Lucy watched the sunrise from the corner loft's floor-to-ceiling windows. Downtown stretched before her bathed in gold. The city looked different from up here—full of promise.
She stood naked sipping coffee. Leaning against the large realwood kitchen counter. The espresso machine had had helpful bright yellow notes stuck to it with detailed instructions. Notes were everywhere. One on the table explained how to turn on the huge vid screen. At first she'd thought the apartment was a rental; messages left for guests.
But then she read a few more. By the door: Remember to say thank you to Leonard the doorman. By the window: Remember the glass is one-way—they can't see you. Personal reminders.
At least making coffee had been easier.
Peril was upstairs on the open loft's second-floor bed. Unabashedly sprawled on top of the sheets. The woman was dangerously thin, Lucy noted. Last night's rock-chick attire had hidden just how slight she was—skin pale like alabaster.
Yet the fridge was well-stocked. Either she didn't eat, and the food went to waste or others cooked for her and ate with her. A schedule was pinned to the fridge listing names and days detailing who would be cooking over the next week. Lioncourt was down for Christmas Day—Turkey. Lucy had giggled at that. Aurum was on the list too in bright marker pen. When to eat breakfast was marked. Snack time. Dinner. With exact timings.
Impressive. Peril despite her challenges had built her own support system. Guardrails to navigate the world. She probably owned this place outright.
The sun climbed slightly higher casting warm light across polished floors. The city didn't look harsh from here. It looked inviting.
Her calm sleep in Peril’s arms had been interrupted by a ping at 6am —Aurum. A Clean job across town. Something was about to go down; they might need her.
She was willing. But this time she set conditions. Six bodies maximum. No mixing bounties with non-paying targets. The client would handle any mixing complications.
Lioncourt had been an education.
Ten minutes later Aurum responded. He was impressed. The client had tried to argue that mixing was the Clean's issue, but her ability to take six had sealed the deal. Most Cleans would have taken three or four.
She winced at the detached terminology. Targets. Claims. Bounties. The dehumanizing veneer of the job.
She ascended the stairs movements in fluid movements. Peril was still asleep. Her breathing steady.
Her petite frame had been surprisingly energetic. Hot dates were uncharted territory for Lucy. She wasn't indifferent to desire. But she'd never leapt like this before.
She scribbled a note. Keeping it simple. Genuine. Like Peril:
Work called.
Had a great night.
Thanks for the coffee—best I've had.
Would like to meet again.
That would suffice. No need to leave contact info; Peril likely had all that already. She dressed quietly, pulling on her clothes. Her movements were precise and almost unconsciously graceful.
Back in the kitchen she glanced around once more. The apartment was a picture of order for a person of unfiltered chaos and impulse—meticulous notes. Schedules. Reminders to eat. Her gaze landed on a sketch pinned to a corkboard—abstract lines forming intricate patterns. Codes maybe. Or just art.
She smiled softly. There was more to Peril than met the eye. Time to go.
She slipped out. Closing the door gently behind her. In the hallway she nodded to the doorman on her way out.
"Morning Miss," he said warmly.
"Morning, and thank you Leonard," she replied, offering a small smile.
*
Her apartment door hung ajar—a gang symbol scrawled over it in jagged lines. Local punks. Probably from three blocks over.
Lucy's day had been going so well.
She'd suited up for the job at her apartment barely two hours ago—gear all in place. Aurum had called; she'd crossed town in a cab. The clients—a trio from the Seventh Street Samurai—were satisfied. Gang or Yakuza offshoot? Hard to tell. Tattoos screamed gang. They'd been polite—even handed her business cards. Asked for hers. Deadly thugs with manners and katanas. Go figure.
Six bodies. No civilians. Clean job. Funds funnelled through Aurum's digital laundromat—probably Peril's handiwork. Smooth.
Now this.
She noted the splintered door composite where they'd used a crowbar. Probably a few of them working on it since she'd left two hours ago. She drew her SIG—muscles fluid—hoping one was still inside. ‘Stand-your-ground’ laws could be useful.
