The weather turned, rain pattering against the windows before escalating into a relentless downpour.

Squeaky returned to Niles, gliding gracefully through the open window and landing on his shoulder. As soon as the bird settled, Xander's voice echoed in Niles's mind, like a telepathic warning. The message was grim: by dawn, Prince Xhiva would lead loyal soldiers to apprehend Vulcan, the smith, and Lina’s little brother, dragging them to the square to face the gallows for their alleged crimes against the crown.

Niles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "All this overtime is killing me," he muttered, already forming a plan. From Squeaky's talons, he retrieved the royal insignia brooch—a golden dragon coiled into a striking emblem. It could be worn as a ring, but Niles opted to keep it hidden, tucking it carefully into his pocket after a quick inspection.

Niles gave Squeaky a cheerful scratch under his beak. "Well done, buddy," he said warmly. "Sorry to send you back out in this weather, but I’ll make sure you get a proper reward later." He spoke the next message with precision. "Fly to Lina. Tell her her little brother is in danger, and they need to hide or flee. Soldiers will come tomorrow and drag him to the town square to be hanged. And don’t forget Vulcan—the smith, he faces the same danger, he's in the ironworks district at the large forge. He might have a sign with the text Ashsteel outside. If neither of them has a safe place to go, direct them to the adventurer’s guild and set this up as a quest. I’ll cover the costs."

Squeaky chirped in acknowledgment, shaking off droplets of rain before taking flight again. Niles watched as the bird soared into the night, his determined trajectory like a guided missile aimed at the slums. “Easy peasy,” Niles muttered to himself, feeling an unusual sense of relief. "This could’ve been a massive headache. Thank heavens for you, Squeaky." He yawned, stretching lazily. “Note to self: stock up on more fish.”

Not long after, Squeaky returned, his drenched feathers glistening in the lamplight. Lina's voice rang in Niles's mind. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll alert my brother and Vulcan immediately.” The bird fluffed himself up, scattering water everywhere as Niles chuckled and grabbed a spare cloth to dry him off. “Good job,” he murmured, scratching Squeaky’s head one last time.

Niles glanced at Felix, who lay nearby, his breathing steady and calm now. With his day’s work done, Niles sank into bed, his exhaustion pulling him into the mattress. Squeaky hopped onto his chest, curling up in a snug nest against his warmth. The rhythmic sound of rain against the window lulled them both into a peaceful sleep.

**********

In the heart of the slums, Lina prepared to step out into the night. She shared a cramped, weather-beaten shack with her younger brother. The structure groaned with age, its walls damp and warped, threatening to collapse with each passing storm. Inside, her brother lay curled on a makeshift bed of tightly packed straw spread over the dirt floor. He slept soundly, his small body warmed by the remnants of the hearty meal Lina had brought back from the castle.

She crouched beside him, brushing a stray hair from his face. Let him sleep a little longer, she thought. The warning from Niles would have to wait a little bit. Rising quietly, Lina turned her attention to a cloth bag hanging from a rusty nail—a gift from Prince Xander as thanks for her service. Her heart fluttered with a mix of gratitude and excitement as she opened it.

Inside was a thick wool tunic, dyed in elegant hues of blue and gray, its fabric untouched by wear. She slipped it on, marveling at its warmth and weight, and spun lightly on her toes, allowing herself a brief moment of joy. Then she reached for a weathered leather hood, pulling it snugly over her head. It was perfect—not only for shielding her from the rain but also for keeping her face hidden from prying eyes.

Not that many will be wandering the streets on a night like this, she mused, glancing out at the relentless downpour. With a final glance at her brother, she stepped into the rain-soaked night, her resolve as sturdy as the fine tunic now clinging to her shoulders.

She walked with purpose, her steps resolute as rain cascaded like molten silver over her garments. The slums were dim, shadows pooling between crooked buildings, but the raucous chatter of a nearby tavern broke through the gloom. A group of men, glasses brimming with ale, took notice of her.

“Hey, pretty lady! Give us a smile!” one slurred, his voice thick with drink. Lina didn’t break stride, her focus unshaken.

