Arte crouched behind a stack of barrels, his breath steady but his pulse thrumming in his ears. The alley beyond was crawling with soldiers, their numbers multiplying like storm clouds before a downpour. No one knew why they were here—not for the usual gangs, the smugglers, or pickpockets like him. The peacekeepers handled that. City soldiers made their rounds a few times a year, just enough to remind the slums who was really in control. But this? This was different.

  But these weren’t the regular soldiers. Some of them were—the familiar ones, the ones the back-alley dwellers of Cindros had learned to avoid. But the others? The others were different. Their posture, their demeanor, even the way they carried their weapons—sharp, controlled, coiled like vipers waiting to strike. They moved with a precision that sent a chill down Arte’s spine, their eyes sharp, scanning every shadow like hunters searching for prey. They weren’t just here to intimidate; they were here for something specific.

  They fanned out, questioning residents with rehearsed indifference. The same empty words repeated over and over—Have you seen anything unusual? Any trouble in the area? But Arte wasn’t fooled. They weren’t here for the petty crimes that kept the underbelly of Cindros churning. They were watching the deeper alleys—the places where the city’s forgotten lived. The places like his own makeshift shelter of cardboard and tarp.

  Something had changed. The city was shifting, and whatever these soldiers were searching for, Arte had a sinking feeling it would swallow people like him whole.

  “You there! Halt!”

  Arte froze. One of the soldiers had spotted him. He tried to duck behind the barrels, but it was too late. The soldier—a tall girl with brown hair and sharp eyes—was already striding toward him. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but she had a look about her—strong, steady. Not someone you could shake easily.

  Running crossed his mind, but her hand rested too easy on her taser. Not worth the risk. Instead, he stepped out from behind the barrels, hands loose, keeping his face blank.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, voice firm but not rough.

  “Arte, ma’am,” he answered quickly. Being polite kept trouble away—most times.

  “I’m Nyla.” She tilted her head, looking him up and down. “How old are you, Arte?”

  “Turnin’ sixteen this year,” he said, shifting on his feet. Soldiers didn’t talk soft to kids like him. They usually talked with kicks and threats.

  “You’re so young…” Nyla murmured, something sad in her voice.

  Arte scoffed. “I ain’t no kid. Almost grown.” He jutted his chin up. “Few more years, I’ll be joinin’ the caravans. Make real money. Just gotta survive a couple desert runs, then get my little bro and my gramps outta this hellhole.”

  Nyla nodded like she understood. Then, to his surprise, she reached into her pocket.

  Arte tensed, ready to bolt—until she pulled out some small, bright-wrapped candies.

  “They’re my favorite,” she said, holding them out. “Taste like real fruit—something you won’t find around here. Try some.”

  Arte blinked at her, unsure what to make of it. Soldiers don’t give out sweets. Not to kids like him.

  Before he could ask what her game was, she dropped the candies in his palm and walked off, heading back to the other soldier who was watching the whole thing with bored disinterest.

  Arte glanced down at the candies, then curled his fingers tight around them. Part of him felt insulted like she was handing’ him charity. But another part—a part buried real deep—felt something else. Deep in his stomach, a strange warmth stirred—one he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Tch. Whatever.” He Shoved the candies into his pocket and turned on his heel. He could give them to Ari and his grandfather.

  *************

  "Nice work," Kain said, flashing a grin as he leaned against the alley wall. His voice carried an easy confidence, as if this were just another routine mission. "Smooth as ever. With some luck, the whole family will be out by tonight, and we’ll be done without a fight."

  Nyla didn’t respond. Her fingers curled into a fist at her side, nails pressing into her palm. She had perfected the art of keeping a steady face, of slipping into whatever role the mission required. A friendly smile, a soft voice—it was always easier for her to get close than a tall bulky soldier like the lieutenant. And yet, the weight in her chest refused to settle.

  Tricking a child with poisoned candy.

  It should have felt necessary. It should have felt justified. But it didn’t.

  Kain, sensing her hesitation, exhaled sharply. "Don’t start, Nyla." His voice had lost its lightness. "We do what we have to. You know that."

  She forced herself to nod. Of course, she knew. She had known the moment she put on the uniform.

  Her gaze flickered back to where the boy had been. He was gone, swallowed by the winding alleys, the laced candies clutched in his small hands. In the shadows, two soldiers—dressed in tattered rags to blend in—moved after him, making sure the sweets reached their intended targets.

  The job was almost done. With some luck, they would leave the city with zero casualties.

  So why did it feel so wrong?