The place was a wreck. They hadn't found much worth taking so they'd trashed it for fun. Datapads smashed against the wall—useless to them without her neural encryption. VR gear gone. Good luck cracking that.
Clothes strewn everywhere—drawers gutted. They'd grabbed her gun cleaning kit and range bag—extra mags included. She winced at that. Replaceable. At least her weapons were with her.
The stench hit her. Urine. They'd marked their territory—spraying gang colours over her walls. Found her vibrator in the nightstand—a hefty model she'd admit—and jammed it into the toilet. Blocking it up. Classy.
Her eyes swept the room—movements controlled. Anger simmered beneath the surface. But she wasn't unravelling. They might've snagged the small roll of cash she kept for tips; but her accounts were secure.
She took a deep breath. In the grand scheme. It hurt. But still not the worst about thing today.
She’d double-tapped six bodies an hour ago for three amiable yet completely ruthless men making enough money to recoup all of what had been lost and more. Compromised principles? Maybe. Definitely. Aurum’s jobs were leading her down a dark pathway.
This?
Was this karma? Divine retribution? Doubtful. She wasn’t one for spiritual reckonings. Bad things happened. Simple as that.
No, this wasn’t fate. Just the reality of living in a lousy neighbourhood. Wrong place—wrong time. She was too thrifty. Should have moved on from this place to somewhere more secure weeks ago.
She composed a message via neural link to the landlord:
“Apartment breached. Security inadequate. Terminating lease effective immediately.” They’d be more, she knew. They’d always come for more. No matter. She was ghosting.
She’d never see her deposit again. An actual smile at that thought. No way she was cleaning this mess.
Lucy gathered a few unbroken essentials and a couple of personal items that had survived the gangers trashing. There wasn’t that much. Some clothes from the floor—urine-soaked but salvageable—she stuffed them into a black plastic bin liner. The rest could stay. Someone else could deal with the blocked toilet. She’d get a new vibrator.
Angry? Absolutely. But she wasn’t broken. No tears.
Time to move on.
She stepped out— almost tried locking the ruined door out of habit. The hallway was silent. Her footsteps were measured—precise—as she made her way down the stairs.
*
She needed a drink. She’d found herself again at the old diner she went to after the range.
She messaged her friends first. Told them she wouldn't be online today. Apologized for missing the progression dungeon they’d had lined up.
She thought about unloading her troubles. Decided against it. Keep it vague. Moving house—that was true enough. Ceri had quickly moved to private direct messages.
Ceri: You okay? ❤
No. No I’m not. I want your advice Ceri. I want Delsadar to comfort me. I’d even take Piopei’s straightforwardness or Arcanis’s naïve questions right now.
Lethanda: Yes. Just some IRL things. Got a handle on it. Moving's a chore. Can’t wait to see you too. ❤
Lucy wanted to hold Ceri’s hand. Be Lethanda on a mountaintop again, just the cool breeze and her small hot hand in hers. Lethanda didn’t have to worry about where to sleep tonight. She was always awake. Always active.
Ceri: Hope the move goes smoothly.
The cheap coffee was worlds away from the exquisite roast she'd started the day with. The waitress kept pouring. She considered food but nothing on the menu seemed remotely healthy. She cursed under her breath.
The reality of being robbed was creeping up on her. The hard facade she'd maintained at the apartment was cracking. She didn't want to break down. Not here. Not yet. Stay frosty.
She'd thought about holing up in a hotel. Sorting things out over the next few days. Sensible maybe. But she needed somewhere stable immediately. A hotel just sounded like extending the pain.
She'd gone to the range. Left Boris with her black bin bag—all her worldly possessions. Ordered a replacement gun cleaning kit. New clips. A travel bag.
"Everything will be safe here," Boris had assured her.
She knew. It gave her a day to apartment hunt.
She considered calling Aurum. Getting his advice. But Aurum was the guy you called when you wanted a place off-the-books.
