First things first, I need to know how much time has passed, Kyro thought, pulling his brown hoodie over his head. Figuring out how long he’d been unconscious would help him make sense of his situation—what had happened to him, to Nia Soren, and how to move forward from here.

He slipped his left arm into its sleeve slowly, careful not to aggravate his wound. He had done his best to bandage it, but water and salt could only do so much. I need a professional healer, he admitted silently, or maybe a nurse if a healer’s too expensive.

If I make good time, I can reach the city by noon. He knelt to tie his bootlaces. That should give me enough time to seek help before Malthus gets back from lunch.

Malthus Manasa was Kyro’s boss. He owned a modest but successful goods shop in the city. For an average normie, he’d done well for himself. Kyro worked odd jobs for him—running errands, tidying the shop, and occasionally making deliveries. The pay wasn’t great, but it was more than a kid from the slums like him could ask for.

I don’t think I was out for very long, Kyro thought, adjusting the neck gaiter—the fanciest part of his outfit, probably the most essential. But something tells me it was definitely more than just a nap.

Knowing Malthus, I’m going to need a good excuse for missing work. Otherwise, I can kiss this gaiter—and any future luxuries—goodbye.

And he had a solid excuse. A good one. He just wasn’t sure if he could explain it to anyone. Yet.

Kyro slung his backpack over his right shoulder and stepped outside, the gritty dirt crunching beneath his boots. Out of habit, he locked the door, though it felt a little pointless. After everything, trusting a rusty padlock seemed almost laughable.

Looking around, nothing really screams any kind of substantial dive into the distant future. That’s... disappointing.

He stared at the small, amorphous heap of gunk nearby. Unless somebody else had just happened to leave another pile of rotten rags outside his door, he couldn’t have been out for more than a couple of days.

After a few days, the wind would’ve scattered them, or the stray dogs torn through them in hungry rage.

He had been planning to dump them, but between leaving early to catch the morning train and returning late at night, he just never found the time.

“Hooray for procrastination, I guess.”

Kyro pulled on his hoodie and slipped into the street. The muddy roads reeked of smoke and decay. Pollution was at an all-time high in the Ashen District. Unless the city decided to lend the slums a few of their Aeromancers—which Kyro didn’t see happening in, well, any reality—it was only going to get worse.

His gaiter filtered out some of the stench, but it wasn’t foolproof. Still, it kept out the worst of it—better than nothing.

A shame it can’t do anything for my eyes. The wispy smog was somewhat obscuring.

As Kyro walked, he kept a close eye on the people he passed, checking for anyone paying him too much attention. A few minutes in, he realized he needn’t have bothered. Most didn’t even glance his way.

Right, he thought. This is the slums.

Here, everyone had bigger problems to worry about, like starvation, poverty, and disease. If you lived in this part of the city, you were likely running from trauma, living through one, or about to encounter one around the next corner. For most people, sadly, it was an eclectic combination of all three.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Soon enough, Kyro arrived at his destination. Rotting wooden planks, a tin roof sagging under years of grime—it was a mirror reflection of every other home in the slums.

“Milo,” Kyro knocked once on the battered door.

There was shuffling inside before a muted voice responded.

“Ky? Is that you?”

A moment later, a freckled redhead appeared in the doorway, half-naked and squinting at the daylight.

Kyro pushed down his gaiter and put on his neutral smile, trying his utmost best not to stare at the auburn curls sprinkled across Milo’s chest.

Milo, like Kyro, was an orphan—technically, anyway, since he lived with his grandmother. They were the same age, though Kyro was a little taller. They weren’t exactly friends, more like neighbors—familiar faces in a place where that meant something.

“Hey, Milo.”

“Man, you’re alive?” Milo blinked in surprise, making Kyro’s heart skip. “I knocked on your door like four days ago. No one answered.”

Four days. Kyro took the news well enough. Stranger things had happened—were happening.

“You knocked?”

“Yeah, almost five times. Granny thought you were dead.”

That… can’t be good. Kyro’s stomach tightened.

Real estate was a cutthroat business in the Ashen District, especially here in the north, practically the crème de la crème of the slums. If people thought you were dead, it wasn’t long before someone tried to take advantage. And once the wolves started circling, it was nigh impossible to get them to stop.

“Hey, relax,” Milo said, noticing his tension. “No one’s had time to worry about you with everything that’s been going on.”

“What do you mean?” Kyro asked, ears perking up.

Milo gaped at him. “Man, are you serious? Have you been living under a rock or something?”

It sure felt like it.

“Just tell me.”

“Ky, it’s been crazy. Goddamned sentries everywhere, crawling through the district for days.” Milo’s voice dropped. “I think I even saw a couple of sorcerers.”

Kyro’s chest tightened, heart pounding. “R-really? What did they want?”

“Some woman. An insurgent. Midnight something—Clan, Claw, Fang, I forgot. They were even offering a hundred sovereigns for any information. Can you imagine?”

Kyro couldn’t. Not while still processing the news.

The Bureau’s already searching the slums. That’s fast.

He’d figured Nia coming here must’ve meant her situation was desperate. But a whole hunting party, what was it, mere hours after their interaction?

I underestimated the direness of her situation.

Not to mention all the headlines about her in the news. Even for an insurgent, it all seemed a little excessive.

Just how valuable was that package she wanted me to transport?

Kyro didn’t even want to know. Luckily, he’d had the good sense to shut that down or he would’ve been truly and utterly screwed.

Although, in retrospect, I could’ve thought of a better plan to refuse her that didn’t end with a knife sticking out my chest.

“You okay, Ky?” Milo asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You seem a little distracted.”

“I’m fine,” Kyro forced a smile. “So, what happened?”

Milo folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, causing it to creak. “A bunch of people tried lying for the coin, obviously. But the sentries had some kind of magic lie detector. Let me tell you, the floggings weren’t worth the risk.” He shook his head in mock pity.

“Oh, and they almost broke into your shack when you didn’t answer, but I told them you worked late and they backed off. One said you should report to their headquarters if you knew anything, but I think that was just routine. That’s what I was going to tell you when I knocked.”

Kyro nodded, slowly piecing things together. Milo didn’t know it, but he might’ve just saved his ass.

“By the way,” Milo suddenly gave him a curious look, “where were you anyway?”

“At work,” Kyro lied quickly, then deflected. “Did they catch her? The woman?”

Milo shrugged. “No idea. They left two days ago. Though one of them tried grabbing Ilya—pervert. Myron stepped in, like always. Ashen gotta stick together, right?”

“Right.”

Kyro’s mind raced. They had just... left? What did that mean? Had they given up, found her, or gotten close? There was no way to be sure.

“Milo, did you see anyone suspicious lurking near my place in the last couple of days?”

Milo scratched his head. “Nah, not really. Just that creepy black cat of yours.”

Kyro raised an eyebrow. “Snowflake?”

“Yeah, well, I mean, Snowflake’s not really the name I would choose for that Zarkathian hellcat. But hey, I get it, it’s backwards so it’s hilarious. Anyway, yeah, that’s the one. Always strutting around like she owns the place." He gave him a very judgy look. "I told you, man, once you fed that damn cat, it’d never leave.”

Kyro sighed, then nodded. He'd gotten all the information he needed. “Thanks, Milo. Really. I owe you.” He turned to leave. “Say hi to your grandmother for me.”

“Will do,” Milo called after him. “Oh, and by the way—you might want to check your shack. Something in there’s starting to stink, even by this place’s standards.”

“Will do,” Kyro called back.

Already did.