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Isilyn

Nethraven was everything I hated and everything I needed all at once. It was a city that had no room for hesitation, no sympathy for weakness. If you weren't strong enough to survive here, the streets would chew you up, spit you out, and forget your name by sunrise. I didn't mind that, though. In fact, I thrived in that shit. It was the perfect place for someone like me, someone who had no qualms about doing whatever was necessary to get by.

The city was alive with noise—so much fucking noise. Voices shouting from every corner, the clinking of metal against metal, the screech of cartwheels over cobblestones that hadn't been properly maintained since the goddamn plague. The whole place was a goddamn cesspit, and yet, it was exactly where I needed to be. I kept my hood low, eyes scanning every face, every shadow, every fucking corner. You couldn't trust anyone in this city. Everyone was looking for a chance to sell you out for the right price.

I walked through the bustling market square, pushing through people with little more than a shove, my fingers resting near the hilt of the dagger hidden at my side. The scent of rancid meat and rotting vegetables filled my nose as I stepped past a vendor trying to hawk his spoiled wares. A man with a scarred face leaned against the stall, his eyes lingering on my form as I walked past. I could almost feel the weight of his gaze on me like a knife to the back. He wasn't the first to size me up, and he wouldn't be the last. But I had no time for distractions.

I passed alleyways that stank of piss and vomit, the crumbling buildings on either side leaning in as if the city itself wanted to crush me. I wasn't a stranger to this feeling, though. Nethraven was a beast, and I was just another soul feeding it. But I'd be damned if I went down without tearing some of it apart first.

My mind kept drifting back to the Rusted Tankard, the tavern where the scum of the city went to drink away their miserable lives. It wasn't much, but it was a place where you could lay low for a while. No one cared who you were as long as you had coin to spend, and if you didn't, you'd soon find yourself on the wrong side of a knife. That was the way of this city—strong survive, weak get trampled. I knew the rules by heart.

The Tankard loomed in front of me now, a run-down excuse for a tavern. The door creaked open as I stepped inside, and the stench hit me like a slap. A mixture of stale ale, smoke, and sweat filled the air, making my stomach churn. I didn't care. I wasn't here for the atmosphere; I was here for a roof over my head and a place to lay low.

The bartender, a burly man with a permanent scowl and a scar across his lip, looked up from cleaning a glass when I slid a few coins across the bar. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't ask any questions. He knew better.

"I need a place," I said, voice low, just enough for him to hear. "Quiet. Off the books."

The man grunted, barely lifting his gaze from the coins. Then, with a tilt of his head, he gestured toward the stairs in the back. "Third door on the left. Don't make a fuckin' mess."

I grabbed the key from him without another word, feeling the cool metal against my skin, and made my way upstairs. The air in this part of the tavern was thick with something more than just alcohol—desperation, maybe. People like me, who had nowhere else to go, came here and hid from whatever hell they were running from. I didn't care who was here or what they wanted. I had my own business to take care of.

The third door on the left creaked open, and I stepped inside. The room was small, but it was enough. I didn't need much—just a place to breathe for a little while. I dropped my pack on the floor and let my fingers graze over the hilt of my dagger again. I wasn't stupid. The night was young, and someone would come looking for me. They always did.

But this time, I was ready. Let them come. Let them try.

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Zarek

Nethraven looked like a beast, and I felt like I was walking straight into its maw. The city was massive, its towering walls like jagged teeth ready to snap shut on anyone stupid enough to wander too close. As we approached the gates, the last of the daylight bled out of the sky, leaving behind nothing but a thick purple haze that made the whole city look like it was drenched in blood.

My stomach twisted, a tight knot of unease that I couldn't shake. This place wasn't right. I could feel it in my bones, like a cold, dead weight dragging me down. The air here was thick with more than just smoke and rot—it was like the city itself was waiting for something, or someone, to give it a reason to snap.

Korrin, my right-hand man, was quiet as usual, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. He didn't trust Nethraven any more than I did, and I wasn't sure if he was keeping an eye on me or the goddamn streets.

"You feel that?" I muttered to him, my voice low and dangerous.

Korrin didn't answer right away. His hand tightened on the reins, his eyes scanning the city ahead. Then, finally, he exhaled, his breath sharp in the cold air. "Yeah. I feel it."

It wasn't just the tension in the air, though. Something was off in the city, something darker than usual. I could sense it crawling just beneath the surface. Maybe it was the criminals running every corner or the corrupt guards who could be bought with a handful of coins. Maybe it was the fact that this whole goddamn city was a trap, and we were too far in to turn back now.

The men behind me grumbled as we passed a few rusted gates and guards who were more interested in their next drink than keeping watch. They were lazy, half-assed, and unprofessional, but I didn't care. I'd bribe them if I had to. Hell, that's how shit worked here—money, power, silence.

Korrin tossed a couple silver pieces at the nearest guard without a second glance. The man didn't even look at the coins before waving us through.

As we moved deeper into Nethraven, the streets grew more claustrophobic, the buildings pressing in on all sides. The whole place felt like a goddamn maze—dark alleys, crooked houses, and corners that seemed to stretch on forever. I could hear people whispering, talking shit about their neighbors, about the guards, about the latest scandal. This city was full of secrets, and I wasn't sure whether I was here to find them or bury them.

"Fuckin' hate this place," one of the men behind me muttered.

I didn't answer him. I didn't need to. We all hated it here. We hated the filth, the stench, the crawling underbelly of everything that made Nethraven what it was. But we were here because we had no choice. And when the job was done, we'd leave, and Nethraven would be nothing but a distant memory.

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Dravena

The artifact burned inside me like a slow-moving fire, a constant pulse of power and heat that seemed to seep into my very bones. I couldn't escape it. Everywhere I went, it followed, its pull stronger than anything I had ever known. And the closer I got to Nethraven, the harder it became to control. The city itself seemed to hum with the same dark energy that I carried within me. It was as though it were calling to me, beckoning me to dive deeper into the mess of lies, corruption, and power that festered beneath its surface.

I felt the weight of it on my back, the constant presence of something ancient and powerful that wanted to take control. And I wasn't sure if I was willing to let it.

The city sprawled out in front of me, a mass of broken buildings and twisted streets. It was like a living thing, a pulse beneath the surface, a hunger that gnawed at the edges of my mind. It reeked of decay and rot, but there was power here too. Hidden power. Power that I intended to claim.

I kept my cloak tight around me, moving quickly through the narrow streets, dodging the drunken idiots stumbling out of taverns, the beggars with their hollow eyes and desperate pleas. I didn't have time for any of them. The whispers in my head were growing louder, urging me to hurry, to find what I was looking for before it was too late.

The artifact pulsed again, a sharp pang of hunger that made my stomach twist. It wasn't just an object. It was a presence, a force that seemed to be pulling me closer, tugging me toward something I couldn't yet see. I had to find it. I had to claim it before anyone else did.

A beggar lunged at me from the shadows, his grimy hands outstretched. His breath was rancid, his body shaking with hunger and desperation. "Please," he rasped, "spare a—"

I didn't give him a chance to finish. My fingers shot out, grabbing his ragged shirt and pulling him close. The power surged beneath my skin, an electric current that made the hairs on my neck stand on end. His eyes widened with fear, and I could feel his life force flickering like a candle in the wind. But I wasn't interested in him. I wasn't here to save the weak. I shoved him back, watching him scramble away like the pathetic rat he was.

The city was watching, waiting. It knew something was coming. But it had no idea what the fuck was about to hit it. Neither did I.

I wasn't here to play games. I was here to take what was mine. And no one, not even Nethraven itself, was going to stop me.