She needed to stay legit to keep working as a bounty hunter and Clean. Needed a proper apartment. Somewhere the police could find her and check on her. It was part of being a bounty hunter.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
So she sat in the diner. Nursing bad coffee. Weighing options.
She scrolled through realtors. Checked crime stats. Finally pulled up an AI chatbot. Started interacting. Looking for a safer yet affordable area. Avoided the megablocks—the massive hives crammed with many thousands.
Settled on a few neighbourhoods that fit her budget. Rent was triple what she'd been paying. Edges of corporate zones rather than within them. But they had doormen. Guards. Better security.
She clicked through listings. One with a steel-reinforced door caught her eye.
Lucy drained her cup and summoned an auto-taxi via neural link.
*
She stared at the gangers who’d destroyed her tiny apartment through her goggles. Rain sliding off her coat. The telescopic lens brought them into sharp focus from 150 feet away—details she'd miss unaided.
She hadn't chosen the apartment with the steel door after all. Too big, too impersonal. The view was terrible. Now instead she had a window stretching the length of her place. Offering the city in the morning light. Before Lethanda she'd never appreciated a view. A tiny window had sufficed.
The rain hammered down a relentless cascade. She let her anger build again.
It had shattered earlier. The moment she'd closed the door to her new apartment clutching the bin bag containing everything she owned. She'd sobbed. Felt violated. The hardened shell she'd worn crumbled. She wanted to disappear.
For hours she sat. Rocking. The weight of it all pressing down. Tears mixing with the silence.
Then she'd gotten up. Emotionally exhausted somewhat. But she’s passed through it.
She’d stood. Looked out at the view of the city through the long window, and started to tackle life's necessities. The list was endless. Notified the cops of her new address. Told Aurum she was back to work—he'd teased her for not mentioning she'd been away. Ordered deliveries: food. New weights. A high-end VR headset rushed within the hour by special delivery. She'd be online again soon.
New clothes—simple enough. Black slacks and tees were plentiful. But she’d expanded her wardrobe a bit. Some better underwear, just in case things with Peril developed more.
Yes. She’d ordered a new vibrator too. This time in changeable rainbow colours.
Everything she'd lost was replaceable. In many cases she’d upgraded.
And now here she was. Hours later. Standing in the rain. Watching the gangers who'd trashed her life. Twenty-four hours since she'd been at EchoChamber's entrance. Twelve since she'd found her apartment destroyed.
Eventful day.
She felt the anger rising as she observed them. Wrath building. She imagined Lethanda unleashing her full might. Obliterating them. Like smashing a instant respawn point over and over. An endless stream of arrows smashing into endless targets.
They'd taken over a boarded-up coffee shop on a corner. Smashed the windows. Torn down the boards. Nesting there—twelve of them laughing. Waiting out the rain. Cockroaches in concrete of the city.
Her hydrophobic armoured coat proved its worth once again. Rain sliding off effortlessly. Sheets of water blurred the city's neon glow.
Two days until Christmas and the snow couldn't hold. Nature's tease—promising a white Christmas and delivering another downpour instead.
She could storm in now. SIG blazing. Take down three maybe four. But she wasn't military. Didn't understand tactics. Wasn't a soldier. At best she was a lucky amateur.
After that, they'd return fire with their nines. She'd be dead before she hit the ground.
She'd scanned their faces. Not all had bounties. Two did; the rest were beneath the city's radar. No murder charges yet.
It was only a matter of time but still. Killing them would be murder.
She had the Seventh Street Samurai's card in her pocket. She could call them. Pricey but affordable. They'd slice through these punks’. Katanas flashing.
Caught by surprise. The gangers probably wouldn't stand a chance.
She looked again through the lens. They were young—late teens. Early twenties. Lives ahead of them.
Her hardened persona wavered. She tried to reinforce it with more fantasies of vengeance.
She dismissed the idea of calling the Samurai.
Bullets would fly. Innocents might get hurt. No. Maybe Lioncourt then. Cost a fortune but she could swing it. He'd eliminate them swiftly.
They wouldn't know what hit them. Lioncourt would probably kill most before they drew a weapon.