Another voice called out, louder and more insistent. “Nice dress you got there! You new around here?”

Lina moved past them without a glance, her silence like a cold rebuke. It only stoked their ire.

“Hey, street wench, where’s your manners?” one barked, his wounded pride evident as he took another swig of his drink. A companion leaned in close, his grin sharp and mean. “Let’s teach her some,” he muttered, loud enough to be heard.

The men exchanged nods, a shared understanding passing between them. Chairs scraped against the ground as they stood, their footsteps heavy as they began to follow her, their drunken laughter echoing ominously in the narrow streets.

Lina could hear the low murmurs behind her, growing closer with each step. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw three men trailing her—unsteady but resolute, their voices hushed in the rain. The dim streets offered little solace; the city’s candles were snuffed out, whether by the wind, the downpour, or simple neglect. In a district this poor, who would bother to keep them lit?

She quickened her pace, her steps soft and deliberate, but her body betrayed her. The illness that had been gnawing at her for days was now dragging her down, each breath a desperate gasp through what felt like a straw. She tried to run, only to be wracked by a violent fit of coughing, the sound ripping through the rain. Her lungs burned as her strength faltered. Desperate, her eyes locked onto a torch burning in the city center—a flickering beacon far ahead. If she could just reach it...

Before she could take another step, strong hands grabbed her from behind. She was lifted off her feet and hauled into a shadowy alley, the cold air biting into her skin. Mud squelched beneath her as she was thrown to the ground, her breath knocked out of her. Still choking on air, she looked up to see the three men encircling her like predators.

One of them, a broad-shouldered brute, with a deep scar slashed across his face, carving a jagged path over one eye. The injury had left it altered, a stark silver-gray in contrast to the other, which remained sharp and vivid. A haunting reminder of whatever violence had caused it. The man dropped to his knees and pinned her to the ground. His hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her already ragged breaths. Her wide eyes darted around, panic blooming as tears welled up.

“Relax, sweetheart,” the man sneered, his voice chillingly calm. “We’ll just take what’s ours and be on our way.”

Another man furrowed his brow, leaning closer. “Wait a minute—I know her. She’s that girl who sells apples in the town square. The apple girl.”

Recognition passed between them, and for a brief, foolish moment, Lina thought it might save her. But then the third man, his eyes narrowing cruelly, spat, “She’s got no family—just a little brother. No one will care what happens to her.”

“That’s even better,” the first man said, his tone dropping to something darker. He released her mouth and stood, his gaze flicking over her like she was a thing to be taken. He began to unbutton her tunic, his intentions unmistakable.

Lina’s trembling hands clawed at the mud as she tried to muster the strength to fight back, but her illness and fear left her paralyzed, her breaths shallow and labored. This can’t be happening…

A sharp crack split the air as a stick struck the man towering over Lina, catching him hard on the back of the head. “Leave my sister alone!” Linas little brother voice cried out, shaking with fury. The boy stood gripping the stick with trembling hands, readying for another strike.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The man staggered slightly, rubbing the spot where he’d been hit. “You little—” he snarled, but his insult was cut short as one of his companions delivered a brutal kick to the boy’s stomach. The boy was sent sprawling into the mud, gasping for air. Yet he pushed himself up again, clutching the stick like his life depended on it.

“Get away from us!” he screamed, his voice ringing out into the night like a desperate plea for salvation.

“Handle him,” the man above Lina barked dismissively, returning his attention to her as if the child were nothing more than a nuisance.

The other two men advanced on the boy. One kicked him again, harder this time, sending him skidding through the mud. He landed awkwardly, motionless for a moment. “SOMEONE HELP!” His voice cracked with panic, a shriek that echoed into the darkness.

Another kick. This one left him crumpled and still. The man hesitated, his leg mid-swing, and muttered to his companion, “He’s not moving—what if he’s dead?”

The words struck Lina like a thunderclap. Horror surged through her. “LEON!” she screamed, her voice raw with terror.

“Shut up!” The man atop her slapped her hard across the face and snarled, silencing her as he tore at her tunic. His companions exchanged a panicked glance.

