Throughout my life, I have come to believe that a ruler is not beloved by his subjects through a show of strength, but rather through the fear in the eyes of his enemies. Fear begins and ends with the soul. Of all the things I do not know, this is one about which I harbour no doubt: whoever can bridle the soul will bridle the world.
~ Journal of Emmet the Explorer
The cold stung her skin, a relentless, biting presence. Even wrapped in the rough cloak, Nyla could barely keep from shivering. She drew her hands to her mouth and blew warm breath into them, just as her mother had done every time she came in from the cold. Her mother’s touch had always been enough to chase away the cold, to make her feel safe and loved. The fleeting warmth was a cruel reminder of gentler times, a stark contrast to the harsh reality she now faced.
Mud and slop clung stubbornly to her tarnished boots as she trudged through the barren streets. She wanted to scream. This was not her home; she did not belong here. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms, grounding her in the pain as she forced herself to keep walking.
Dark buildings, hewn from somber rock, loomed tall around her. Unlike the Aristocrat sector, these structures bore the marks of wear—sturdy, but stripped of the glamour and architectural beauty the highborn were accustomed to. Here the cobblestones had given way to dust and dirt. The Mist held a stronger presence here in the Common District, it swirled about the ground, creating an eerie sensation of walking on clouds.
The curfew imposed by the Wardens had emptied the streets of Grimhold, and for that, she was grateful. The solitude offered a small comfort as she moved through the damp air, which still carried a faint tinge of the recent rain. The dim light of the street lanterns flickered, casting an eerie glow on her surroundings. She quickened her pace, wary of the shadows that seemed to close in, pressing against her from all sides.
The bag slung across her shoulder weighed heavily, a constant reminder of her burden. It contained her only remaining possessions: a sealed letter, the last gift her mother had given her before they were torn apart; a pouch of coins, meagre but essential; and the Endora Crystal she had been assigned when she became an Acolyte of the Radiant Order.
Nyla’s life had been set before her—she was to become a Weaver, a user of Soul magic, trained by the Radiant Order, an elite faction revered and feared in equal measure. But now, with the Wardens and Reavers hunting her, all the certainty of her previous life had vanished, replaced only by a gnawing sense of uncertainty lingering in the back of her mind.
She had no idea where she was going, but she kept moving. She needed to keep going, for her mother. She was searching for a man named Kael. For all she knew, he could turn her over to the Wardens at the first chance. But she had no other choice. She couldn’t go home, not anymore.
What do I do if I can’t find him? Where do I go? Panic clawed at her chest as the thoughts raced through her mind. This had to be a nightmare. Any moment now, she would wake up in her bed, safe and sound.
Anxiety crept into her like an insidious fog, contorting her focus and clouding her thoughts. She stumbled toward the nearest building, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she leaned heavily against the cool, unyielding stone. Her legs trembled, unable to support her weight any longer, and she slumped against a doorway. The cold stone pressed into her back, a harsh reminder of the reality she couldn’t escape. This wasn’t a dream; this was her life. She was an outcast, shunned and alone.
Voices up ahead abruptly shattered Nyla's reverie. Her eyes darted towards the sound, emanating from a nearby alley. They were arguing, the words indistinct but growing louder, closer.
A Warden emerged from around the corner, his grip firm on a struggling, cloaked figure. With a brutal, casual motion, he threw them to the ground, splattering sludge across the street.
The Warden, tall and imposing, wore the uniform of the Radiant Order: polished armour adorned with intricate runes, each one pulsing softly with the glow of dark magic. His face was concealed behind a full mask, elegant yet menacing, revealing only shadows through angular eye slits. Etched on the mask was a silver phoenix, the emblem of the Radiant Order. To Nyla, it mocked the very notion of freedom.
Is this how commoners feel when they see the Wardens? Nyla questioned.
