Kyro read the messages in his head. Then he read them again. Over and over, until he could recite them by heart, even without keeping his hand pressed against Cyril’s ancient remains.

When he was done—roughly two minutes later—he stepped back.

…

[Awaiting Class Integration]

...

I knew there was more to it, Kyro thought, alternating glances between his right hand and Cyril’s skeletal form.

But this... The string of messages slowly replayed in his mind. This was unexpected. He hadn’t thought he’d find clues so soon, and certainly not here of all places.

Part of me hoped whatever was causing the messages would just fade away as time passed. But that chance... He sighed. ...that chance is getting smaller by the minute.

So, this is it? Is this going to be a part of my life now?

Kyro tried to remain calm, and maybe he succeeded outwardly, but inside, his mind was unraveling. Wild theories swarmed through his head, each more outlandish than the last.

Some he dismissed immediately as ridiculous, while others lingered, waiting for confirmation or rejection.

Initiate Class Integration Sequence for Class: Augmentation?

YES/NO

Kyro clenched his fist, pressing it hard against his chest, trying to slow his racing heart. But the pressure ignited pain under his ribs—sharp and unforgiving.

“Dammit, the wound.” He groaned, doubling over slightly. The pain was grounding. He gritted his teeth and rode the wave of agony until it ebbed.

When the pain dulled to a manageable throb, Kyro exhaled sharply.

"I... I have to go," he muttered. His momentary lapse in concentration had hurt him, but it also pulled him back from the edge of panic.

He’d already taken a risk coming to Ruinstead, injured and unarmed. The last thing he needed was to accidentally trigger this... Integration and pass out. Or worse.

Cyril wasn’t going anywhere. The skeleton had been here for over a century; a few more days wouldn’t matter.

His mind made up, Kyro turned and swiftly left the tunnel. His gaze lifted to the horizon, where the jagged spires of New Taranis pierced the sky, their shadows stretching like dark fingers across the blue.

“Yes, leaving is the right decision,” he said, this time with more conviction.

And so he left.

***

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Crowds. Kyro had never liked them much. Maybe it was the noise, or maybe it was the lack of personal space that suffocated him, making him feel anxious. Maybe it was both.

One glance at the sea of pedestrians he’d have to wade through to reach the nearest Restoration Sanctuary, and he immediately scrapped his original plans. The healer would have to wait until foot traffic thinned to a more tolerable level. One careless passerby jostling him was all it would take for things to go south fast. And city normies weren’t big on compassion, especially toward slum rats from the Ashen District.

No, going to the shop first is probably for the best, Kyro thought, pulling his hood lower over his face. He didn’t expect a squad of red-uniformed sentries to be waiting around the corner to ambush him, but it was always better to avoid drawing attention.

I can also get a clearer picture of my finances before spending more money.

Besides, the wound didn’t hurt too badly—it only flared up when poked or strained. Kyro figured he could manage a little longer.

He slipped into a quieter side street, checking his reflection in a window. His clothes were clean enough, but his thigh-high boots, scuffed and caked with grime, were a dead giveaway.

There was no room for dirt in New Taranis. Even the air itself was scrubbed clean monthly by a Meister Manipulator—Aeromancy sorcery at work. Kyro didn’t know who the sorcerer was, but he was sure their paycheck had more zeroes than most people would see in a lifetime, what with all the toxins expelled into the atmosphere on a daily basis.

Win Big or Go Home Broke! Fortune favors the bold!

A giant neon banner outside a spiraling, corkscrew-shaped building shone so bright Kyro couldn’t help but glance at it.

Run out of sovereigns? No worries. Bet your wife, bet your life, bet it all! Only cowards hedge their bets! ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE AT FORTUNE CITY!

Below the message, a small golden circle—the standardized symbol for a non-sorcerer institution—spun periodically.

Kyro shook his head. All mixed cities had a flair for extravagance. No one ever said it outright, but he suspected the flashiness was a way to keep adrenaline junkie sorcerers entertained and prevent them from tearing the place apart. At least, that’s what history seemed to suggest.

But even for a tourism-driven city built for thrill-seekers, Kyro felt that New Taranis leaned too hard into the status quo.

Essentially, anything that got the heart racing was mainstream—from high-end stores with glittering spires to underground fight clubs, black markets, and shady gambling dens.

And this isn’t even Haven, Kyro thought with a resigned sigh. He’d never been to the sorcerers’ side of town before, but he’d heard enough stories to know it was even wilder.

There, sorcerers weren’t bound by the restrictive binding runes beneath the city. They could let loose and indulge in whatever insanity suited them. There were still limits, of course, but Kyro could see the appeal.

“Hey, lad. You buying or browsing?” The vendor of a newsstand, an old man with a bushy gray beard, squinted at him.

Kyro blinked, realizing he’d lingered too long. “Right, sorry. Do you have anything from five days ago?”

He scanned the papers for any mention of Nia Soren or the Midnight Claw. But despite his best efforts, he found nothing. Not even a whisper.

It was strange. Last week, Nia Soren had been plastered across every news outlet. You couldn’t go anywhere without hearing about her and her insurgent group. That’s how Kyro, who normally didn’t follow the news, even knew who she was.

So why the sudden silence?

The vendor’s face darkened with irritation. “Sorry, lad. All the papers from the past week got pulled. Some code of conduct violation or something.” He paused. “Why? What are you looking for?”

“Never mind,” Kyro said, quickly walking away as the vendor cursed under his breath.

They got... pulled? Kyro’s gut twisted. That was not something you heard every day. In fact, he hadn’t even heard of anything like it until now.

And it happened right after the sentries packed up and left the slums without explanation? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Kyro could understand if the sentries had been reassigned to a bigger case, but pulling all the papers? That set off alarm bells.

It’s almost like someone’s trying to cover their tracks, he thought uneasily.

Nia Soren was the one person who might have a proper explanation for what had happened to him. But he didn’t know her whereabouts, or if she was even still alive.

Already, his chances of meeting her again were slim. Now, it seemed like someone powerful—or worse, powerful and influential—was trying to bury the whole thing.

How long before they decide I need sweeping too?

Kyro sighed. Like I don’t have enough problems already.

He needed to get off the street.