Bellum was truly an incredible city. The streets were paved with a thick, black substance that looked almost like compressed gravel - a peculiar thing to behold, but smoother to ride or drive across than the rough cobblestone streets of Invicta. On either side of the wide streets were elevated sidewalks, full nearly to capacity with all sorts of people, from busy businessmen blindly brushing past one another to children pulling their mothers by the hands as they hurried from one window display to the next. Multicolored magitech lamps hung along metal poles changed rhythmically, shifting the color shown to command oncoming carts to stop or usuring onwards those that'd waited long enough. It was unlike anything Valorous had ever seen before -

Except, of course, for Damaia, who couldn't shake the impression that it seemed subtly different somehow.

The dogs following their owners' leads hadn’t started barking any less, the guards looked no less severe, and the streets and lamps both, while recently cleaned, had most certainly been there the day she’d left. Even the nervous, slightly suspicious sidelong glances aimed her way hadn't changed a bit, but for whatever reason, the busy streets that had once seemed so daunting were little more than an inconvenience now.

It was anything but inconvenient to her awestruck teammates, however. Lucas watched everything with his usual facade of silent stoicism, no doubt half expecting a brawl to break out at any second, but the engineer had to suppress a chuckle as they passed a massive, illuminated sign in the shape of a cup of coffee. She didn't realize people's eyes could go that wide!

Jubel and Vivi, on the other hand, didn't even bother trying to hide their excitement, sticking their heads out the back of the cart to get a better view like the astonished tourists they were. It was, in her humble opinion, absolutely adorable. Vivi hadn't seen the city in decades, and Jubel had never even been given the chance to go until now; they deserved a chance to have their fun.

Speaking of adorable….

“Stop that,” she scolded Izzy as the hawkbear tried to squirm out of her grasp. “You can’t just go running off after every good smell! You’ll get lost!”

The pint size magical beast had grown quite a lot since their last trip together, making her roughly the size of a somewhat large dog, but rather than calming with age, the tiny … that is to say, medium menace had only grown more rambunctious. The team had been astonished to realize that Izzy was not only smart enough to realize she was cute, but able to form plans based around weaponizing that fact.

Plans which were almost universally foiled by Lucas, who was the only member of their team immune to the beast’s pleading gaze.

“Down, Izzy,” he said without even looking at her. “If you keep giving Damaia a hard time, I might misplace those honey treats you love so much.”

An indignant squawk was his only reply.

“Yes, really! If you’re old enough to understand me, you’re old enough to know better than to thrash around like that!”

"The small white lines designate places you can stop and leave your cart," Damaia told Lucas, giving the now docile - and sulking - hawkbear a reassuring pat on the head. "They're only on the wider streets, like this one. We can either go the rest of the way on foot now, or hope to find room at one of the parking houses."

"Parking houses?" he muttered distractedly.

"Think of a giant house, with room for dozens of carriages. They usually charge a fee, but they're safer than just leaving your carts and wagons out on the side of the road."

"Why wouldn't you just use the stables at whatever inn you stay at?"

"Because a lot of the inns don't have a stables."

He shot her an incredulous look. "It's true!" she insisted. "That's why we have parking houses to begin with! Since magitech carts that don't even need horses are becoming more and more popular, stables became sort of obsolete - but they still needed a place for the carts themselves, so..."

"I clearly haven't had enough coffee for this conversation. How far is it to your place, D?”

“A couple of minutes by cart. Maybe ten or fifteen on foot.”

The shapeshifter nodded slowly. “We’ll walk the rest of the way, then. Sense anything, Jubel?"

The half elf tore his eyes away from a window display featuring a peculiar looking guitar with considerable effort. "No, not yet - or at least, no more than I could yesterday. They're definitely somewhere, a bit closer than before and roughly northwest of us, but that's all I can tell so far."

The werewolf let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Let me know the second that changes. We don’t want a possible enemy with unknown abilities getting the drop on us.”

“Whatever you say, mom.”

“Don’t you talk back to me, young man! I’ll send you straight to bed without supper!” The pair glared at each other, trying in vain to maintain a serious air even as their lips twitched with barely suppressed grins. Jubel cracked first, bursting out laughing and doubling over as the girls rolled their eyes.

