Dice rolled. Lowain watched a group of men gambling off the last of their worldly possessions, though his mind was elsewhere. It had been nearly two weeks since Sarathine had died, but he hadn’t heard so much as a rumor about the other immortals. He hadn’t expected full-blown panic, but the fact that not even a whisper had reached him was keeping him on edge.

More dice rolled. He smelled deception in the air, its scent akin to pepper and baked goods. The unfortunate patron, an older man missing an eye, had lost nearly 16 games now. Lowain considered stepping in, but he didn’t want to cause trouble before finishing his business in the lower warrens. They were slums without the stigma, a perfect place for black markets, gambling, and of particular interest to him, informants.

He had a particular love for the gambling den he waited in. The Rats’ Nest, a fitting name considering its inhabitants were often the most well renowned of street-skulkers and cutpurses. Near every time he returned to the city, to the lower warrens, he stopped here. None knew him as immortal, merely a generous guest that had survived one-too-many difficult circumstances.

The den was packed full, shoddy tables and makeshift seating crammed as close together as possible. The room was once an old drainage pit, leaving it nearly circular with a number of offshoot tunnels that ran to various seedy shops and bars. The Rats’ Nest itself wasn’t really a bar, but that didn’t stop various entrepreneurial men and women from trying to pawn off bootleg swill to every gullible schmuck that walked through the door.

As he sat watching the gambler lose to loaded dice again, he caught a new scent. Faint at first, but growing stronger. A newcomer had slipped in, somehow avoiding the doorman and Lowain’s own cautious sightlines.

A woman, about his height, slinked through the crowded den and sank into a chair across from him. She wore a cloak of wolfskin that covered most of her features. Faint strands of red caught in the cloak’s clasp, and a familiar mischievous grin sat upon her lips.

“You’re early,” Lowain said. He shifted his gaze back toward the gambler who had finally realized his streak of bad luck wasn’t just bad luck.

“You could pick any venue for our meetings, you know?” she said, following his gaze. “I swear every time we meet here I’m forced to witness something unsavory.”

“I assure you, this is the finest establishment. But that’s besides the point. Did you get it, Tlea?” He placed an open hand on the table between them, his movement causing it to crack. The tables were dated, and so coated in water and spilled drink that they threatened to break from even the slightest movements.

She sighed. Of the informants in lower warrens, she was the best, and there was nothing she hated more than running errands. But Lowain was a bit of a special case--and more often than not worth the journey. She slipped a thick pack of cigarettes across the table, its wax seal untouched.

He couldn’t help but smile. The world was quickly advancing into a more modern era, and he couldn’t stand the upscale establishments, stone roads, or well-lit nightlife. It made getting around very difficult. That said, he loved some parts of the modern world. Cigarettes were a particular guilty pleasure.

“You could just smoke a pipe, Lowain,” Tlea said. “Seems a waste to send me halfway across the country for such a…mundane item.

“Nonsense.” Lowain undid the wax seal and flipped a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with his waiting fingers. “You wouldn’t gather half the information you do if I didn’t send you on frivolous errands.”

She sighed again, deeper this time, before sitting up straight. Her deep yellow eyes flashed from beneath the cloak’s hood. “On the point of information, regrettably, I’ve found nothing. The Eastern Walks are quiet, and even my fellow informants have heard precious little.”

Though it was brief, Lowain picked up a hint of concern accompanying her words. An uncommon emotion from her, and one he found particularly enticing. He felt his strength swell, a measure of vitality returning to him.

“I must admit, I’m a little worried,” Tlea continued. She rested her head on one hand, attention on a pair of bouncers pulling away the one-eyed man. “There’s always been a tidbit about the long lived lords and ladies, so this…emptiness…is concerning.”

It was the same thing he’d heard from every informant he’d spoken to. He’d hoped for different with Tlea, her information gathering was always a bit more active than the rest of the bunch in the warrens. Just what are they planning? Of all the possible outcomes, Lowain was certain this was the worst. Gauging their reaction was pivotal to his--and his organization’s--plans moving forward.

A cough from Tlea drew his attention, and he found her with an outstretched hand. “Don’t think you get away free, Lo. I like you, but not that much.”

Lowain fished out a small handful of brass rolls, a middling coin with the center stamped out--supposedly the stamping process made them harder to counterfeit. Being immortal had its perks, at least when money was involved. She counted each one, eyeing him as his payment started to exceed what was discussed.

