The region of Halrath had always felt like it was missing something. Maybe warmth. Maybe life. The air carried a permanent chill, a reminder that somewhere above us, an ice-covered land loomed. That was what the stories said, at least—the ones whispered in the streets, passed from voice to voice like secrets. I wouldn’t know. I’d never left Halrath. Never gone beyond the maze of alleys where people moved like clockwork, lost in their own routines, untouched by anything outside their own survival.

  This place bred beggars like rats. Everywhere you turned, another body hunched in the shadows, hands outstretched, eyes hollow. Growing up here did something to you. Warped the way you saw the world. When you lived at the bottom, you noticed every crack, every stain, every inch of rot. When you were drowning in filth, everything looked filthy. The people. The streets. Even your own thoughts.

  That was why my fists clenched every time I saw the rich pass by—untouched, unbothered, as if the weight crushing the rest of us didn’t exist in their world.

  The old ones used to say Halrath wasn’t always like this. Once, it stood proud, a city of wealth and ambition, nearly rivaling Karnevrien—the empire’s beating heart. But time eroded everything. Rulers changed. Laws twisted. The streets rotted from the inside out. Thieves became bolder. Murders more common. The scent of blood and decay never truly left the air. I’d seen it firsthand, watched the city unravel thread by thread.

  Not that I’d ever seen much of the world beyond these crumbling streets. Even if I could afford to leave, my circumstances wouldn’t allow it.

  Because now, I was a slave.

  Locked away for years, trapped in the stench of unwashed bodies and damp stone. And yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw the night sky. Stars, scattered like shattered glass across the darkness. No city smoke to smother them, no bars overhead.

  The world was quiet. Just the hum of the wind and the steady chorus of insects, whispering to a sky that had never known chains.

  Rook stood beside me, head tilted back, eyes locked on the night sky. I felt it too—that strange, fleeting moment of peace. The cold pressed against my skin like a quiet blessing, sharp enough to make me wrap my arms around myself. The others did the same, but no one spoke. We just stood there, lined up, while the cloaked man—our handler—spoke to someone new.

  The person was taller, sword strapped to his side, posture rigid with authority. More figures flanked him, standing at attention like guards. A few weren’t even cloaked, their faces visible in the dim light. Near them sat a massive carriage, its entrance shaped like a pentagon, a curtain drawn across the doorway.

  Rook turned to me. “That man must be rich.”

  He didn’t sound impressed. Just curious, that same easy smile on his face, as if we weren’t standing at the edge of the unknown.

  I didn’t argue. “No surprise. The rich always find new ways to own people.”

  The others kept quiet, but I could still see it in their eyes—excitement, or something like it. Minutes passed before the guards barked out an order, shoving us forward. One by one, we climbed into the massive brown carriage.

  Inside, it was… empty. No crates, no goods—nothing that hinted at trade or transport. Just a wide, open space built for movement, not cargo. The air was thick with an odd mix of scents—fruit, something floral, and beneath it, a rot I couldn’t place. If I had to put it into words, it was like stepping into a field of flowers where something had died.

  In the center sat a single large bottle, probably water, with a few cups beside it. Nothing else.

  The curtain at the carriage entrance yanked open without warning.

  A man stood there, half-lit by the moon. Black beard, trimmed short. A nose too big for his face. Small, tired eyes sunken beneath dark circles. He held the curtain open with one hand, peering inside like he expected something—what, I had no idea.

  “Isn’t it dark in here?” His voice was gruff, thick with something I couldn’t place. Then he jabbed a finger at us. “Need some company?”

  Before he could finish, another voice cut through.

  “We’re leaving!”

  The bearded man flinched, gripping the curtain like he wanted to rip it down. His teeth clenched, and he muttered, “Agh, that bastard…” before finally yanking it shut.

  Yeah. Creepy.

  A jolt ran through the carriage as the wheels lurched forward. The movement was slow at first, then picked up speed. The others settled in—some drifting off to sleep, some shifting in place. Rook and I stayed awake. Not that I had a choice. The whole thing rattled like it was held together with string and wishful thinking. The only sound was the ceaseless creak of wood grinding against rough roads. If the bumps in the terrain didn’t kill us, the splinters might.

  Rook nudged me, nodding toward the ones who had managed to sleep. “Look at them. I wish I could do that.”

  I sighed. “Don’t hold your breath. At this rate, we’ll be lucky if we don’t wake up with concussions.”

  He let out a low chuckle but didn’t disagree. A moment passed before he spoke again, still stuck on the same thought from earlier. “I still think that guy’s a noble.”

  I smirked. “Or maybe—just maybe—he’s a merchant with a deep, dark secret. Like, I don’t know, a closet full of wigs and a crippling fear of peasants making eye contact with him.”

  Rook snorted, then outright laughed, clutching his stomach. I meant it as a joke, but I’d seen stranger things. Some merchants treated their wigs like family heirlooms, guarding them with a paranoia that would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.