It took only a few minutes for her to guide the rest of Valorous to her home - a small apartment that lay directly above her father’s shop. Normally, she’d have just gone in through the front, but -

“Closed?” She blinked at the sign in the window, staring blankly for a moment before glancing at the slightly lopsided door that bore a similar sign. Papa almost never closed the shop. Was he sick? Frowning, the felblood turned to the nearby stairway instead, swiftly marching to the top to knock on the door that led directly to her old apartment... No response. She knocked again, louder this time. Still, there was nothing. Odd… normally her mother would’ve been shouting, letting whoever was at the door know that she’d be there any second now, but there wasn’t so much as a whisper.

Then, the door flew open, nearly smacking the engineer in the face.

The woman on the other side had a frying pan lifted high overhead, ready to swing, but the moment she saw Damaia, she dropped with a startled cry and practically leapt towards her.

Mrs Rita pulled her daughter inside with speed that bordered on the supernatural. In fact, in spite of the woman’s lithe frame, the engineer was certain her mother would’ve broken at least a few of her ribs with the ensuing hug if she hadn’t been in full armor at the time.

Damaia blinked in confusion. Had her mother always been so small? And their house…

The apartment above their shop that stood so large in her memories seemed so small now, cramped and crowded for even an old married couple, much less the family of four that had once shared it. To the girl who’d scarcely even left her room a year ago, it had been a kingdom in itself, but now…

Stolen novel; please report.

“You’re home!” The trembling woman was barely able to hold back a sob.

“I’m home,” the felblood confirmed, her voice soft. Something was terribly wrong. “Mama, what’s going on? Are you ok? Where’s Papa?”

A cold chill ran up her spine as her mother’s sobs grew louder. No… no no no no NO-

“He’s gone, Damaia! Your father’s gone!”

“It was about a week ago,” the trembling woman said once she’d had a chance to collect herself. “I’d just finished eating dinner, and was on my way to bring him his - you know how he is, he’ll work himself to death if one of us doesn’t sit him down and force him to eat something once in a while - and then…” she took a deep, shuddering breath. “I h-heard a dreadful racket from inside his workshop. At first, I thought it was just another one of his projects, but when I reached the door, I heard him shouting at someone. I looked through the window and saw two tall men - nearly as tall as your friend here - in polished black and silver armor grabbing him. He was trying to break free but…”

Mrs Rita buried her face in her hands and let out a wail of despair. “He saw me through the window! He must have! He was putting up a fight, even sent one of them staggering with his wrench, but then suddenly he looked my way, went pale and just let those brutes pick him up and vanish with him!”

“Vanish?” Damaia repeated the word, a hollow feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. Rather than clearing things up, her mother’s panicked recollections had only raised further questions. Questions such as-

“Do you know who would want to take him? Did you see them use a scroll or a potion before they disappeared? Were there any-”

“LUCAS!” Damaia snapped as the would-be leader of their group rattled off a series of admittedly important questions. “Is now really the time?” Her mother was trembling, fresh tears in her eyes, and it took every ounce of willpower she had simply to remain seated.

“It sort of has to be now, Damaia. If we don’t know what they’re after, we don’t know how much time we have! If I have to choose between being polite and considerate now or reuniting your family later, then I’ve got no issues being an asshole.”

“As opposed to the rest of the time?”

“Not helping, Jubel.” The words came out as a growl.

“And shouting at a crying woman is?”

“I wasn’t shouting!” he shouted, flinching as the echo of his own voice reached his ears and throwing his hands up in sheer frustration. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t have enough information to even form a plan! He needed names, faces, tactics - something to identify his targets. He needed scouts, he needed information, he needed...

----------------------------------------

“Coffee,” Lucas rumbled as he pulled up a stool, “with plenty of whiskey. In fact, make it two.” He tossed the barkeep a single gold piece, turning to scan the bar and drumming his fingers against the wood as if impatient.

This wasn’t going to be fun. He only hoped the bar would still be standing by the end of it. He liked bars. They had something to offer for everyone - food, drink, company, stories, barmaids - and, in cases like this, witnesses.