The last time Nyla had seen a Warden, they had been her allies, her guardians. Now, the thought of what they might do to her if she were caught sent a chill down her spine. She pressed harder against the door, willing herself to blend into the darkness.
“Please! I beg you, they took my husband! I have nothing. All I ask is that you spare a little coin so I can buy some food for my child!” The plea came from an older woman, her voice quivering beneath a hooded cloak soaked through with the dampness of the night.
Nyla watched as another, smaller Warden joined his accomplice. He approached the woman, placing a boot on her chest and pushing her down into the mist and mud. “We don’t give out charity; we offer protection. If you can’t afford to live here, move to the Trade District. Last warning—go home or get arrested for curfew breach.” His voice was cold and indifferent, devoid of sympathy.
“No! No, please! My child hasn’t eaten in days. I’ll do anything, just help us!” The woman's voice cracked, desperation evident in every word.
Removing his boot, the Warden looked down at her with disdain. “Go home. If we see you again, we will not be so lenient.”
The woman's pleas ceased, the harsh tone of the Warden's voice silencing her.
Nyla’s heart ached at the sight, but she forced herself to stay hidden, knowing she could do nothing to help the woman without risking her own capture.
The Wardens exchanged a few words, their voices low. Nyla strained to hear, but the words were lost in the night air. After a moment, they turned and walked away. Nyla remained pressed against the door, waiting until the sounds of their footsteps faded into the distance.
How could the Wardens be so cruel?
They wouldn’t dare treat the Acolytes and Highborn this way. Though deep down, she knew none of the people from the Aristocrat Sector would be foolish enough to be out in the streets at this time of night—not with the threat of demons looming. The protective Mist was weakest during moonlight hours.
She watched as the woman clambered to her feet, trying to brush mud from her sodden cloak. Mumbling under her breath, the woman hobbled down the alley, hunched over. A pang of guilt and resolve surged through Nyla. She couldn’t let the poor woman and her child starve.
She stepped out from her hiding place, heart pounding, and followed. Hesitation gripped her as she approached the dark alley, barely able to see the woman in the shadows between the buildings where the lantern light did not reach. Summoning her courage, Nyla called quietly into the darkness, “Excuse me, ma'am?”
The woman stopped and turned. “Who goes there?”
Taking a deep breath, Nyla stepped forward into the alley. “I mean you no harm. I just want to help.”
The woman chuckled, a sound that echoed eerily off the walls. “You should not be out at this time of night, young one. Go home and don’t worry about me.”
Nyla reached into her bag and retrieved her pouch of gold coins, offering a few to the woman. “Here, take these. They should keep you and your child fed until you get more help.”
“Well, I’ll be. Gold? Where did you get these?” The woman's voice changed, becoming clearer and younger. She stood taller, her hunch gone, now almost a head taller than Nyla.
Nyla stepped back, shock and fear mingling in her chest. She struggled to comprehend what was happening. Had this woman been lying to the Wardens? That didn’t make sense—what would she have gained? The realisation of her situation struck her, she was alone in a dark alley in the middle of the night, with no one around to help her.
How could she have been so stupid? Panic surged through her, and she dropped the coin pouch. She needed to feel her crystal, to feel safe. Her fingers grasped the cool surface of the crystal. Nyla barely had time to register the woman’s shoulders tensing before a blinding pain seared across her face.
She hadn’t seen the blow coming. The force toppled her, sending the crystal flying from her hand and clattering against the wall. The world blurred, pain and confusion mingling as she hit the ground. Muddy water splashed into her eyes, stinging and further blinding her.
The woman’s voice cut through the haze of pain. “A Weaver? Didn’t your mum teach you not to be out after curfew?” The mocking tone was a stark contrast to her earlier demeanour.
Nyla’s mind raced, trying to grasp onto any coherent thought. The familiar weight of the crystal was gone, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. She heard the sodden footfalls approaching as she forced herself up onto her hands and knees, trying desperately to wipe the mud from her eyes.
