When Mero opens his eyes, a pale light blinds him. The sky seems to have vanished, and all around him is nothing but damp stone and an oppressive atmosphere. The walls, covered in a slick, black moss, give the place the appearance of an ancient, forgotten chamber buried deep within a mountain. The weak light creeping in skims along the walls without managing to dispel the shadows, which seem to be both an ally and an adversary in this dreary room. The air is freezing, heavy with moisture that clings to the skin, and a scent of salt and sea drifts through the space, a distant reminder of what he left behind. But it brings him no comfort. Something is wrong. Something unsettling, like a part of his mind refusing to understand.

He feels heavy. A weight on his shoulders, in his mind. As if everything he has lived through has followed him into this grim place. Memories surface in fragments, slipping from his control: the waves, the scent of salt, the blurred faces of friends, voices echoing, laughter. Then suddenness—like an invisible thread snapping, flinging him into the unknown. He doesn’t know how he got here, and one question haunts him: why?

He tries to get up. His muscles protest, sore, numb, as if he had been battered by relentless waves, submerged, shaken. His whole body feels battered, crushed under an invisible force. Slowly, he pushes himself up, one arm braced against the cold ground to keep from falling. Every movement is a struggle. He looks around, scanning the room with broken, searching eyes.

The walls are cold, the damp stones reflecting a sinister reality. The door is rough wood, solid, but locked. No way to open it. No window large enough to escape through. Where is he? Why is he here? The flood of questions is unrelenting, but there are no answers. Only the echo of his thoughts in the thick air of the room.

He takes a few steps, each movement measured, careful not to disturb the air too much—as if afraid of waking the ghosts lurking around him. A sound. A faint rustling in the shadows. Mero’s heart stops for an instant, his breath catches. A laugh. Deep. Guttural. Mocking. It slithers through the room, creeping into the dark corners, almost carnivorous.

He is not alone. He has never been alone.

Mero freezes, trapped in the moment, in fear. That laugh… it’s not just derision. It’s something far more sinister. Something he recognizes but refuses to admit. His gaze locks onto the shadow forming in the darkness. A man rises slowly, a massive silhouette emerging from the gloom. His face is marked with deep scars, his shaved head gleaming under the faint light. His yellowed teeth flash in the darkness, a knowing grin stretching across his lips. He steps forward, like a predator savoring the terror of its prey.

— So, this is the ‘little prince’ everyone’s been talking about, the man murmurs, his rough voice cutting through the heavy air of the room.

Mero clenches his fists. His heart pounds against his ribs, a drum marking the rhythm of his growing panic. He wants to speak, but his throat is tight. He manages to respond, though fear twists every word:

— Who are you? he asks, his voice strained but defiant.

The man bursts into a deep, guttural laugh, an explosion of mockery that vibrates through the air around them. A deliberate, merciless laugh.

— Me? Just a humble servant of fate… Or maybe just a man who knows an opportunity when he sees one. They call me the Serpent.

He straightens slowly, every movement calculated, deliberate. Mero is cornered against the cold wall, the monster’s shadow looming over him like a macabre backdrop. The man is tall—much taller than Mero. At least a head taller, with arms as thick as ship’s ropes. A brute force, a human mountain ready to crush anything in his path.

— Your name travels faster than you do, kid, the man continues, his voice laced with barely contained violence. Among pirates, merchants, and even… other well-placed people. You’re a stake, a bet, a valuable piece of merchandise.

The words hit Mero like heavy stones, but he doesn’t waver. His mind buzzes with confusion. This isn’t random. He was taken for a reason. But why? Who wants him?

His gaze falls on the man’s wrist. A tattoo. A serpent, black, coiling around his forearm. Mero freezes. The Serpent. The symbol. He’s heard of it before. Mandarine had warned him. Given him a name to fear.

A chill creeps through him, cold and paralyzing. It’s him. The man he dreaded. The one he knew he would eventually cross paths with. The room darkens further, and a shiver runs down Mero’s spine.

