Crumbling alleyway,

  Silverbrook,

  West Province.

  ---

  Evening had settled over Silverbrook, and Eric sat in the shadow of a crumbling alleyway, hood pulled low, breath finally slowing.

  People laughed over drinks in a nearby tavern, oblivious to the fact that, just this morning, there had been a manhunt for a red-haired murderer.

  Footsteps approached. A patrol passed the alley entrance. He didn’t move until their voices faded.

  Then another fear hit him, colder than the guards:

  What if I fall asleep again?

  He shoved the question away instantly. He had to, for his last shred of sanity.

  I need to find Gareth. I need to find out what had happened the night before. And, at least with him, he can stop me if I do something weird in my sleep.

  Then he remembered, grabbing the crystal pendulum on his necklace. A small rune was embedded to keep track of each other, and thus he could track Gareth's position. He held it firm but not enough to snap the cord.

  energy rippled outward like a soft heartbeat.

  One pulse, two, there.

  A familiar aura was present, albeit it was weak. But there's no mistake, Gareth still hadn't left the Inn, at least by the position of his necklace.

  Of course, there's a possibility that it was a trap. That, for some reason, the guards had captured Gareth, accused of being Eric's accomplice.

  But that was close to impossible, as not even the entire platoon of guards in a small town like this would be enough to stop a feral beast like Gareth, equipped by the entire Guild's weaponry in his arsenal to summon at will.

  And worse yet, He had much less conscience about innocent lives compared to Eric.

  So it was decided, the Twin Shield was the next destination.

  ---

  Approaching the inn directly was suicide. Instead, he knelt behind a merchant stall and thought of a plan.

  Holding the pendulum one more time, he confirmed that Gareth was so close.

  If only that dumbass would obey me and learned to control even the slightest of his mana, he could've found me hours ago.

  Instead, He had to find a distraction one more time just to get to the final step.

  “Oi.” A hard voice from a guard behind him froze him instantly.

  “Pull down your hood,” another one ordered. “Need to see your hair.”

  Oh, come on.

  He was right there, right there. One turn of a corner away from Gareth.

  He raised his hands, palms up, pretending to comply. The exact moment their posture eased, Eric fired a controlled burst of mana towards their lanterns.

  Their lanterns burst apart, sending debris and sparks flying.

  With another burst of flash from his left hand, the guards were completely blinded and staggered for some time.

  Sidestepping the nearest guard, ducking low, and weaving through the confused bystanders, He broke into a full sprint.

  Shouts, trumpets, and boots pounded behind him. He had to leave the town, now, even if it was without Gareth.

  The front gate was a suicide. Also, there would be too many people and too much risk of collateral damage. Innocents could get hurt. No, it wasn't happening.

  Think Eric, think.

  Eric’s gaze snapped upward.

  Yes!

  He remembered.

  The buildings in this part of the city were tightly packed, their roofs connected like an uneven pathway leading toward the northeastern wall, the lowest point of Silverbrook’s fortifications.

  He scaled the side of a house. He grabbed the closest drainpipe and climbed fast — legs braced, fingers hooked on beams — pulling himself onto the first roof.

  Then he ran.

  Tiles clacked underfoot. Wind tore at his cloak. Silverbrook blurred below, alleys, chimneys, flickering lanterns. Behind him, the guards were still trying to catch up, but they weren’t trained for this. Not like he was.

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  Another jump, landing on another roof. His breath came steady despite the burn in his ribs.

  Then,

  You’ve got to be kidding me. Luck’s just fucking cheating today.

  The two final buildings before the wall were demolished, leaving a massive gap between him and the only escape route.

  Eric skidded to a stop, his heartbeat hammering. But he had no choice, between this and the slowly approaching guards from all sides. The only way was forward, a leap of faith.

  He sprinted to the edge and jumped with all his might.

  Air rushed past him as the low wall loomed ahead. His fingers scraped the stone railing, and he was ready to grab.

  Alas,

  Noooooooo!!!!!!!!!

  The old railing crumbled just as he was about to pull his weight, leaving him free-falling straight to the ground.