A boot collided with her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. She gasped for breath as she rolled from the blow, the taste of blood and mud mixing in her mouth.
“I’d stay down if I were you.” The woman's voice was a low, dangerous murmur as she seized Nyla's bag, rifling through its contents with swift, practiced movements. “Now, if I were a smart woman, I might assume you were on the run. But I can’t for the life of me figure out why a Weaver would be stupid enough to come to the Common Sector.”
Nyla lay on the ground, every breath a jagged gasp. Her vision blurred, edges of reality wavering as pain surged through her body. She struggled to grasp her thoughts, each one slipping away like sand through her fingers. All she knew was that she was in deep trouble, and the woman standing over her was no friend.
Her assailant collected the crystal, balancing it in her palm. “I think I might know someone who would be very happy to meet you.” She placed the crystal back into the pack and slung the bag over her shoulder.
The stranger crouched down beside her, eyes gleaming with a predatory satisfaction. “I would advise against trying to run. Come on now, time to get up.”
Nyla felt her captor grasp a handful of her hair and pull, forcing her to her feet. Pain shot through her scalp, but she had no time to compose herself before she was grabbed by the scruff of her coat and pushed forward. Her vision was still impaired by the dirt drying over her eyes. She focused on catching her breath as best she could, forcing one foot in front of the other as she was guided down alleys and across streets.
The woman seemed to know the streets very well, moving with a purpose and confidence that suggested familiarity with every shadowed corner and hidden path. They paused occasionally, the hooded figure scanning the surroundings with practiced vigilance.
The woman’s grip was ironclad, unyielding, and each tug reminded Nyla of her precarious situation. The streets were eerily silent, the curfew ensuring that no prying eyes would witness her plight. Her captor's pace was steady, unhurried, as if she relished the control she wielded over Nyla.
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Nyla stumbled, nearly falling as they crossed a particularly uneven stretch of ground. The kidnapper yanked her upright, muttering a curse under her breath.
Finally, they approached a narrow alleyway, its entrance barely visible in the dim light. The woman paused, looking around once more before shoving Nyla forward. They continued down the alley, the walls closing in on either side, until they reached a shabby door, nearly hidden by overgrown vines and shadows.
The Woman knocked upon the door. The rhythmic knock echoed through the narrow alleyway, a measured beat against the worn wood of the door.
Moments later, a raspy voice drifted from behind the door, gravelly and laced with suspicion. “It’s a good night for a stroll.”
“Yet the Mist keeps me home,” Nyla’s captor replied.
The door cracked open slightly revealing a set of beady eyes. The man hesitated before speaking, “Who’s this?” The man’s gaze flicked to Nyla, suspicion etched into his weathered face.
“Not sure yet, but the boss will want to meet her. Open up.”
The door creaked open fully, revealing a small, dimly lit room. The flickering lantern on the table cast long shadows, painting the walls with eerie, dancing shapes. A single, grungy chair sat beside the table, its upholstery frayed and stained. The room was otherwise barren, save for a ladder jutting from a dark hole in the floor.
The man in the doorway was grubby and short, his overgrown beard a tangled mess that seemed to harbour remnants of past meals. His shirt strained against his protruding belly, the fabric stretched to its limit, and Nyla noted the belt that seemed to be the only thing keeping it all together.
“Boss looks to be in a good mood tonight. Try not to piss him off, ay?” The stubby man’s voice was a grumble, his eyes narrowing as he slumped into the chair.
“No promises, Hoagy.” The woman replied, receiving a low grumble for her efforts.
Nyla felt a firm push against her back, urging her forward. She stepped into the room, the creak of the wooden floorboards under her feet the only sound. She halted at the edge of the hole, peering down into the black abyss that the ladder descended into.
“Get climbing,” the kidnapper nudged her again, her voice a harsh whisper in the stillness of the room.
