The red and golden gate looked gloomy and ghastly under the pouring rain, unlike how it looked a few hours earlier, when the lanterns on each side of the large pavement road were lit and welcoming to a mysterious and interesting world. There was nothing enticing about the gate when it was dark. The dragon figure embedded in the gate didn’t look as welcoming as it had. Instead. it looked vicious and threatening. The gate was just two large red columns connected with an oriental looking dragon creating an arch above them, its long and scaly tail wrapped around one of the columns. The carvings on each column had family crests of founding fathers from the islands to far east that had come to the mainland, they were also decorated with golden paint here and there.

  The mainland was divided into twelve districts. Originally, when it was first founded, there were only four districts, each district ran individually by the province that had claimed it. Founders were artists, scientists. clergymen, and sailors from different cultures. An alliance was made at first, which lasted them a few decades until the militiamen started to show up. A few hundred years later there were twelve districts, an emperor, and a government system. And half a millennia later political intrigues followed. While all of this had happened, the red and golden dragon had watched in silence.

  It didn’t look welcoming at all in the pouring rain. There was none of the usual exotic music or the buzz, and all the food stalls were empty, there was no sight or smell of the exotic spices. The rain poured down. vehemently beating shutters, windows, and rooftops as if scolding anyone that lurked about.

  The sound of the storm didn’t reach down below the cellar of one of the shanty buildings. Dark and narrow passageways went further down below the cellars. The caves and arches created natural dungeons and cells that were only whispered in rumours by the citizens. A mention here and there, in urban legend stories half mockingly. yet they existed, and they were very real.

  It was dark and wet. The only sound that could be heard came from the occasional rats moving in groups or the wing flaps of bats. Suddenly, a door opened somewhere far and hasty footsteps made their way toward the deepest cell.

  With his eyes closed, he made an educated guess about his captors. He listened, trying to figure out how many they were this time. If he wasn’t wrong — which he never was — it was two hours ago that one of them came to check up on him and got his nose broken. Even in his current state, with both his wrists shackled, he had managed to draw the goon nearby, close enough so with a swift move he could best him with a headbutt in the middle of his face. The goon’s nose had gushed out blood while he fell onto his knees with an intense thud, letting out a loud noise that sounded like a howl. then, with a quick lunge, he slithered his legs around the goon’s thick neck. With a loud commotion they rolled onto the floor slipping on the thick blood that was gushing out of the fat fingers of the goon. Before the goon was out of breath, he felt hands pulling him off his prey and slamming him against the far corner of the cell. His shackles rattled as he swayed from them back and forth, his jet-black hair was like a curtain wet with his sweat and the brute’s blood was covering his eyes. That was at least a couple of hours ago, now he was cold, hanging from the large chain above the ceiling from his shackles, feeling like a discarded puppet.

  The visitors that had just entered his cell were familiar, his captors. who jumped him in the back alley a fortnight ago. It was a rookie mistake, if only he had known then what he knew now. His eyes followed the pairs of feet that descended the long stairs — he counted ‘one…two…three..f..’ before he could count the fourth pair he stopped himself and sharply lifted his head to see the owner of the expensive boots that looked military issue. The sudden movement of his head made his body sway like a toy puppet with its string all tangled up.

  “Well…well… it seems we have caught a Raven, rank and name?” said the newcomer with a heavy north accent. It took the prisoner at least half a minute to fully grasp how dire the situation he was in, the Empire was in…

  “I don’t know what you are talking about” he spat, out with heavily eastern accent. His mind was racing through all the files he had read about the high-ranking officers as his eyes roamed all over the military man trying to pick a clue to help him.

  “Hmm…” the man was holding a walking stick in his hands that were locked behind him, studying the prisoner. With the tip of his walking stick he lifted the prisoner’s chin to have a clearer look at his face.

  “He is one of yours, you fool!” he spat, in arrogance, not finding it possible that the Empire would employ him.

  “Anyhow, leave us alone” he said. turning towards the goons as he pulled the handle of his stick, while holding the length of it firmly with his other hand. The goons quickly ascended the stairs they came from as they caught a glimpse of the hidden blade coming out of the ornate walking stick.

  “So…who do you work for?” he turned and gave the prisoner a crazed glare. The prisoner caught his posture in the meantime, and offered a cheeky grin.

  “I work only if it pleases me” he kept his heavy eastern accent, occasionally swaying on the shackles — giving the impression that he was weak and tired to his opponent. He knew it would be a long night since he eventually had recognized the man, he was one of the highest ranked officers in the Royal Army. He had a file because of his history — he was known to have fought as a mercenary in the Island Wars before he was enlisted at the Emperor’s Royal Army. He had unethical war-interview techniques. The prisoner was constantly studying the officer’s movements. So far. he had caught a slight limp on the left leg. ‘Good’ he thought, most likely a war injury. Also, it didn’t escape the prisoner’s eyes that he was wearing supporters under his armour. Obviously, his back or neck was not able to support him on its own.