She stood in the downpour imagining them laughing as they violated her space. Shoving her vibrator into the toilet giggling. Pissing on her clothes.
She let the wrath wash over her. Imagined Lethanda's Dark Arrow ability demolishing the building.
She wanted to kill them all.
But the persona cracked. She couldn't hold it.
Lucy surfaced. Why? What would it achieve? Would it make her feel better? Undo what they'd done?
She felt lost. She didn't have the skills to take them all out. They should be grateful for that. And morally—could she kill them?
If they'd all been bounties maybe. But they weren't. Society hadn't marked them for execution.
It would be murder. And despite everything she'd done for Aurum - she hadn't crossed that line. Sanctioned kills were one thing. Straight-up killing. Because they'd stolen from her? Trashed her place? That was different.
Lioncourt wouldn't hesitate. He'd do it for sport. Claim it was to better the city - in that infuriating accent of his.
She couldn't hide behind such justifications. She couldn't do this.
The rain poured. Cold and relentless.
Her tears mingled with it.
They'd get away with it. She could seek revenge, but it would be hollow.
They probably didn't even know who she was. It wasn't personal to them. They'd had their fun.
She couldn't hold onto the wrath. Couldn't outsource it to killers for hire.
No. She wouldn't take revenge.
Lucy held out her hand. Ground herself in the sensations of raindrops hitting the palm.
She stood a moment longer letting the rain continue around her. Listening to the noise of it.
Then she turned her back.
*
The cold embrace of the Escar Tundras wrapped around Lethanda like a silken shroud. Snowflakes danced on the wind. Each one a delicate whisper against her skin. The mouth of the cave offered a fleeting shelter a haven where the world narrowed to the crackling warmth of the campfire and the soft murmurs of her companions.
She breathed in the crisp air the scent of pine and frost mingling on her tongue. The distant howl of the wind was a melancholic song a reminder of the wild expanse that lay beyond. Some adventurers found these frozen plains arduous. Their steps heavy without a ranger, druid or shaman to guide them. But for their band the tundra was a canvas, each stride a brushstroke in the tapestry of their journey. Lethanda had invested heavily in all the ranger outdoor skills and traits, and had applied them ruthlessly to accelerate their questing progress.
Behind her Arcanis coaxed flames from kindling his hands steady as he nurtured the fire to life. The glow painted his face in hues of amber and gold. He'd grown as a storyteller, Lethanda decided, weaving tales that bound them closer.
Ceri was right, they should celebrate when leaps of faith paid off; Arcanis growing into being a good roleplayer was worth a smile. Suggesting they ‘camp’ here for the night had been his idea—a chance to rest before the trials of Kelsada Falls. For Arcanis to go from his stumbling beginnings at ‘campfire’ RP to suggesting they initiate it showed great progress.
Or maybe he just needed a biobreak before the ninety-minute onslaught ahead, Lethanda thought less charitably.
The dungeon waited just minutes away—a labyrinth of ice and shadow where dragons ruled and the very air shimmered with arcane energy. Most players agreed that it was the Dev’s masterpiece dungeon so far.
Arcanis settled by the fire his voice rich and resonant. "We've come far friends. Standing on the cusp of mysteries untold. The path ahead may change us but it's a journey we take together."
Kurgrim Bloodaxe adjusted his gleaming armour the metal catching the firelight. "Aye" he rumbled his accent a rough mimicry of the highland clans. "Choices lie before us. Paths that could lead us to conquer the ancient Gates of Baraadon—or see us fall short."
Lethanda felt the weight of his words. They were right. Both of them. Soon Ceri and Piopei would reach the pivotal level forty - mid-point in the levelling grind to hit max - time for further specialisation choices. Major new gameplay mechanics opened-up. All kinds of new enchantments, glyphs, sigil levelling and more.
She turned to her companions the warmth of the fire caressing her face. "I've heard whispers," she began her voice barely above a murmur. "Rangers of great renown have sought me out each offering a different way forward. Their teachings promise power but demand commitment. I worry—what if our choices pull us apart? What if the paths we take alter the balance we've found?"