Nyla stared at the dark opening, her heart pounding with the gravity of the moment. This was a point of no return. She hadn’t risked everything to escape The Spire only to be murdered by a cutthroat commoner. The absence of her Crystal left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. If she could just get her hands on it, escaping would be simple.
"Look, how about you just take the gold and I'll go," Nyla offered, turning to face her captor. The woman's features remained obscured by the shadows cast by her hood, an enigma cloaked in darkness.
"Are you trying to negotiate with me right now?" The woman's voice was tinged with amusement. The woman laughed, a low, mocking sound. "You've got spirit, kid. I'll give you that. But you're still going down. Start climbing before I push you down and drag you to the boss."
Sighing, Nyla turned back to the ladder. She placed her foot on the first rung, gripping the cold metal tightly as she descended into the unknown.
The ladder was shorter than Nyla had expected, and soon she felt solid ground beneath her feet. The woman followed close behind, wasting no time in grabbing Nyla by her cloak and forcing her down a dimly lit tunnel.
The rocky walls were jagged, and Nyla struggled to avoid the sharp edges that threatened to tear at her clothing and skin as she was pushed forward.
The tunnel opened into a larger chamber, its walls reinforced with timber posts, likely to prevent the roof from collapsing. A worn wooden door was set into the stone, bright light streaming through the cracks and the sounds of a tavern filled with rowdy drunkards emanating from within. There was no guard at this door—Nyla guessed the grubby man above served as enough of a deterrent.
Her captor didn’t bother knocking. With a swift motion, she flung the door open and shoved Nyla inside.
As her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, she saw her captor clearly for the first time. She was tall and slender, her presence both graceful and imposing. The woman’s dark leather armour hugged her form, intricately designed with buckles and patterns. Her face, no longer hidden by the hood, was striking. Her features were undeniably pretty, but there was a dangerous edge to her beauty. Dark hair framed her face, a striking contrast to her pale skin.
The cavernous expanse stretched out before them, the room was a blend of rough-hewn stone and makeshift luxury. The room buzzed with commotion, filled with the scent of spilled ale and unwashed bodies.
Tables and chairs, mismatched but sturdy, lined the perimeter of the room. Each was surrounded by groups of men and women in various stages of inebriation, their laughter and shouts mingling with the clinking of tankards.
At the far end of the room, raised on a natural dais of stone, sat a man, his head resting upon the closed fist of his arm. The throne he occupied was an imposing structure of worn wood and dark leather.
As Nyla and her captor entered, the noise in the room began to dissipate, an awkward silence hanging in the air as all the eyes in the room focused toward them. The woman once again grabbed Nyla by her hair, pulling her toward the back of the room with rough, unyielding strength.
Nyla was forced to her knees in front of the man on the makeshift throne. Despite his commanding presence, he couldn't have been older than nineteen. His features were strikingly young, almost boyish, with short disheveled hair, yet his sharp, calculating eyes spoke of experiences far beyond his years.
He wore dark, practical clothing suited for a thief, but hints of wealth were unmistakable—a few pieces of jewellery glinted in the torchlight, and a finely crafted cloak draped over his shoulders. His confident expression was set in a firm line, the mouth of someone accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.
But what caught Nyla's attention most was the Crystal sword propped against his throne. In her world, weapons were strictly forbidden to any but the Wardens and select members of the Radiant Order. Seeing this sword here, displayed so brazenly, sent a chill down her spine. She had witnessed many criminals dragged to the Tower to receive their punishment, but very few had been bold enough to possess a weapon, let alone flaunt it. Whoever these people were, it was clear they considered themselves above the law, unbound by the rules set by the Radiant Order.
The man sat up from his slouched position, his eyes narrowing as he addressed her captor. "Welcome back, Mistra. Who's the stray?"
Mistra yanked Nyla to her feet, pulling the hood from her head and revealing a muddied mess of brunette hair cascading down her back. In the struggle, her hair binds must have come loose.