“Keep it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It’s better in your hands than mine.”

Tlea made to protest, but a disturbance at the entrance pulled her attention away. Lowain noticed it first, flipping his hood up and lowering his posture. A familiar smell rolled into the room in a wave, so thick it threatened to choke him. The door burst open with a frightening crash as it splintered against the wall, the lock shattered and dangling limply. A shadow stood in the doorway only briefly before a flash of silver severed the doorman’s head clear from his body. Death wasn’t new in the warrens, in fact it was almost expected, but the sudden and violent way this bout started sent most of the den into hysterics. People screamed and scrambled, heading for secondary entrances and diving for cover under tables and into offshoots.

Lowain stayed still, as did Tlea. Being an informant put her in more precarious positions than he could properly imagine, and he was fairly certain this was on the higher end of the frightening scale. A number of other patrons continued on with their business, talking quietly between long chugs of sour wine. Brass rolls changed hands, and a game of dice still played in the furthest corner.

“Do you know them?” Tlea whispered. A quiet tapping sounded at their table as her fingers rolled back and forth. It was her only nervous habit.

He nodded, though he wasn’t completely certain about their identity. His sense of smell picked up on symbols--much like the one that let him superheat his body--before it picked up on elements of their person, and this one reeked. They likely had more than one—something unique to immortals. Only their undying bodies could handle the toll of multiple symbols.

They stepped in, tossing a toppled table away. It turned to dust and splinters as it hit the wall. As they entered the light of one of the many hanging lanterns, Lowain got a better idea of their identity. Far taller than he, with dark skin and auburn hair. Their eyes scanned the room with something Lowain could only describe as loathing before settling on his and Tlea’s table. They smiled, a flicker that seemed almost like recognition in their eyes, though they ignored Lowain and continued onward into one of the offshoot tunnels. People scrambled out of their way in a panic.

Lowain finally relaxed. The death had been fearmongering, a chance for them to get a quick meal, and not, thankfully, an attempt on anybody’s life. He felt for the doorman, but that was an expected outcome in that line of work.

“Ashblood,” Lowain said long after the immortal had disappeared.

Tlea’s brow furrowed beneath her cloak. “Pardon?”

“A man with multiple symbols.” Isn’t this common knowledge?

“Symbols…?” she asked.

It occurred to him suddenly that his age was showing, and he made to correct. “He’s a glyph walker, just bearing multiple.”

Tlea glowed with sudden understanding. “But multiple? Isn’t that deadly?”

He began to suspect that knowledge of symbols—of glyphs as the world now called them—wasn’t as commonplace as he thought.

“Incredibly,” Lowain said. He kept one eye trained on the tunnel the Immortal had turned down. “The term Ashblood was created because it’s deadly. Too many symbols causes your blood to turn to ash in your veins, supposedly.” He shivered. “And you just… Well, you die.” There wasn’t anything supposed about it, of course. He’d watched it happen, the ashen gray filling every blood vessel in an old friend’s eyes as he fell to the floor in a heap. The momentary gasp for air before it reached their brain.

“And that doesn’t affect you?” she asked.

Lowain shook his head. He only bore one glyph, but its imperfect and unintentional nature gave it an expanded pool of ability. The horribly singed and scarred-over skin on his hands reminded him of just how broken his was. “That’s beside the point.” The disturbance was settled, a new doorman had been instated, and Lowain was ready to be rid of this place. The stench of an Ashblood wasn’t particularly inviting. “Were you able to get the other object of my interest?”

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Tlea plucked something from her pouch, a bright green gemstone caked in sediment and grime rolling onto the table a moment later. He snatched it up, turning it over in his hands. Onyx stopped immortals from feeding, sapphires caused immortals to lose their inner voice, but that still left many precious gemstones to test. Just what will you do, I wonder?

Standing quickly, his makeshift chair screeching across the boarded bottom of the Nest, Lowain made ready to leave. “Let’s away. I’d test this elsewhere.”

Despite the noise of his departure, none turned in his direction. The den had returned completely to its deceptive gambling and moonshine peddling. Without further hesitation, Tlea stood and made for the door. If Lowain knew anything about her, she’d continue to go along with him till she’d managed to finagle a few more brass rolls out of him. Not because she was greedy, but because she knew well what her services were worth. It was likely he wouldn’t say a true farewell till she’d left him coinless.