“We can’t stay here. If the boy’s dead, we’re in deep trouble,” one said, backing away.

“Cowards,” the man spat. He ripped the tunic free, throwing Lina into the mud. “Fine. But I’m not leaving empty-handed.”

Snatching the stolen garment, he leaned in close to Lina, his voice dripping with venom. “If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead. Do you hear me? Dead.”

He turned and ran after his accomplices, leaving Lina shaking in the mud.

Her body trembling, she began to crawl through the muck toward Leon. “Leon,” she choked, her voice breaking. “Please, please be all right.”

As she reached him, she heard his voice—weak, angry, but alive.

“I hate this,” he muttered, his words laced with bitterness. “I hate living like this. I hate being treated like trash. And I hate the way they look at us.”

Lina’s tears fell freely now, mixing with the rain and mud. She nodded silently, sharing his anguish.

“But what they did to you,” Leon said, his voice trembling with frustration, “I hate that most of all.”

His fingers curled weakly into fists, his anger giving way to guilt. “I’m sorry, Lina. If only I were stronger.”

She shook her head fiercely, her wet hair clinging to her face. “No,” she whispered. “I’m supposed to take care of you. I’m sorry I’m such a useless big sister.”

For a moment, Leon smiled—a small, fleeting thing as the rain pelted down on them. “Let’s leave this place,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Anywhere would be better than here.”

Lina nodded, her resolve hardening despite the tears streaming down her face. “Yes,” she murmured. “Let’s leave.”

After resting briefly, Lina and Leon resumed their walk through the darkened streets of the town. They finally arrived in the ironworks district, guided by Niles's instructions to look for a sign marked Ashsteel. Outside a forge stood a weathered sign, different from the others, its carvings barely visible in the dim light. However, neither Lina nor Leon could read. They exchanged uncertain glances but decided to take a chance.

They knocked on the reinforced metal door—once, twice, then again, their persistence unyielding.

A gruff, irritated voice eventually called out, “Stop that racket already! I’m trying to sleep!”

Lina cleared her throat and called out, “Excuse me, but are you the one they call Vulcan the smith?”

A pause. Then the voice snapped, “No.”

Her heart sank momentarily, thinking they’d disturbed the wrong forge. But the voice continued, grumbling, “They just call me Vulcan. Everyone knows I’m a smith. Why bother tacking that onto my name? It’s not like adding a fancy title changes anything! People should honor their craft through their work, not their labels. You’re not your job—you’re your name! But if we were being honest about ourselves, sure, you could say ‘Vulcan-who-works-as-a-smith,’ but—”

Lina and Leon exchanged a tired glance. They weren’t in the mood for a lecture.

Lina interrupted firmly, “Excuse me, but I have something important to—”

The voice cut her off with an abrupt, “What do you want?”

She tried again, “I’m trying to tell you that—” but a loud metallic clank cut through her words. A hatchet-like viewing slot on the door opened, revealing a grumpy, bearded man who inspected them with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t have any money. Get lost,” he barked, slamming the hatch shut before she could protest.

Lina’s patience was fraying, but she forced herself to remain composed. “As I was trying to say—”

Before she could finish, Leon stepped forward, his own frustration bubbling over. “If you don’t listen to us, I’ll scratch your door with a sharp rock!” he shouted defiantly.

Silence. Then the hatch slid open again, the man glaring at Leon with mockery. “What you do to my door, I’ll do to you,” he said, his tone as sharp as a blade.

Lina seized the moment. “I have a warning from Sir Niles! Please, let us in!”

The man sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath. The hatch snapped shut, followed by the sound of multiple locks being unlatched. Moments later, the door creaked open wide.

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Vulcan grumbled, gesturing impatiently. “Get in.”

Inside, the forge was still warm, the air thick with the metallic scent of iron and soot. The stone floor radiated residual heat from the day’s work, and weapons, tools, and half-finished projects were scattered across the room.

“If you’re here as prepayment, I’m not interested,” Vulcan scoffed, crossing his arms.

“What do you mean?” Lina asked, blinking in confusion.

Catching her innocent expression, Vulcan waved dismissively and changed the subject. “What do you want?”