"Am I supposed to know who this is?" The man sounded slightly confused.
Mistra shrugged, her grip on Nyla firm. "No, boss. But I think you’ll be interested in what she is." She tossed Nyla’s bag to the man.
After a quick inspection of the contents, his expression shifted, a raised eyebrow hinting at his curiosity. "A Weaver?" he exclaimed.
Hushed whispers spread across the room like a gentle breeze, the revelation causing a stir.
"Well, where are my manners?" the man said with exaggerated politeness. "Stand for the lady, gentlemen, we are in the presence of royalty." He rose from his seat and made a mocking bow, eliciting roars of laughter from the room.
After a moment, he held up his hand for silence, the room falling quiet almost immediately. "Well, to what do we owe the honour?" He approached Nyla, circling her like a predator, inspecting her attire and demeanour.
"I am just passing through," Nyla replied with as much confidence as she could muster. It wasn’t a complete lie. Whether the man believed her though, she couldn't tell.
"Well, why didn’t you say so?" He gave her a wide, toothy grin. "You can call me Rat. I hope Mistra here wasn’t too rough with you. Come, eat with us before you pass on through.”
He placed an arm around her shoulder, steering her toward a table cluttered with an assortment of what looked like leftover food. The table was a chaotic mess, with half-eaten dishes and stale bread scattered among puddles of spilled ale, which dripped lazily onto the floor.
The men seated at the table shuffled out of the way, creating an opening for them. Rat gestured for Nyla to take something from the table.
Nyla looked at the food and then back at Rat, shaking her head. The food looked almost inedible. "I’m not hungry."
“Oh come now, you wouldn’t want to offend our chef, would you?” Rat asked with a grin.
Suddenly, he drew a dagger from his belt and slammed the point into a chunk of meat on the table, eliciting a slight gasp from Nyla. He brought the meat to his mouth and chewed a piece from it. Almost immediately, he spat the meat back onto the table. “Well, I wouldn’t eat that. Tastes like shit.”
Rat slapped the arm of one of the seated men, a bald man with tattoos across his face. “Is Greg cooking again tonight? I thought I told you idiots not to let that man cook again.” He turned back to face Nyla, a twisted smile on his face. “You’re more likely to die from food poisoning than a blade with that one, I tell you.”
Nyla forced herself to smile slightly, fear gnawing at her insides. Rat’s unpredictable nature made him all the more terrifying.
Rat swung her back around and began walking them back to the middle of the room, his arm still firmly grasping her shoulder. “Now, where were we? Oh, that’s right, you were telling me what you were doing in my, humble establishment.”
“As I said, I’m just passing through.”
Without any warning, Nyla felt a sharp tug at her ankle, sending her sprawling to the ground. Pain shot through her knees as they collided with the rough stone floor. Before she could even process what was happening, Mistra's boot pressed down hard on her neck, forcing her face into the cold stone.
Rat crouched down, shaking his head at Nyla. “Now here I thought we were friends you and I. The betrayal- well it breaks my heart.” Rat's voice took on a menacing tone, sending chills down Nyla's spine.
“But you see I’m a reasonable man, so I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me what you’re doing in my district, Acolyte, before I feed you to my Rats."
Around the room, men rose from their seats. Nyla became acutely aware of their hungry eyes staring at her, the predatory looks of desire painted on their faces making her stomach churn with disgust.
"You see, my men here don’t get to see many pretty ladies like yourself. All you Highborn keep the pretty ones on the other side of the wall. It just wouldn’t feel right if I kept you all to myself. So, again, what are you doing here?"
Nyla paled, her mind racing. What was she supposed to tell them? That she was a fugitive? They would just have their way with her and then turn her in for a reward. No, that wasn’t an option. But she couldn’t lie—this man would see right through her. She had to tell them something true, something that might buy her time.
"I'm looking for a man named Kael," Nyla relinquished.