  With a sudden lash, the cane of the walking stick hit him hard on the left shoulder, he swayed on the shackles and surfaced from his thoughts.

  “I asked you a question! You, filthy eastern rat” he spat, on the floor. removed his jacket and unfolded his uniform sleeves, watching the prisoner sway back and forth. The prisoner kept his calm as he watched the blood-hungry man through the curtain of his hair. It was going to be a long night, but he was trained for nights like that one.

  Meanwhile the rain continued to pour down. thunder and lightning filling the skies. A large man was watching it from a high tower at the palace. His hands were locked behind him as his steel grey eyes roamed over the city silhouette, something dark was lurking over his city and it wasn’t the stormy clouds. A soft knock on the door peeled him from his thoughts yet he was still looking out of the window.

  “Come in” he said,.

  “Your highness…” it was the prime minister. The man turned sharply from the window to face the intruder.

  “Yes? What news have you?” The prime minister was a short and round man resembling a turnip, with a constant pink face and out of breath speech.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “There is a leak… “ he started but the door was suddenly pushed open throwing the round man tumbling like a whirligig.

  “Your highness” the newcomer spoke in a clearer but deeper voice “We received news from one of our Sparrows”. He was donned in dark green garbs and two similar men followed him into the room. closing the door behind them. One of them was taller but younger, dressed in garbs that appeared to be from one of the religious sects’ — he appeared to be a man of cloth.

  The Emperor leaned against his large oak desk with both hands, his greying mane falling onto his shoulders. Curtly nodded his head to the man at the far back behind the men in green. The Emperor’s cold steel eyes fixated on the short and lithe man.

  “All in good time your majesty” responded the man. He seemed to be calm and collected. even though decades younger than him, the prime minister appeared to be his senior as he pulled his heavy body from the ground and greeted all three men appropriately.

  “Royal Protector Crispin, Sergeant Major Lester” he cleared his throat, placing spectacles over his overly large nose,

  “Clergyman Emil” came out with a little bit more effort than the previous greetings while seating himself on one of the large armchairs by the fireplace.

  Sergeant Major Lester, nodded his head towards the Emperor “Go on Emil…it was one of yours.”

  The young clergyman approached the Emperor’s desk calmly and spoke in a respectful humble voice.

  “Your highness we have finally got a word about our missing Raven in the Dragon District — he has been captured and kept as a prisoner by the Iron Serpents”

  “One of yours then Crispin?” added the Emperor. Crispin nodded his head once and approached to the desk, the fire reflected on his rather dark complexion, giving him a golden skin colour.

  “Aye your majesty, one of my best in fact. I am almost sure that he won’t need a rescue operation” stated Crispin yet his brows furrowed, the lines between them revealing that he is the eldest by far in the room.

  Emperor narrowed his eyes as his arms folded in front of him and nodded approvingly “Thank you … Lester, Emil you may leave” then he turned his gaze to the prime minister. “Archibald, do you have anything to add?”

  “N-no” stammered the plump politician, taking his cue and reluctantly started to leave the study, walking in a slower than necessary pace.

  Once the two men were alone in the room the Emperor’s posture relaxed and he spoke directly. “What is it that worries you, old friend?” The man shook his head gravely, approaching closer and revealing his worry openly.

  “Alexander, how much do you trust your court and government?”

  The Emperor approached a large oaken cabinet, matching the rest of the furniture in the room and started pouring two glasses with an amber coloured liquid, he then brought one of them to Crispin.

  “Honestly, you and the Professor are the only two people that have been and are still truly serving this country since my father’s time. So, to answer your question old friend, I do not trust any of them.”

  Crispin let out a deep breath and took a large sip from his drink, Emperor Alexander noticed Crispin’s exotic beads on his wrist and frowned involuntarily. Crispin Karimi’s religion commanded him to give himself to praying and other religious exercises when they come to the last era of their lifetime. Alexander knew that before the end of the season. Crispin, the “Royal Protector” to everyone but in reality “Grandmaster Spy” for the Emperor, would retire — he had wanted to retire five years ago but had stayed for the sake of Alexander.

  “I am afraid the leak is from someone amongst mine” was said softly, yet the words had the effects of a sucker punch on the younger of the men.

  “What are you saying…”

  “I am saying that someone is planning something so very systematically and cleverly that makes me suspect that they must have infiltrated my ranks — otherwise we wouldn’t always be a step behind them, or them one step ahead”

  The Emperor sat in his chair leaning back. “What do you reckon? The scale of it?” Emperor Alexander Montgomery knew so well about the coup and such since he had overthrown his own uncle for murdering Alexander Montgomery Sr. and taking over the throne with an underhanded trick.