  **************

  Alexander peered into the alley’s abyss from atop one of the city's ancient storage towers. Shadows swallowed the narrow passage below, broken only by scattered heaps of garbage and the barely visible outlines of makeshift shelters. Even from this vantage point, the slum’s depths remained elusive, its secrets buried beneath layers of filth and decay.

  With a quiet sigh, he reached for the chain around his neck, slipping the worn ring onto his finger. For a fleeting second, it gleamed—an unnatural shimmer in the dim light—before a small pillbox materialized in his palm. He flicked it open, revealing six dark red pills nestled inside.

  He had been conserving his energy for the past few missions, but tonight was too risky to go in at low reserves. Not with the new recruits tagging along.

  Plucking one of the pills between his fingers, he placed it on his tongue and swallowed dry. Then, he began counting the seconds.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Across the gap, on the rooftop of the next building, he spotted Nyla crouched low, sniper rifle steady as she surveyed the alley. She was motionless, eyes locked on her scope, barely breathing. Always precise. Always patient.

  Alexander had never been fond of firearms. He was proficient—an expert, even—but guns lacked the intimacy of steel. The weight of the sword against his back was reassuring, familiar. Guns were cold, distant. A blade, however, demanded presence.

  And for what lay ahead, he preferred to be close.

  "Eagle One to Black Cat, target is en route to the nest." The radio crackled softly against Alexander’s shoulder. The voice was barely above a whisper, blending into the shadows of the alley.

  "Copy that, Eagle One. Maintain visual." he responded back, crisp and steady.

  Kain adjusted his position, keeping his eyes locked on the boy they had met earlier. They had been tailing him for hours, tracking his every move. First, he had made stops at various temples and churches, looking for a meal—no luck. When the temples had nothing to offer, he had turned to the back alleys of the city, loitering near markets and restaurants, hoping to scavenge scraps or find work. Came up empty there too.

  Now, he was finally heading home, shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

  Kain pressed his radio again. "Target is in the final approach. No deviations."

  "Roger. Stay on him until he's inside."

  Kain exhaled slowly, watching as Arte disappeared into the tangle of makeshift tents. It wouldn’t be long now. They just needed to wait for the signal from the soldiers taking cover in the nearby tents.

  *****************

  "Time to switch," Emily whispered as she approached Nyla, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city below.

  Nyla gave a slight nod and eased back from her position, careful not to make a sound as she let Emily take over. She had been stationed there for hours, her hands stiff from gripping the rifle, her body tense from holding the same crouched position. As she stretched her legs, she tilted her head back, letting her gaze settle on the moon—a pale, distant eye watching over the hidden city.

  Cindron still felt unreal to her, even after days inside its walls. She had expected something entirely different when they arrived. When they entered the cave in the great wall of Messa, she had braced herself for a dark, damp dungeon—a hidden fortress of stone and shadows. But instead, as they stepped through, they were met with something breathtaking.

  A city unfolded before them, vibrant and alive. Colorful buildings with domed roofs sprawled across the valley, their surfaces catching the golden sunlight that filtered through unseen openings above. It was not just a cave, nor a mere hollow in the mountains. It was an entire valley—maybe even the remains of a dormant volcano—hidden away from the outside world. The realization had struck all of them at once, leaving them standing there, frozen in awe.

  It wasn’t until Alexander nudged them forward that they remembered why they were there.

  Commander Khamal had given them a brief history as they moved deeper into the city. “The mechanism that moves the rock is ancient. No one truly understands who built it, but we have enough knowledge to keep it running. That’s all that matters.”

  Their unit had been given a secure base within the city, an abandoned warehouse near the outer districts. They had changed into the uniforms of city soldiers there, blending in with the local forces. It wasn’t a full-scale invasion—at least, not yet. This was a cohort mission, as Alexander had put it.

  "The target is already under surveillance. We extract with minimal resistance," he had said, his voice calm, confident. "No unnecessary fights. No mess."

  But missions rarely went that smoothly.

  As Nyla stepped away from her post, she exhaled slowly, rubbing the stiffness from her fingers. She cast one last glance at the darkened alley below. Somewhere down there, pieces were moving—too many unknowns, too many risks.

  Minimal resistance. She wasn’t sure she believed in that anymore.

  **************

  Arte slipped into the tent he shared with Ari and their grandfather, careful not to make too much noise. Still, the faint rustle of fabric was enough to make them stir. Both of them lifted their heads from where they were lying, their senses always sharp.

  People in the alley had nothing worth stealing, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t danger—especially for children and the elderly.