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  "Wanna bet? Merchant or noble?" Rook grinned, still riding the high from his laughter.

  I gave him a look. "Bet?"

  This was his thing—turning every little mystery into a game. I’d learned that much. Maybe he got it from his father, who had a nasty gambling habit.

  "What are you betting? Your portion of food again?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

  He nodded. "Come on, you never know what they'll serve later."

  I didn’t want to think about it, but the way he said it stirred something in me. Hunger, maybe. Or just morbid curiosity. What kind of slop did they give slaves where we were headed?

  "Alright," I muttered, absently scratching at my leg until red streaks marked my skin. "So you’re betting he's a noble?"

  Rook nodded, completely sure of himself. "Without a doubt." He paused. "What about you? Merchant? Or you wanna get creative?"

  I smirked. "I bet he's just another slave. Or—no, wait." I tilted my head. "A worker. Some poor one running errands for a noble."

  Rook raised a brow. "A worker?"

  "Yeah. A guy who looks important but isn’t. Someone who takes orders, not gives them."

  Rook rested his chin on his hand, clearly thinking it over. “Huh. Never thought about that.” Then he gave my shoulder a light tap—light for him, at least. It still made me shift where I sat. “Alright then. What’s your bet?”

  I smirked. “How about this—if you win, which is impossible, I owe you a favor. Like last time.”

  His grin widened. “Good enough, cocky fox.”

  We kept talking, debating our bets, throwing out guesses that got more ridiculous as we went. A few laughs here and there. But as the wagon rocked on, exhaustion crept in. The ones who’d been eavesdropping earlier had all drifted off, even Rook. I should’ve done the same, but I couldn’t.

  I didn’t know how long the ride would last. My ass was numb from sitting too long, which was unlucky because I was still awake enough to feel it. But sleep wasn’t an option. Not with the sound of hooves crunching against the dirt, the occasional snap of reins. Not with the stories I’d heard—bandits stopping wagons like this, cutting throats before anyone could scream.

  The boredom got to me, so I shifted and pulled back the curtain.

  Riders. A handful of them trailing behind us, their cloaks swallowing most of their features. The moonlight barely touched them, just enough for me to tell—it was the same men from earlier.

  They didn’t look at me. Didn’t look anywhere, really. Just stared straight ahead, their horses keeping a steady pace behind ours.

  No stops. No signs of slowing.

  I just hoped we were close.

  I kept the curtain open longer than I should have. Didn't expect the man to notice me, but he did. The one on the left—a broad, heavy-built bastard—lifted a hand and gave a slow, deliberate wave. Not a greeting. A command. Close it.

  I did. No point in testing whatever unspoken rule I’d just broken. Whether it was intimidation or just some adult man trying to put a slave in his place, I didn’t know.

  Hours crawled by. The wagon rolled on until, finally, they decided to stop. A break after what felt like an eternity of travel. Most of the others were still out cold. No surprise—I was still awake.

  The same man who bought us earlier—him—checked inside, only to find me sitting up, eyes open. He smirked like that was amusing. Then he jerked his chin toward the open air. “Get out. You’re coming with us.”

  For what? He didn’t say. But I wasn’t dumb enough to ask.

  I climbed out and followed, boots crunching against damp earth. The camp they’d set up was simple—ringed by medium-tall trees, a clearing blanketed in fallen leaves, a few hefty rocks acting as makeshift seats. Three men lounged there while the rest of us gathered wood. The horses rested nearby, barely moving.

  When we’d finally piled up enough branches for a fire and collected water from a nearby stream, the hunters returned—five of them, hands full of limp white rabbits. Blood dripped in thick, lazy drops as they yanked out arrows.

  “There they are,” one of the men, Harlowe, the one who commanded me to help announced, pointing toward the hunters.

  The others laughed, like he’d cracked some inside joke.

  There are a total of twelve men. But the hunters didn’t seem offended by the laughter. If it were me, I might’ve tossed a rabbit at them just to be petty. But I doubted they saw it that way. Brotherhood, probably. Every single one had a weapon too. Short knives, used for carving branches or skinning game. But most of them? Swords.

  "That's a hell of a lot of rabbits. What, no deer? No boars?" The guy next to Harlowe was built like a warhorse, voice deep and edged with amusement. He looked serious, but I think he was just messing with them.

  "Night hunting’s a bitch," one of the hunters grumbled, tossing a rabbit onto the pile. "If we’d brought the sorcerer, we’d be eating boar or something worth a damn."

  "Right. Blame the mage instead of your own shitty aim," the big guy shot back, yanking down his hood. Dark brown hair stuck up in spikes, and a faded tear tattoo sat under one eye.