The man notices his stare locked on his tattoo, and a carnivorous smile spreads across his lips.

— Ah… someone warned you about me, it seems. Interesting.

He steps closer, each footfall echoing in the room like a hammer striking metal. Mero instinctively recoils, but there’s nowhere to run. The stone wall presses against his back. His muscles tense, ready to react, but he knows he’s at a disadvantage. No immediate escape. Timing is everything.

— If they told you to be careful, that means I’m someone important, doesn’t it? the man adds, leaning in slightly, relishing the fear he sees in Mero’s eyes.

Mero straightens, forcing himself to stay calm, but a silent fury rises within him. His fists clench. Now is not the time to give in to fear. He has to act. But how?

— What do you want? he asks, his voice steadier this time.

The man stops just before him, towering, overwhelming. He places a hand on a nearby wooden crate, his thick fingers pressing into the wood with a dull creak. He slowly straightens, his gaze turning even colder.

— Me? Nothing personal, little prince. But some people want to see you… And I’m just here to deliver the package.

The man’s words hammer into Mero’s mind. "Deliver the package." Someone sold him out. Or worse—someone is waiting for him.

Mero stiffens. The man holds him in invisible chains. The trap has closed around him. But it’s not over. Not yet.

The man turns slowly, his voice dragging over his next words.

— My dear little package.

He moves toward the reinforced wooden door. He opens it.

Mero takes a sharp breath, his heart pounding wildly. It’s now or never. He has to act. He has to escape.

His legs tense, his body coils like a spring. He lunges at the man, an explosion of movement. His shoulder slams into him with surprising force. The impact is brutal. The man staggers back, caught off guard, but he keeps hold of the door.

Mero ducks quickly, dodging him, and uses his momentum to drive an elbow into the man’s ribs. A grunt of pain. It’s all he gets before bolting.

The door is open. The chance is there.

He sprints into the narrow hallway, his breath ragged, his vision blurred by adrenaline. Behind him, heavy footsteps, shouting voices, orders barked.

The man with the Serpent tattoo won’t let him go so easily.

The corridor in which Mero is running is narrow, almost suffocating. The air is heavy, laden with the damp scent of stone and sweat. A few torches flicker in the darkness, casting an uncertain light, creating dancing shadows on the stone walls. Every step he takes echoes in the confined space, amplifying the threat pursuing him. Where is he? A fortress? A prison? A foul-smelling hold? He no longer knows. His thoughts whirl in his clouded mind, but one thing is certain: he must get out, and fast.

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The corridor seems endless. The torches burn weakly against the stone walls, casting giant shadows. At the corridor’s bend, an intersection. To the left, a spiral staircase ascends towards a dim light, promising a possible exit. To the right, a passage plunges into darkness. A secret way out? Or a trap? There’s no time to think.

He rushes left, his feet pounding the stone steps, one after another, his legs burning with effort. The sound of his footsteps merges with the Serpent’s enraged roar:

— Catch him, you idiots!

The words tumble down the staircase, bouncing off the walls, and Mero knows time is against him. Behind him, voices rumble—a cacophony of threats and heavy footsteps. More men? Probably. One of them is closer, the Serpent himself, no doubt the one barking the order. His eyes, fixed on the staircase ahead, calculate his options.

If he continues up… The Serpent and his men await. If he turns back… He runs straight into a trap already set. The grip of darkness tightens around him, inescapable.

But then, a breath of fresh air brushes his face. The scent of the sea. A promise of escape. The exit. There’s no time to lose.

He resumes his sprint, his legs slicing through the air with the urgency of survival. He must get out of here, reach his ship—his lifeline—before the trap fully snaps shut. The sea is his salvation. A floating refuge beyond these stone walls and the Serpent’s grasp. If he finds it, all is not lost. Not yet.

The stairs seem endless. They stretch beneath his feet, but his muscles are already exhausted, pain pulsing through each step he takes. The light at the top nearly blinds him. A glimmer of hope. He pushes forward with all his might, the summit so close, but then a thought strikes him: What if this isn’t the exit? What if it’s just another trap?