She’d hit forty a few days ago herself. She was putting off exploring the new content until Ceri joined her though. Ceri and Piopei not having hit Forty before her though was only a testament to the number of hours they’d poured into helping Delsadar power-level Kurgrim Bloodaxe. That Kurgrim was only a few levels behind Lethanda at this point was pretty amazing to her.
Silence settled as she mused. Broken only by the soft crackle of burning logs.
Ceri's eyes sparkled with unwavering optimism. "Change isn't something to fear" she said, her smile a balm against uncertainty. "New skills. New paths—they're steps toward becoming the heroes we're meant to be. Together we'll adapt."
Piopei nodded thoughtfully. "I've been thinking of studying with an old alchemist," he shared. "Learning to brew potions and elixirs could bolster our strength. Imagine facing the Gates with that kind of support."
Lethanda considered his words the possibilities unfolding like petals. "Perhaps you're right. Growth is the essence of our journey. Embracing these new powers might be exactly what we need."
The Gates of Baraadon loomed in their collective imagination—monolithic structures whispered about in legends. Remnants of ancient civilizations. No one had reached them yet, but theories abounded. Portals to uncharted realms? Gateways inviting formidable foes? The unknown beckoned. The leading edge of players was only now reaching those end-zones. New vids of discoveries popped up on her recommendation to watch lists. But Lethanda wasn’t a fan of spoilers.
Arcanis gazed into the fire. "After Kelsada Falls some of us might venture to the Sky-City of Jeluna. If the winds favour us we'll return with knowledge to guide the rest."
The next major quest hub beckoned, Lethanda knew. On hitting forty she’s automatically received some ‘breakcrumbs’ quests to go to the Sky-City.
Ceri clapped her hands softly. "That's a wonderful idea! I've been thinking—we should designate roles within the guild. Seekers of wisdom who can lead others down these new paths."
Lethanda felt a subtle warmth bloom in her chest. Ceri had asked her to be the ranger class leader—a mentor to those who shared her path. The guild was small but growing. She'd met the two other rangers over tankards of spiced mead. Their laughter at shared experiences with their class mingling with the tavern's lively hum. Lethanda not finding her crucial-for-soloing snare-shot ability until very late in the Spine Mountains was apparently quite normal. Though, of course, the newer rangers had benefited from being able to read guides with all the errors of earlier players pointed out.
As the fire settled into glowing embers their conversation wound down. One by one they feigned yawns and stretched lazily the universal sign of players needing a brief respite.
"I'll keep watch," Lethanda offered her gaze drifting back to the swirling snow beyond the cave's entrance.
"Don't stay up too late," Arcanis teased, winking. "We need you sharp for those dragons."
She smirked. "Wouldn't dream of letting you face them without me."
Their avatars settled into resting poses. The game mechanics providing a semblance of sleep. Lethanda activated her Ranger's Sanctuary a protective aura that would shield them for a time—even if they logged off.
The stillness enveloped her. Yet beneath the layers of character and game thoughts of Lucy surfaced unbidden. Real-life intruding like a cold draft.
She needed to improve. To adapt. The recent events had highlighted gaps—not just in skills but in readiness. Perhaps discussing it with Aurum on Christmas Day would help. Peril had extended the invitation with her characteristic straightforwardness.
The thought of spending time with them brought a hint of solace. Christmas Day itself was usually a very lonely time for her. Last year she’d spent most of it online. Trying not to think about returning to her empty tiny box apartment.
But this wasn't the moment for such reflections.
She shook her head. Dispelling the lingering thoughts. The tundra awaited. Soon she'd be loosing arrows into the hearts of dragons. The allure of the Shadow Ranger path called to her—a journey of agility and lethal precision mixed with dark sorcery.
Rising smoothly, Lethanda stepped outside the cave. The bite of the wind a welcome sensation. The snowflakes kissed her cheeks melting like fleeting worries.
"Time to focus" she whispered to herself.
Those dragons wouldn't slay themselves.