“Kael?” Rat asked. “What do you want with the old man?”
“I have something for him. A letter,” Nyla said, her voice steady despite the dread creeping through her.
“That’s a shame, I was hoping for another lie.” Rat winked as he stood, his eyes scanning the room with a lazy confidence. “Anyone seen Colter?”
In a shadowed corner of the room, a man sat with a woman draped seductively across his lap. His presence had blended seamlessly into the background until now. As the dim light flickered, it caught the edge of his sharp features, revealing a cool detachment in his demeanour. He looked over at Nyla as though seeing her for the first time, his blue eyes momentarily catching the light with an icy glint.
With a gentle nudge and a soft slap on the woman's bottom, he prompted her to rise. She straightened her dress, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink as she slipped away, casting a furtive glance back at Colter.
Colter remained seated for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Nyla. He was tall even when seated, his broad shoulders and muscular frame barely contained by the chair. When he finally stood, his movements were fluid and controlled, his presence commanding immediate attention. His eyes, sharp and piercing, met Nyla’s briefly before she averted her gaze, a flush creeping up her neck. “What is it, Rat?”
“This one says she’s looking for Kael. Do you know anything about it?” Rat’s tone was light, but his eyes were watchful.
As Colter approached, his movements were quiet and confident, each step deliberate. A Crystal Blade, sheathed in a scabbard hung from his belt, swaying gently as he moved. She could sense he was assessing her, trying to determine if he recognised her.
Colter shook his head slowly. “I’ve never seen her before. She’s not one of ours.”
Rat shrugged, his nonchalance a practiced art. “Well, she claims she’s looking for Kael. Says she has a letter for him or something.”
"Well, where is the letter?" Colter directed his question at Nyla.
"It’s in the bag, but only I can open it," Nyla replied.
Colter raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?"
The bag was tossed over to Colter, who pulled the letter from it. He looked it over and tried to open the envelope, but it wouldn't budge. Frustration flickered across his face as he inspected the seal more closely.
“Of course, you highborn snobs would lock an envelope with magic,” Colter scoffed, holding out the envelope for Nyla. “Open it.”
Nyla shook her head. “No. Take me to Kael.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands here, Weaver.” Colter’s voice dripped with malice, far more than Nyla felt the situation warranted.
“Then you’ll never know what’s in the letter.” Nyla mustered her courage, steadying her voice. She hoped that her boldness wouldn’t get her killed.
A tense silence held the room.
Abruptly, the silence was broken as Rat burst into laughter. “I like this one. She has a fire in her belly.” He motioned for Mistra to remove her boot. He then reached out and helped Nyla to her feet. “Go on, best be taking this one out of here, Colter. I can only hold the lads back for so long.”
“What a shame, and here I thought we were about to have some fun,” Mistra sneered.
“I think you and the Weaver might have a different idea of fun.” Rat chuckled. “Alright then, you pack of dogs, back to drinking. Oh and Colter, I’ll be keeping the gold, you know as payment for finding the girl for you.” Rat winked.
“That makes my debt even then.” Colter offered.
Rat scoffed as he walked away, “Not even close. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
The room roared back to life with merrymaking, jokes flying around like sparks from a fire. Mistra joined the fray, punching a man in the arm as she reached the tables. Rat, on the other hand, returned to his seat, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he was quickly surrounded by a group eager to converse with him. Nyla found it unnerving how swiftly he lost interest in the earlier confrontation. He was a man with no cares at all.
"Come on then," Colter's voice cut through the din, his hand reaching out to grab Nyla's wrist.
Nyla snatched her arm away, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I'm sick of you all trying to manhandle me. Keep your hands to yourself."
Colter's expression remained blank, a mask of indifference. "Suit yourself." He motioned toward the door, his tone taking on an edge of impatience. "Let's go. I’m sure Kael has some questions for you."
Well, he can get in line, Nyla thought, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. Apparently, everyone has questions for me.