At that moment, he spots the window. A possible escape. A rush of fresh air fills his lungs at the thought of jumping. His mind races, weighing each option. He has to. He can still make it.

Despite the turmoil, despite the pain weighing on his limbs, he doesn’t slow down. He has no other choice. He must take the risk.

Mero dashes to the window. He sees the iron bars—too solid to break—but the window itself… a narrow gap. A slim chance. He grips the ledge, hauling himself up in one swift motion, his heart hammering in his throat. He glances down—the drop is dizzying: at least three meters. The ground is paved, but there’s… a cart. A cart filled with sacks of grain. It’s the only way. He has to jump.

Behind him, footsteps thunder on the stairs. Too close. Too late to turn back. The Serpent’s men are here, and there’s no way back.

Mero takes a deep breath. One last glance behind. He leaps, closing his eyes for an instant as his body plunges into the void. The wind howls in his ears as he descends, hurtling toward the ground.

He crashes onto the grain sacks with a cry of pain. The impact is brutal, but the sacks cushion his fall, bursting beneath his weight. A cloud of flour erupts, nearly choking him, but he grits his teeth, ready to move. He coughs, shaken, his chest burning from the effort. He’s alive. But for how long?

The Serpent’s furious shout pierces the air from the window above. His dark eyes, burning with rage, scan for Mero. He’s not alone. Two other men stand behind him, scanning the alley, hunting their prey. But Mero won’t give them the chance to catch him.

Without wasting a second, he rolls off the cart, dodging the fallen sacks at his feet. He slips into a narrow alley, breathing deeply the crisp night air. His heart races, pounding against his ribs, adrenaline surging through his veins. But he knows he has no time to rest. He must vanish before the Serpent’s men track him down.

The wind rushes through the alley, sweeping debris along the ground. Mero scans the surroundings, searching for an exit, a door, a hiding spot. The alley is deserted, the buildings around him tall and dark. Every footstep echoes like a warning. A flickering light at the end of the alley. An escape? Or a trap? He doesn’t have the luxury of hesitation.

Mero darted through the city's narrow alleys, his footsteps echoing against the cobblestones. The shouts of the Serpent’s men rang out in the distance, a grim echo chasing him. His breathing was rapid, labored, his mind struggling to stay calm as adrenaline tensed his muscles. He had no idea where he was or how he had ended up in these quarters. All he knew was that he couldn’t let himself be caught.

Ahead of him, a bustling market teemed with life. Stalls overflowed with fruit, meat, and spices. Merchants called out their prices, their voices blending with the chatter of customers. Mero weaved through the crowd, his eyes scanning the horizon. There, in the distance, he spotted the imposing silhouette of the Imperial Bank. That was his destination, his refuge. But how could he reach it before his pursuers caught up?

His legs burned, but he didn’t slow down. He had to lose them, at all costs. If the Serpent and his men caught him, he would be easy prey. An idea struck him like lightning— the rooftops. Yes, he still had that chance before the net closed in. He had never truly feared heights. Survival instinct spoke louder.

His gaze landed on a stack of crates piled against a wall. He didn’t hesitate for a second, rushing forward and climbing with agility. With a swift kick, he launched himself toward a window ledge, gripping it with all his strength. The wind whipped against his face, but he didn’t care. Once at the top, he took a deep breath, his eyes searching for the best path. The bank was still far, but the way was clear. Now was the time.

Behind him, the Serpent’s men’s shouts grew louder, closer than ever. He had led them here, but they hadn’t spotted him yet. This was his chance. He moved carefully, measuring each step across the tiles, leaping from roof to roof with feline fluidity. The city stretched out before him like an unfolded map. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. Not now.

Suddenly, a crack beneath his foot. A tile shattered, and his body lurched downward. Instinctively, he grabbed onto a gutter, but the momentum of his fall sent him sliding down the building’s facade. He barely managed to hold on. Below, a cart filled with hay. Luck or fate offered him a way out. He didn’t hesitate. He let go.