  When they recognized him, their wary expressions melted into relief.

  “Arte! You’re finally back!” Ari’s voice rang with excitement as he shot up from his spot and threw himself into Arte’s arms. The force of the hug nearly knocked him off balance, and for a moment, Arte was surprised by how strong his little brother was getting.

  He’s growing fast. Too fast.

  Arte hugged him back, resting his chin on Ari’s head before pulling away. “How you holdin’ up, Gramps?” he asked, turning to the old man sitting in the corner.

  Their grandfather just smiled, nodding absently like a child. His mind had started slipping years ago—Arte barely remembered a time when he had been different. There were days when he would mutter about things from long ago, names Arte didn’t know, places he had never seen. Other days, he barely reacted at all.

  Arte exhaled, shaking off the weight in his chest. He made his way to the back of the tent, where a battered old lantern sat on a crate. He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a matchbox—one he’d swiped from near the temple earlier that day.

  Striking a match, he lit the half-burnt candle inside. The tiny flicker of light danced against the tent walls, casting long shadows.

  It wasn’t much. But at least, for tonight, they weren’t in complete darkness.

  "We're almost out of those," Ari said, his voice tinged with sadness as he stared at the flickering lantern. He hated the dark, but they couldn’t afford to light it too often.

  Arte didn’t respond. Instead, he turned over the small plastic bag he had brought with him, letting a handful of candles tumble onto the floor. Ari’s eyes widened in delight, and he immediately began gathering them up.

  "You stole these from the temple, didn’t you?" he asked, not accusing, just knowing.

  Arte shrugged. "They didn’t need to be rude when I asked for leftovers."

  Ari smiled, unbothered by the morality of it. He was just happy to have more light. Their grandfather, seeing Ari handling something, shuffled over to help. But the moment he realized it wasn’t food, his hands stilled. Disappointment flickered across his face, and he pulled away.

  Arte’s stomach twisted with guilt. "Sorry, Gramps… no food tonight."

  His grandfather didn’t react. He simply sat back down, staring blankly at the ground.

  "It’s okay, brother!" Ari chirped, trying to lift the mood. "The old lady at the tea shop gave me some tea today! We can drink that—I’ll just make some hot water!"

  Arte exhaled, watching as Ari eagerly started preparing their makeshift dinner. People loved Ari. They found him adorable, always slipping him small gifts—tea, a scrap of bread, sometimes even a piece of fruit. Heck, Arte did the same.

  But deep down, a tinge of jealousy gnawed at him. No one had ever given him a handout. No one had ever helped him. He was just grateful to not be beaten.

  No one ever gave him anything.

  No one but her.

  His fingers twitched as a memory surfaced—the soldier woman from this morning. The candies.

  Arte reached into his pocket, pulling them out. "Tea sounds good, Ari. We can have it with these."

  Ari’s face lit up in pure joy. He loved sweets.

  As he set about making tea, Arte divided the candies between the three of them. Their grandfather took his, then instinctively turned his back to them as he ate—just like he always did. As if afraid someone would take it from him.

  Even here, in the safety of their own tent, the fear of losing what little they had never left them.

  Ari and Arte unwrapped their candies one by one, savoring the different flavors as they sipped their cheap, watery tea. It wasn’t much, but in that moment, it felt like a feast.

  Arte entertained Ari with stories of the city—the strange people he had seen, the places he had wandered through. They spoke of the future, of dreams that seemed so far away yet so close in their minds.

  "One day, I’ll join a caravan," Arte promised, his voice filled with quiet determination. "I’ll earn enough to get us a real home."

  Ari listened with wide-eyed enthusiasm, hanging onto every word, his excitement carrying them both away from their harsh reality—if only for a little while.

  Their grandfather lay still in his usual spot, breathing softly, unaware or simply uninterested in their whispered hopes.

  Then, suddenly, Arte’s eyelids grew unbearably heavy. A deep exhaustion washed over him, thick and unnatural. He glanced at Ari, who was already struggling to sit up, his small frame sinking into the makeshift bedding.

  Something was wrong.

  Arte fought to stay awake, but his body refused to listen. His vision blurred. His limbs felt like lead. He forced himself up—just for a moment—his gaze locking onto the flickering lantern. It was still on.

  The tent could catch fire.

  He had to put it out. He had to—

  With the last shred of his strength, he reached for the lantern, but before he could grasp it, his body gave in. He collapsed, his breath slowing, his consciousness slipping away.

  Outside, unseen in the dim alley, dark figures moved.

  The shadows crept closer.