  Crispin Karimi leaned back finishing his drink and then rubbed his prayer beads. “The captured one, Logan, he is my best and he was handpicked by Ryder from an early age — he practically groomed the boy for our ranks.”

  Alexander narrowed his eyes, weighing Crispin’s answer in his mind

  “Do you trust this boy?”

  “Yes, with my life and I have full confidence in his skills” Alexander rolled his glass in his palm and turned to Crispin “But…?”

  “But I am currently in the dark on how deep this treachery goes Alexander, even my best… he is only one man — he can’t fight against an army”

  “If he is as good as you, he would Crispin”

  The old man smiled wearily “He is twice the man I used to be Alexander”

  The rain slowed down as the two men finished their drinks in silence, each praying to their own gods quietly, to guide the young man out of whatever horrible situation he was in, before it was too late.

  Logan’s stamina and pain tolerance were quite high although he could feel that his strength was slowly waning. He no longer had to fake that he was weakened as he hung from the shackles, his knees were trembling for real. His head felt heavier by the minute. He was quite sure that he had lost at least three teeth and his left eye was so swollen that he could no longer keep it open.

  “Dirty foreigner” came out of the ‘Butcher’s mouth with a spit landing on Logan’s shoulder as his head lulled while he tried to control his breathing — using each and every lesson of self-control and self-preservation he had learnt from his Mentor. He counted back from five and his breath was calm again — his heart rate was normal, but he knew this was his last shred of strength.

  Fortunately. his torturer was getting wearier than him. He was out of breath and his lashes were softer — for a solid three hours he had been beaten to a pulp. However, it was clear that the torturer was more tired than his prey.

  “Only van zing left you know… Ze ultimate zing zat makes…” Logan had stopped listening to the sluggish harangue since his good eye caught that in frustration his captor was pacing back and forth, moving around him.

  “….I vil peel zein skin…” it was that moment when Logan knew he had to make a move, it was his time. The dirty breath of the Butcher licked his cheek. Logan gathered every ounce of his remaining strength and swung using his shackles for his advantage. Before his opponent could understand what was going on, Logan had caught him off his guard using his full body as a weapon and pummeling the man with it, swinging towards him.

  For three hours he had been playing the role of the vagrant refugee, just like with the hoodlum that he headbutted — the ferocious killer rushed out of him along with the adrenaline. The familiar feeling surged through his body unleashing a newfound strength that even he wasn’t aware that existed.

  “Zwine…”muffled insults hung in mid-air as the “Butcher” lost his balance and stumbled — it was too late. Logan’s fingers wrapped around the chains of his shackles as he lifted his lithe form from the ground and swung one last time towards the atrocious man that had managed to stand on his feet.

  “Ungh”…both men stumbled with the momentum of the swing and swayed forward towards the edge of the cell. The ring that held the shackles up on the ceiling failed to carry both of their weight, with a loud *cling* it detached from the rock.

  Both men slid off the floor towards the edge of the cell which was practically the side of a cliff that looked like an endless pit. Logan grabbed the edge of the solid ground with his left hand, but the feeling of safety never came to him as the “Butcher” held onto the chains that were still shackled to both of his wrists.

  Incoherent insults echoed while Logan threw a few kicks in his opponent’s direction and missed. He was heavy and must have been surging with adrenalin as well, he tried to climb up the chains and pull Logan down.

  Logan tried to pull himself up. alas it was not possible since his opponent had a good grip on the chains. With desperation, he clumsily pulled himself up enough so that he could place his left elbow onto the solid ground.

  Between the kicks and pulls he had no idea how he’d managed to reach for the unclaimed blade near the edge of the cliff and turned to weigh the situation.

  “Crazy….are you crazy?!” the Butcher of Thousands of Innocents cried out in the empty cavernous area, his voice echoing.

  “Ztop….I vil tell you ze name of our leader, it iz …” Logan threw a crazed stare at the man while he worked on his right arm, pummeling his wrist harder and harder with the blade’s hilt. Due to the weight his wrist was carrying, it was not that hard to break his bones. Once he was sure that his bone was shattered. He looked at the man below him before taking a deep breath and hoping the blade was sharp enough.

  “Baztaaard” echoed as Logan Haley pulled himself onto the ground. he had cut off his own hand, he was beaten to a pulp — he knew he was only seconds away from passing out when he heard the cellar door open. Or could he have imagined it?

  Hey everyone!

  Welcome to Ash & Alloy! This story is an exploration of survival, identity, and the unseen threads that tie us to the past. It’s a journey through steampunk landscapes, hidden identities, and the shadows of an empire.

  Every Wednesday!

  FuwaFuwa Sensei

  P.S. If you enjoyed the first chapter, don’t forget to leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts, theories, or favorite moments.