The wind whistled in his ears. A muffled impact, followed by the soft rustling of hay. But just as his body hit the cart, a gunshot rang out. He froze, heart pounding wildly. A shiver of fear ran through him, but no pain. Not this time. Their aim was off. He had no time to check if he had been hit.

In a flash, he was on his feet again. The sounds behind him grew more insistent. He had no time to waste. He dashed through the alleys, narrowly dodging obstacles, slipping between buildings. The market lay ahead, his chance to vanish into the crowd. No more storm, no more shouts. The chaos would be his salvation. He slipped between two stalls, knocking over a crate of fruit behind him with a loud crash to slow his pursuers. Angry cries erupted, but he didn’t have time to look back.

Another shot, closer this time. A bottle shattered inches from his head. Glass exploded, and a sharp pain pierced his senses. But he didn’t let it distract him. Escape was his priority.

His eyes caught a cart loaded with barrels. Risky, but it was his best shot. He had no time to hesitate. He sped up, skimming past stalls, and with a leap, he landed onto the cart, gripping the wooden frame. His hands grasped the barrels as he rolled onto them, trying to conceal himself, his heart hammering in his chest. The driver hadn’t noticed a thing. The horse started moving.

The voices behind him faded into the distance, but Mero remained on high alert. He waited, holding his breath, until the market’s uproar quieted and the city's sounds softened. Only then did he dare to glance around.

The bank was close. Within reach.

But a sharp pain in his left arm made him wince. He felt a trickle of blood and realized he had been hit. A stray bullet—imprecise, but enough to wound him. His fingers clenched around the barrels. His jaw tightened.

They had spilled his blood. But theirs would soon follow.

He stood up, ignoring the pain. He was near the bank, but he wasn’t stopping there.

His eyes landed on a weapons merchant in a nearby alley. He approached, his steps heavy but resolute. He was unarmed. Not for long. Without hesitation, he walked straight up to the stall.

The merchant looked up, instantly understanding. Mero didn’t give him time to speak. He grabbed a saber from the display, testing the blade’s weight in his hand. The weapon was perfect—sharp and balanced.

Vengeance had been waiting, but now, it was ready to be unleashed.

The merchant said nothing, merely nodding silently, and Mero instructed him to charge the price to the captain of his ship. The transaction was simple, almost mundane. But in Mero’s mind, a storm was brewing.

He walked away, gripping the saber in his right hand. The weapon was heavy, but he held it with fierce determination. A quick glance at his reflection in a fountain showed him an out-of-breath young man, bloodied and wounded. But his eyes—those eyes—burned with fire. With vengeance. And fear no longer had a place there.

He dipped his scarf in the water and wrapped it around his wound. This was no time to stop and tend to injuries. His pursuers wouldn’t be far behind.

He slipped into the shadows. Two men stood nearby. They hadn’t noticed him yet. Their end was near.

Mero moved with the stealth of a predator. The first man didn’t even have time to scream. The saber’s blade slid between his ribs, silencing him with a single, suffocated breath.

Mero spun around instantly, reacting as the second man turned, eyes widening in terror. But it was already too late.

The blade slashed through the air in a precise arc, severing the man’s hand with a swift stroke. His agonized scream died in the deserted street. Mero seized him by the collar, pressing the saber’s edge against his throat.

- “Who sent you?” Mero’s voice was cold, merciless.

The man trembled, eyes wild with fear.

- “It… It’s the Master Serpent. He wants your head before you leave the city…”

The Master Serpent. The one Mandarine had warned him about. The one who clearly hadn’t understood who he was dealing with.

Mero tightened his grip on the man’s collar, his gaze ice-cold.

- “Where is he?” he growled.

- “At the port… He’s waiting for your corpse to collect his payment…”

The port. Of course. He wanted to trap him before he could escape.

Mero let go of the man, who collapsed, sobbing on the ground, before turning toward the docks.

He had no time to waste.

The Master Serpent had to die.

And that night, Mero would make sure that not a single one of them walked away alive.