The pre-dawn chill of Grimwall's streets seeped into my bones as I stirred from a fitful sleep, my makeshift bedding scant protection against the hard floor of the Nest. The refuge, a sanctuary of shadows and whispers, was alive with the soft rustlings of other urchins, each lost in their own world of dreams and nightmares.

In my hand, I clasped the broken pocket watch, a relic of a life long shattered. Its glass was cracked, its hands forever stilled at the exact moment when my childhood was snuffed out. The watch was a symbol of my broken past, a totem of my halted time, and as I turned it over in my hand, the metallic coldness seemed to leech into my flesh.

s

My thoughts drifted unbidden to the night before, to the Rilke Residence, where the shadow of The Order had loomed once more. The memory of their dark robes etched itself behind my eyelids, a haunting echo of the very garments that had enveloped my parents' killers. That sight had breathed new life into the smoldering coals of my hatred, a hatred that had simmered within me, waiting for a spark.

Grizzle's groan drew me from my reverie, his pained movements a reminder of the relentless streets that had crippled him. "Morning, Cor," he grumbled, his voice raw with the remnants of sleep.

"Morning, Grizzle," I replied, the watch still heavy in my grip. "Tell me, what do you know of The Order?" I watched him closely, eager for any scrap of knowledge that might aid my thirst for vengeance.

His brow furrowed as he considered my question. "They're old news, Cor. Fought the Nephilim, got disbanded. That's what the street whispers say, anyway." Grizzle's tone was tinged with the simplicity of one who knew only the uncompromising embrace of Grimwall's alleys.

My fingers traced the contours of the watch, the tactile sensation grounding me. "I found traces of them at the Rilkes'. The same robes from... from that night." My voice faltered, the memories clawing at the edges of my mind, threatening to overwhelm me.

"You think they're still here? In Grimwall?" Grizzle asked, his voice laced with a rare concern.

"Yes," I hissed, the word laced with venom. "And I will follow the Rilkes, uncover the rest, and strip them of their ill-gotten gains." The thought of retribution was a dark melody that played over and over in my head.

Grizzle's eyes widened, his face a canvas of alarm. "Cor, don't be a fool. The Order mastered Essence Manipulation, and Influence was their deadliest weapon. They could control minds, make you do things... It's dangerous." His warning was genuine, and I knew he feared for my safety, but that fear could not quench the fire within me.

"Influence," I scoffed, though a kernel of doubt nestled in my heart. "My father told me its power was exaggerated, a tale to cow the ignorant." I had never been formally trained in essence manipulation—my education had died with my parents—yet I clung to the rudimentary teachings my father had imparted upon me.

"Do you understand how it works?" Grizzle pressed, his curiosity a flicker of light in the darkness of our conversation.

"No," I admitted, frustration clawing at my chest. "But I'm not defenseless." My father's legacy, however fragmented, was a shield I held close.

Grizzle let out a weary sigh. "Just... don't do anything stupid, Cor," he murmured, his voice a blend of resignation and concern.

We departed from the Nest, stepping into the labyrinth of Grimwall's streets, each to our own spot for begging.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The midday sun clawed feebly at the fog that clasped Grimwall in its cold embrace, casting anemic shadows on the cobblestone streets. There I was, nestled in the crook of an alley, a worn crate beneath me, my guise an inconspicuous blend of ragged cloak and outstretched hand, a bowl for charity set before me. My pocket watch pressed against my chest, beneath layers of fabric.

Passersby, a blur of indifference and haste, skirted around my small island of misery. Their steps echoed in the damp air, a symphony of the city's uncaring heart. Grizzle's words about The Order's Influence echoed in my mind—a shadowy art, the push and pull on the fabric of probability, a subtler blade than any forged in steel. How could I, untrained and orphaned, stand against such a force? The thought left a taste in my mouth, the acrid flavor of fear and resolve intermingled.

Despite the warnings, my plan to surveil the Rilkes stood firm in my mind, a defiant structure amidst the swirling mists of doubt. The need for answers, for closure, burned within me like a beacon, unextinguished by the creeping dread of the unknown. In this city, knowledge was the coin of survival, and I was sorely bankrupt.

The clink of coins falling into my bowl jolted me from my reverie. The haul was meager, but paired with our spoils from the Rilke residence, it was enough to stave off the gnawing hunger for another day.

Later, back at the Nest, Grizzle and I counted our paltry earnings—21 centes. The sum was a small victory, a temporary bulwark against the ceaseless tide of destitution. As we prepared to venture out for meager sustenance, Liora appeared, like a wraith woven from the same mist that shrouded our city. Her hands, ever generous, offered damaged apples, casualties of a merchant's misfortune. We accepted the fruit with gratitude, the sweetness of the flesh a rare luxury.

While we chewed on our meager meal, Grizzle leaned in close, his voice a hushed whisper. "Cor, I know you're planning something against those Rilke folks, and I can't shake this feeling... it's like we're standing on the edge of a dark abyss, and you're about to jump." His words were heavy with foreboding, and I couldn't deny the shiver that ran down my spine at the thought of what lay ahead.

The broken pocket watch in my hand seemed to grow heavier. I nodded, the promise sitting like a stone in my throat. "I won't, Grizz. We're in this together," I lied.

As the afternoon shadows stretched like wraiths across Grimwall's walls, I found myself once more navigating the city's underbelly, haunted by Grizzle's final admonition. "Stay sharp, Cor," he had rasped, his lame leg trailing a slow drag as he receded into his nook, clutching his begging bowl.

With deliberate steps, I wove through the crowd, a phantom among the masses, my fingers twitching with the urge to practice my silent art. The pocket watch pressed a constant, heavy reminder against my ribs.

An alley opened before me, its entrance an inky gateway. I melded into its shadowy caress, my gaze sweeping for the unsuspecting, the well-heeled, the perfect marks for a deft pickpocket. Fate, however, spun a divergent path for me today.

Harsh laughter, laced with menace, fractured the hush as I found myself encircled by a gang of toughs, their chief a towering brute with fists akin to sledgehammers. "Fancy seeing you here," he taunted, orbiting me with predatory ease. "Thought you'd get away with last time's loot, did you?"

My fingers grazed the watch, triggering a jolt of adrenaline. Fear had no place here; there was only the stark imperative of survival. In a blur of motion, I struck out, my knuckles meeting the leader's jaw with satisfying impact.

A vicious ballet ensued, their punches falling like a merciless deluge. I bobbed and weaved, my retaliation fierce, but their numbers overwhelmed. The metallic tang of my own blood became my grim companion as it trickled from a split lip.

Flight became my sole sanctuary. Zigzagging with frantic energy, I repelled advances with kicks and shoves, the alleyway dissolving into a whirlwind as I made my escape, gasping for air.

The urban labyrinth sprawled open before me, and I summoned every street-honed skill, every secret the rooftops had murmured to me. My pursuers' oaths dimmed to echoes as I vaulted and ascended, a creature of the city's heights born from dire need.

Perched atop a decrepit parapet, I surveyed the expanse below: a tapestry woven from despair and striving. Grimwall lay indifferent to the tribulations of a solitary fugitive.

The watch thrummed in my blood, a relentless cadence. My resolve hardened; this cycle would end. The Order would atone for the blood staining their hands, for my parents' echoed visages that haunted me.

Tonight would be the night. I would unearth their secrets, plunder their vaults. And then, I would extricate myself from this tangle.