewers, he finally stopped hearing the thundering noise of the streets.

Living his whole life in this city, right on the edge of the Isle of Man, his anxiety always dictated his life. The streets were loud, and you couldn't keep so much as a penny in your pocket without getting robbed. But worst of all, being on the border meant constant attacks by random raid parties, almost like they were prodding humanity to see if it still had any teeth. The raids would always make it a fair way into the slums before the border patrol decided it was time to step in. Those fools were even below the keepers; they had no dragon blood but simply born magic, type 0.

With the constant threats, he quickly became acclimated to hiding in the sewers. He always felt comfortable in these dingy holes, at least for a few hours. Gant hadn't known exactly where the entrance he got into would take him, but he quickly familiarized himself in these parts. Taking random corners and turns, he made his way to another ladder. The sewers were long out of use traditionally but were still used greatly by the residents who knew how to navigate them.

As he was getting ready to climb, his usual symptoms came on. Gant was a towering man with huge arms, but he had many weaknesses. One such was extreme claustrophobia. He didn't feel anxious, but his body would develop hives if he stayed enclosed too long. He needed his 'recharge,' as he called it.

He naturally had very large arms compared to his thinner frame, making the climb up the ladder an awkward one. Pushing open the grimy manhole, the sound of the streets that was audible underground was now a full-blown assault on his eardrums. But the sunlight that hit his face always tuned out the noise. His hives instantly vanished, and he felt recharged again.

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Pushing past the crowd of usual but unknown faces, he made his way to his hole in the ground, or in Gant's case, a closet in someone else's home. His room barely fit him, let alone fitting any valuables, but it never needed to. Gant had always felt comfortable sleeping anywhere and hadn't the strongest desire to hoard anything from these parts. The only thing he did keep was a crystal, but that always stayed on him. The crystal was something he had saved up for years of work and begged a store clerk to keep it on hold for him. It was truly beautiful, a lustrous blue, something that almost felt out of place in this disgusting, overcrowded city. But that's what caught his eye and entranced him to buy it.

Feeling in his pocket, he wanted to take it out and gaze into it.

Right pocket...

Left pocket...

Back poc... He didn't have a back pocket.

A tight feeling rose in his chest, as if something had tightened its grip to make sure he knew the gravity of his loss.

"I need to go back," Gant didn't even realize he was thinking out loud, but he started moving, no longer even remembering the keepers; the jewel was on his mind.

Almost entranced, the streets were less busy at night in the slums. In most cities, debauchery started at night, which livened up the streets. Here, it never stopped. With open streets and bigger arms than anyone around, he quickly pushed his way back, no need for the grimy underground highway.

He knew he was getting close to the keepers when he started hearing screams and hooves stomping, but he didn't pay it any mind. He needed to find that jewel. But one quick look at them, and he saw it dangling from the waistband of the one in the front. A large sword was strapped beside it. The sword was the usual for nobility, almost a giant cleaver, but they all had the strength to wield them. The swords rarely had keepers, as it tended to be redundant when fighting against a regular sword. His sword only had one difference; the center was clear and glassy, the signature for keepers, a sword designed to reap blood.

His hives were beginning to return, but this time they were accompanied by an anxious feeling, one that tugged at his legs to turn around. In this giant city, if he simply walked away, they would never find him again. Life would continue, but... but that jewel. He knew if he didn't retrieve it, it would haunt him. The dark iron chain it hung from almost taunted him to come and just snatch it off of his waist.

'Please, please, retrieve me from this scaly pig, please hold me in your warm embrace, my spawn.'

The voices... he had been hearing them since he laid eyes on that pendant, always referring to him as its spawn, always asking for his warm embrace.

Still hidden from their view, he made up his mind. He could almost see the version of himself walking away, making his way to the bathhouse and forgetting about this. He picked up a relatively flat piece of rock and whipped it at the keeper's horse.

The horse began to panic, and thus, the rest of the horses did as well. It seemed these were not the stoic and mighty war steeds they would hear tales of, those that would brave even the mythical creatures of Wecrul. Amidst the chaos, he seized the opportunity and sprinted at the keeper, the pendant almost looking as if it was heating up, waiting for his touch.

"Ouch, what the fuck is hurting my leg?" The keeper carrying the pendant yelled. He looked down only to see Gant holding the pendant, tossing it in the air.

Gant grabbed at the pendant, suddenly surprised himself by the heat it was radiating. He looked up and made eye contact with the keepers. The keeper's eyes widened like saucers. The man they had been chasing had returned to them after they had conceded and planned to return.

"Veeeeee!" he let out a loud whistle and screamed, "Catch him! The marked one is right here!"

All the keepers and horses seemed to regain control at that moment and turned to look at him. Some had a look of giddiness; it seemed keepers rarely got to actually catch someone. But some looked at him with pity; it seemed there were some humans among those lizards up there.

With the pendant in hand and his immense craving satisfied, he could feel the pressure of the situation at hand and began to sprint. The regret was overloading him, but he knew with a hundred lives he probably would take that stupid chance every time.

Wait, why did they call him the marked one? He knew he was the bastard son of some noble, but marked? He had never even heard of a marked one.

_Boom_

The sound of the hooves thundered behind him. He was never much of a runner, but he spared no chance against even these idiot horses.

With one tug on his coat, he was quickly caught, lifted by the scruff of his shirt like some dog.

"Caught you, bastard. We got a report the first marked in ages had shown, and look at this." The keeper eyed him up and down, clearly looking for something.

"What mark? I've never heard of a mark or marked one," Gant pleaded to the keeper. He suddenly realized they still hadn't known he was a mixed-blood child.

The keeper hadn't bothered to spare him an answer and kept prodding and turning him, slowly stripping his clothes in public.

"Ahhh, there it is," the keeper motioned to his colleagues to look. They poked at a place under his arm, with one tracing his finger up his back and around his shoulder blade.

"Wow, it's true—the wings, the tower, it's all there. He really got marked by the demon."