The first step to any good operation was reconnaissance. Where is the target, how many hostiles are there, what sort of equipment do they have, how well are they organized - every question you could answer became one more thing standing between you and an early grave.

On a battlefield or as part of an army, you had scouts to find those answers for you. In a city, though, you needed contacts. Lucas didn’t have any - or at least, he didn’t have the right kind - and his friends were all too… noisy to be trusted with gathering information directly.

Thankfully, he had an ace up his sleeve - which was why he found himself sitting in a bar mere hours after he left Damaia’s house, pretending for all the world as if he was perfectly calm, even as he heard the footsteps coming up behind him.

“You have a lot of nerve, brat,” his contact growled. “I assume you’ve got a damn good reason I shouldn’t shove a silver dagger up your ass right here and now?”

The shapeshifter allowed himself a brief smile as the familiar voice reached him. “Good to see you too, old man. And I can think of a few - not the least of which is common courtesy. Think of the poor folks that’d end up cleaning all that up!”

The grizzled old hunter barked out a harsh laugh as he pulled up a stool next to Lucas, but he didn’t remove the brilliant silver knuckle duster from his right hand as he called over the barkeep to place an order of his own.

“Don’t bother, Garo,” Lucas interrupted. “I ordered your favorite.”

“Well, it seems you haven’t forgotten the manners I managed to pound through that thick skull of yours. Since I bothered to drag these withered old bones out of the local chapter, I suppose I may as well hear you out while I catch my breath. Go on. Explain. What was so important that you had to drag me away from my duties as an instructor?”

Withered bones my ass. Other than his hair, which had turned white in the decade or so since they’d last met, Garo looked every bit as young and fit as he had the day Lucas had first met him nearly twenty years ago. The man was nearly as tall as he was, with broad shoulders and the sort of rippling muscles that would’ve been more at home in a bard’s tale than on an actual human being. His well groomed gray mustache looked a bit odd without a beard, but he’d long since lost the ability to grow one, what with his cheeks being almost completely covered in mismatched scars.

“What, I can’t just want to have a chat with my old mentor?”

“You can. You don’t, but you certainly can. You also can bother to send a letter at some point over the last fucking decade to set these old bones at ease -”

“Stop going on about your bones, old timer. You can lift five of me.”

“Probably, but now I risk throwing out my back.”

That got a chuckle from the werewolf. “Fine. If you wanna skip the small talk - I need help.”

Garo gave him a stern look as the barkeep delivered their coffees. “If you’re looking to clear things up with the Order, I’ve done all I can already. Running doesn’t exactly make you look innocent, you know.”

“The only thing I’m guilty of is getting bitten,” Lucas replied dryly. “You know it, I know it, and fifty gold says your precious ‘elder council’ knows it too, not they give a damn. That’s besides the point, though. I’m looking for someone, and I need to know who’s palms to grease in order to find them.”

Garo paused, the piping hot cup in his hand halfway to his mouth. “Missing, Kidnapped, or on the run?”

“Kidnapped.”

The old hunter muttered a curse under his breath. “And you’ve decided to play hero again? Fine, fine! I’ll set up a meeting with an old friend of mine… but Lucas?” Garo gave the shapeshifter a level glare, a flicker of red dancing across his eyes. “You need to go back. Your problem isn’t the sort that goes away on its own. You’re dangerous -”

“More dangerous than the old bastard who sold half his soul for the secrets to blood magic?” Lucas whispered, doing his best to suppress the fury building in his chest. “More dangerous than the fellow that bathed in dragon's blood till he grew scales? More dangerous than you? Or did you think I wouldn’t notice you trying to plant a thought in my head?”

The white haired hunter’s eyes narrowed, but before he could answer, Lucas held up one hand. “I know where you’re coming from. Not that long ago, I would’ve agreed with you… but things change. Garo, I don’t need silver anymore. I haven’t been chained in months. Months! And I haven’t even tried to hurt anyone I didn’t intend to!”

“You’re not the first one to think they had the answer.”

“Didn’t think I was - but how many of them could turn back and forth at will?”

Things were silent for a long time after that. Then Garo raised his hand to wave over the bartender.

“Two - no, four whiskeys. Top shelf, on the rocks. I have a feeling I’m about to need them.”