They traded the damp hovel for a shadowed alleyway, their footsteps sending a rat king frantically scrambling for shelter under a crate nearby--whatever was in it had long since been pilfered. Massive stone supports rose all around them, holes carved into them like a beehive. Rickety catwalks and creaky stairs led to many of them, ladders barely held together by twine leading to others. Nobody owned the various hovels; it was, and would likely always be, first come, first serve.

“There,” Tlea said, one finger pointing upward toward a dangling rope ladder. “I watched them leave before joining you.”

Lowain was accustomed to the unsafe conditions that accompanied the lower warrens and their holes, and scurried up and into the dank crevice without any worry. His companion was a bit more hesitant, each rogue gust of wind causing her grip to tighten substantially. When at last she joined him, her face grim, he closed the makeshift door—a rotting piece of plywood—and settled.

It was exactly as it seemed from the outside, a hole in the wall. It lacked enough room for either of them to stand, stank of mildew, and small streams of condensation ran down and out past the door. The previous occupants had left a small sack of nuts, though Lowain suspected they were intended to be ground for narcotics rather than to be eaten.

He set the gemstone between the two of them and began rolling up his sleeves. His arms were spattered with scars and burns. Some deep part of him tickled with somber memories, days when his skin had been smooth and beautiful. How far he’d fallen from his youth.

“Like last time?” Tlea’s voice snapped him back to the present, her slender fingers toying with the gem.

“Yes,” he said. Shifting his tone to something a bit more serious, he continued, “but remember, if I go mad or try to kill you, flee. No exceptions. Understood?”

Tlea gave him a nod and waved a dismissive hand. “A little human trying to kill me? You’re a funny man, Lo.”

She didn’t know about his origins, though she was likely to be the most understanding of those he surrounded himself with. If he spoke of his past, she’d be a wonderful confidant. That, however, would never happen. The moment they’d finished their business she’d sell his secret for a hundred bronze rolls three towns over.

Steadying himself mentally--the last time he’d punctured his skin with a gem he’d found himself withering away--he offered his scarred arm toward her. There was no hesitation from her as she rammed the emerald into his skin. A searing pain ran up his arm, followed by a sickly feeling in his mind. It clouded his thoughts, and he began to feel like something was wrong. Very wrong. There was a haze over his vision, and the air seemed thicker with fear than he remembered. The lower warrens were certainly a terrifying place. But this… His thoughts felt consuming, though they were replaced by a single want the moment his eyes fell upon Tlea. Hunger.

An excruciating desire to feed came over him. The fear in the air was succulent, beautiful, and seemed to dance upon his senses.. The part of Lowain that hated fear, the part that found it sickening and far from even passable foodstuff, was sealed far beneath the haze of hunger that consumed him. He wanted to make her fear. Wanted to drink every drop of it, alongside her hatred, her loathing, her sorrow. And the possibilities, oh! Lowain’s mouth began to drip saliva, his eyes growing intense. He raised a hand, his visage failing. Long, unkempt nails and skin that wrinkled and sagged.

No! he thought through the haze. Three centuries of starvation would not culminate in this.

Fighting his instincts, he locked eyes with Tlea. There was terror there. Juicy, sweet terror. No. His mind struggled to maintain its composure.

“Out,” he said through gritted teeth. They ground together, the taste of powdered bone tickling his taste buds. “Take. It. Out!”

She understood, pulling it free in an instant and shrinking away from him. With determination in her eye, she held the gem above her head--an indication she was ready to destroy it.

“Wait,” Lowain struggled out, the haze fading as quickly as it had come. “Don’t. I’m alright now.”

A long moment passed before Tlea let down her guard, setting aside the gem and beginning to tend to the wound it had created in his arm. To him it was nothing more than a nuisance, but she didn’t know that. She didn’t need to know that.

“What did it do?” she asked innocently. The fear he’d seen in her eyes was gone, or at least hiding so deep he could no longer smell it.

He wanted to say that it made him want to devour all her fear till she was nothing but an emotionless husk of a being, capable only of a catatonic stare, but thought better of it. “Raised my aggression.”

The room was quiet. Outside, rain had started to fall. Long aqueducts from above sent massive plumes of water down into the lower warrens, washing out streets and creating an awful soundscape.

“You’re lying,” Tlea said. Her hands didn’t stop bandaging.