  The hunter didn’t argue, just kept skinning. Harlowe ordered them to clean the kills, and within minutes, a fire crackled in the clearing, the wood we'd gathered feeding the flames. Smoke curled upward, twisting through the trees, carrying the scent of burning bark and fresh meat.

  I’d never eaten rabbit before, but I knew it was common for hunters and people living out here. They were fast, tricky to catch, but ultimately just another meal. The smell seeped into the air—smoky, a little sweet, already rich with grease.

  I stayed where I was, leaning against the carriage wheel, watching them work. Occasionally, I glanced inside at the others—still dead asleep, oblivious.

  Eventually, they all sat down, tearing into the roasted rabbit. Most had pulled their hoods back now, faces fully visible in the firelight. Dark hair, some streaked with brown, rough features carved by experience—these were men who’d seen battle, lived through it. Beards, scars, thick arms made for breaking bones. They had the look of seasoned killers, which perfectly fit the descriptions of how murderers or warriors looked based on stories I've heard.

  And I'm not gonna lie—watching them stirred something primal in me. Hunger. I forced myself to look away, but my nose betrayed me. The smell was obscene, rich and smoky, the kind that clawed its way into your skull and wouldn’t leave. I could almost taste it.

  Didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to beg for a scrap.

  Judging by their faces, though, rabbit wasn’t exactly a treat for them. They chewed mechanically, more out of necessity than enjoyment.

  “The Red Feast,” Harlowe said suddenly, still gnawing on a rabbit leg. “We skipping it?”

  Across from him, a guy with short, bristled brown hair leaned back, flicking a bone into the dirt. "What? You crazy? Boss needs more guards—more guards means more pay." His voice was higher than I expected for a huge guy.

  Some of the others smirked at that. Harlowe just wiped his hands off and made a crude gesture. "I'd rather spend that time fucking than standing around holding my rod all day." A sharp grin flickered across his face.

  Laughter erupted around the fire. Loud, reckless. It echoed through the trees, bouncing between the trunks and into the night. A little too loud for comfort.

  Something twisted in my gut. Maybe it was paranoia, maybe just instinct, but my mind whispered warnings. I thought that laughter like that had a way of calling things. Beasts. Worse things.

  I pushed the thought away, finally standing. Enough watching.

  A glance at the carriage—some of the others stirred in their sleep but didn’t wake. Still dead to the world.

  Boredom gnawed at me, so I ended up back inside the carriage, waiting for them to get moving again. But the minutes dragged. When I peeked past the curtain, most of them were still either sleeping or poking at the fire with sticks, milking the last scraps of rest before the journey continued.

  The stillness got to me. My eyelids grew heavy, my body sinking into the lull of exhaustion. Might as well shut down for a while—at least until the wheels started turning again.

  Sleep didn’t last long.

  A noise snapped me awake—faint, but enough to claw its way into my subconscious. My eyes cracked open. A few others stirred too, but outside, the entertainment had already begun. The men were laughing, jeering, toying with the slaves for their amusement.

  More laughter, sharp and grating.

  I ignored them. My focus locked onto that sound from before, the one that had pulled me from sleep. It was subtle, but there. A rustling in the grass.

  I tensed.

  Could’ve ignored it, could’ve rolled over and forced myself back to sleep. But curiosity had its claws in me now, and I wasn’t about to rest easy with my mind chewing on unanswered questions.

  Sliding down from the carriage, I crept toward the rear, letting the shadows swallow me. The firelight didn’t reach this far, leaving the back of the wagon cloaked in darkness. My lower half was hidden, my upper body barely peeking out as I scanned the area.

  Something moved.

  The grass stirred, just beyond the edge of my sight. My heart knocked a little harder. I squinted into the blackness, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Then—

  “Meow.”

  I exhaled, tension draining in a slow, amused sigh.

  It was just a cat.

  "Hey, look at this beastman! She can move both her ears so damn fast!"

  The men’s laughter died down as I stepped closer. Their amusement didn’t interest me. The cat did.

  I couldn't see it clearly—too dark—but I could hear it shifting, making small sounds.

  "Shh," I murmured, lifting my hands halfway, reaching blindly.

  The air was colder than before. Had it always been this freezing? Goosebumps prickled up my arms, the kind you get when something isn't quite right. But I didn’t stop.

  Then movement. A shadow shifting within shadows. Two golden eyes flared to life, glowing against the black. No doubt about it now—definitely a cat. Its body melted into the darkness, its fur near invisible except for where the faintest light caught its shape.

  "Shhh… meow." I whispered, mimicking its sound. Yeah, I probably sounded ridiculous, but I wasn’t about to spook it. If it thought I was some predator, I had to prove otherwise.

  "There, there," I murmured, finally brushing my fingers over its head, then down its

  back—

  It moved. No—jumped.

  Next thing I knew, my feet weren’t under me anymore. A flash of movement, a startled yelp, and—

  Thud.

  Flat on my ass. A sharp ache bloomed where I hit the ground.