  His body slammed into the ground, pain detonating through his ribs and shoulders. He rolled, the impact stealing the breath from his lungs.

  Everything hurt.

  He lay there for a second, staring at the night sky. It was too painful to even check for broken bones. More guards approached, their weapons drawn.

  More importantly, he was catastrophically screwed.

  ---

  The hours bled away, swallowed by the stillness of the night. Midnight had long passed, and yet, the darkness stretched on, endless and unrelenting.

  The damp, stale air of the interrogation room clung to Eric’s skin, mixing with the scent of sweat and blood, his own blood this time.

  His face was swollen, one eye nearly shut, a sharp sting flaring with every breath. A steady drip of crimson ran from his split lip, trailing down his chin before pooling at the base of his collar.

  Across from him stood the Ursaborn interrogator, a hulking mass of muscle and fur, broad shoulders barely fitting beneath the lantern light.

  His knuckles were slick with blood, Eric’s blood.

  “Are you finally coming to your senses, scum?”

  The bear-like man’s voice was a low growl, filled with frustration and a hint of satisfaction. “What’s the meaning of those demonic symbols? Are you behind the killings in the Whispering Woods these past four weeks?”

  Eric didn't even notice that there were any demonic symbols on the crime scene.

  He exhaled sharply, tilting his head up just enough to meet the guard’s glare. His entire body ached. His wrists burned where the mana-blocking cuffs dug into his skin.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, you fucking stupid bear..."

  The Ursaborn moved before Eric could finish, an elbow slamming into his face.

  His head snapped to the side, and the impact sent him flying from the chair, hitting the cold stone floor with a dull thud.

  His vision blurred. He choked on air, pain bursting behind his eyes.

  Every nerve in his body was screaming in protest.

  A faint ringing filled his ears. Through the haze, he heard the uneasy shuffle of boots. Other guards were approaching.

  A few even moved to help him back into the chair.

  As he was back in his sitting position, he screamed. "I swear to god, if not for these stupid mana-blocking cuffs, I would've split your head open."

  The Ursaborn guard cracked his neck, stepping forward again. "This bitch needs to learn his situation."

  "You are fucking dumb." Eric snarled, his voice hoarse but defiant.

  "I told you I didn’t do it! Even if I am in some weird cult, what kind of moron would kill someone, carve up a bed with some weird-ass symbols, and then...what? Just take a nap next to the corpse?"

  He thought he started to make sense, but it turned out to be just another mistake.

  The interrogator’s leg swung out, a boot catching Eric square in the ribs.

  The impact crushed the chair beneath him, sending splinters flying as Eric’s body crashed into the stone wall. A choked breath left him. He barely felt himself slide to the ground.

  A second passed, maybe two.

  Not even one guard spoke up about this brutality. No one moved. For a moment, Eric wondered if they were waiting to see if he’d get up at all.

  "That's enough," someone muttered.

  Another voice, sharper, more authoritative. "He’s barely conscious. Throw him in a cell. We’ll continue tomorrow."

  A heavy silence settled over the room before, finally, the Ursaborn guard grunted in agreement.

  Rough hands grabbed him. Eric barely registered being dragged through the stone halls, footsteps echoing dully around him.

  His head lolled slightly to the side, his half-swollen eye catching the flicker of torchlight bouncing off the damp walls.

  Even then, he still overheard the guards' voices as they were about to throw him into one of the rotting cells.

  "What were you thinking? I know this case has been hard, but beating him to death won’t get us answers."

  "We’re close to cracking—"

  Then, through the cold iron, they threw him into the cells on the far end of the row.

  He hit the ground hard, and the door slammed shut. Eric stayed there, curled against the stone.

  By God, how am I supposed to get out of this situation?

  The cell was quiet, save for the faint rustling of fabric. There was someone else here.

  A figure lay against the opposite wall, their back turned to him. They hadn’t stirred when the guards threw him in, just slow, steady breathing.

  Eric didn’t know who they were. He didn’t care.

  And finally, despite his fear of repeating the same incident earlier today, he closed his eyes.

  ---