Lina began explaining the warning she had received from Niles through Squeaky. As she spoke, Leon wandered around the forge, his eyes wide with curiosity as he took in the array of weapons and tools.

“You can look, but don’t touch,” Vulcan said abruptly, cutting off Lina mid-sentence to bark the warning at Leon before resuming the conversation as though nothing had happened.

When Lina finished relaying the message, Vulcan nodded grimly.

Lina, wanting to ensure he understood the gravity of the situation, pressed him. “So now you know. By dawn, soldiers and Prince Xhiva will come here to drag you to the square and hang you. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Vulcan said, his tone flat and resigned, as though the prospect of death was no longer worth resisting.

“What?!” Lina’s voice rose, unable to comprehend his apathy.

Vulcan sighed deeply, grabbing a piece of lumber and tossing it into the forge to keep the embers alive just a little longer. “I’m tired,” he muttered. “I’ve spent years making weapons for the same forces that murdered my wife and took my child. I can’t do it anymore.”

He tilted his head back, gazing at the ceiling adorned with hanging armor, swords, and spears. A showcase of his craftsmanship, now nothing but a reminder of his pain. “You’re young, little bird,” he said, addressing Lina with a hollow sort of affection.

Then, as though unraveling an old wound, he began recounting his story. “My wife and I fled to Xandria to escape the war. I wanted to stay and fight, but she was pregnant. We thought we’d find safety here. And for a while, everything seemed fine. We went to the hospital when it was time for the baby to come.”

He paused, lost in the memory. “Then they came. Helmets of snarling beasts—the Xargian Guard.”

Vulcan’s voice grew bitter as he continued. “Did you know Sir Niles was here just yesterday? Wasting his time checking the skills of every soul he could find. But that’s the way of this city. Every child born here has their status checked. If the child possesses a skill deemed valuable, they’re taken. The guards call it ‘training for glory.’ But really, they steal children to groom them into faceless soldiers.”

He gestured toward the forge's tools as his words darkened. “Those beastly helmets? They aren’t just to terrify enemies. They’re designed to make it so no parent can ever recognize their own child. To strip away identity.”

Vulcan let out a small, melancholic laugh. “You should have seen my wife. She had wild gray hair, sharp teeth like a wolf’s, and eyes like lightning. She fought them like a demon, refusing to let them take our baby.” His smile faltered. “But losing him broke her. She withered away, refusing food and drink until her heart gave out. She was like a flower crushed underfoot.”

He cast a glance at Lina, his eyes weary but firm. “I became a smith again, hoping to work close to the soldiers. To find out who or where my son was. But it’s been so many years. He might not even be alive anymore.”

He sighed, his voice quiet now. “That’s why I want this journey to end. To free me from my regrets. I just don’t have the strength to keep going.”

Lina swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. Finally, she managed, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Vulcan waved her words away, walking over to a shelf and grabbing a pair of thick, warm blankets. “Here,” he said, handing them over. “Take these. I won’t be needing them anymore. Sad they’ll just get wet in this miserable weather.”

Leon, ever pragmatic, spoke up. “If you’re going to die anyway, can I take a weapon?”

Vulcan’s sharp eyes locked onto him, and his voice hardened. “No gold, no service.” Even on the brink of despair, his reputation as a smith mattered.

Lina and Leon thanked him for the blankets and stepped outside. The heavy iron door slammed shut behind them, cutting off any further conversation.

Inside, Vulcan stoked the fire one last time, tossing in extra lumber. “Might as well use up this wood for a good night’s sleep,” he muttered, reflecting on his life and the memories that refused to let him rest.

Outside, the rain poured relentlessly as Leon turned to his sister. “Now what? Where do we go?”

“To the Adventurer’s Guild,” Lina replied without hesitation.

Leon’s eyes widened. “But we don’t have any money, and those adventurers are famous for failing at everything they start!”

Lina gave a faint smile. “This time will be different. Sir Niles promised to cover our costs.”

With that, the two siblings began their trek through the dark, rain-soaked streets, heading back toward the slums—and toward whatever awaited them at the Adventurer’s Guild.