Lowain could smell her distrust. It stank like stale wheat, like forgotten yeast. Though he made to speak, she didn’t let him.

“I tried it, too.” She let go of her bandage work and pulled up a portion of her leather jerkin. A large wound had scabbed over, small black streaks running away from the site of impact where the shifter’s body had rejected the stone. “In fact, I tried it on a number of people. Mortals, Gylphwalkers, even another shifter. And not a single one had any kind of reaction. Not a single one, Lowain.” Tlea looked into his eyes, an intensity he wasn’t familiar with glittering in the beauty of her shifting yellows and browns.

Lowain started, but she cut him off again.

“I understand I’m an informant. I understand I’m not trustworthy,” she said, a sigh following shortly after. “But we’ve been friends--at least acquaintances--for nearly 30 years. If you want me to keep a secret, I can. So please, stop playing these games.”

Games? Tlea had always been the witty, serious informant. Her displays of concern came only when coin was involved. To any other, it might seem like she was being insincere, but he could smell the truth of her words. It stood out among the other smells of the lower warrens, glowed brightly against the faint whiffs of emotion that lingered in their tiny hovel. It caught Lowain off guard.

“I’m not--”

“Don’t start with me, Lowain,” she said with force. She’d used his name too much; it meant she was angry, truly. It filled the space like a fog, stinking of acid and spittle. “I watched your reaction to the other gemstone. That…that onyx. I saw the fear in your eyes, sensed the terror. It was like the very life was being drawn out of you one excruciating second at a time.” Tears formed in the pits of her eyes, and her body shook. “You will tell me what is going on. Else you can find a new informant, one who isn’t so concerned with your night-damned health.”

Lowain paused. He’d spent so long watching those he cared for die that he’d forgotten what compassion looked like. The friendship had been there, but he’d ignored it. The hints she dropped. She didn’t stay because of coin, she stayed because she was fond of him. Bah. I’ve been blind.

“What I’m about to say to you must never be repeated,” Lowain said. His jovial act had dropped entirely, and he could smell the dire air he breathed. It was like lightning. “Even to those in our inner circle.”

Rain poured stronger outside their hovel, the waterfalls from the aqueducts growing intense. Lowain could barely hear himself think.

He continued. “I am of the Eldest. Those born from the first filling of the font of blood some ten centuries ago. I did not choose this fate, though I do not shy away from it. I am…immortal.”

The storm raged further outside, the ladder crashing and splintering against the stone wall. Catwalks fell, and the sound of wooden planks exploding was drowned out by the rush of water.

Tlea leaned back, resting her head against the wet stone. With a sigh, she said, “is that all? And here I expected some incredible revelation, but no, you’re just old.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” he said. “You’re the oldest shifter I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re the oldest person I’ve ever met. By a long shot.”

She wasn’t wrong, of course. Save Sarathine, Alkadal, and perhaps Deraklese, he was likely the oldest being on the planet. Once it would’ve been a sobering thought, but he’d long since accepted his reality.

“That still doesn’t explain why you looked like you wanted to eat me,” she mused. “Or why it looked like you were about to die.

Lowain took a long breath. The air was filled with a mix of anger, fear, understanding, and something else that was too insubstantial to pick out. The smell of refuse wafted up as well, the rain water carrying it through the streets of the lower warrens and out into the Maginot--the country’s largest river.

“Gemstones interact oddly with immortal physiology,” Lowain said. He kept his eyes closed, thinking back to the sudden panic in Sarathine’s expression as the onyx shattered in her chest. “I don’t know why as of yet. I have Lorian--the little one with the glasses--looking into it. He has a number of interesting thoughts, though I didn’t have the mind to listen to most of them.”

“And why do you need something like that? Something that…interacts with your physiology?” Tlea was genuinely interested, the scent of curiosity and intrigue--a distant, smokey smell--filled the room completely. Nothing of what he’d smelled before could be picked out.

“Because,” Lowain said, “I want to put an end to the immortal lineage.” He spoke with a conviction he didn’t think he still had.

She closed her eyes and began to nod her head, like she was silently mulling over his words. “Well, then you’ll be needing a lot more than my occasional assistance. My rate is--”

“You heard all of this,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And that’s what you have to say? For a moment I thought you were interested.”

“Interested in helping you, yes.” She beamed at him. “But I’m still an informant.”