Asdras and Brian navigated the narrow alleyway, the air thick with the mingled scents of unwashed bodies, stale food, and damp stone. Asdras couldn't help but let his gaze drift over the alley's inhabitants. A woman in a dress worn thin as cobwebs clutched a loaf of bread as if it were a newborn babe. Beside her, a boy, barely nine, mimicked a spell gesture, small fingers clumsy, his brow a knot of concentration.

  Further down, a huddle of men, their clothes bearing the map of a hard day's labor in grime and sweat, spoke in hushed tones. Asdras caught snippets as they passed.

  "Exam's comin' quick, ain't it? Think our young'uns got a prayer?" One man said.

  "Gods willing," another replied, a sigh in his voice. "This winter's bitin' harder than the last. An' that skinflint overseer won't give us a copper more at the mill."

  A thin, old man, his laughter a dry rattle, joined in. "Winter comes and winter goes, but this city... hah! It don't change. Used to be different, back in my day. Now? It's like trying to teach a pig to sing — it wastes your time and annoys the pig."

  As Asdras neared the group, their eyes, sharp and wary, flickered to Brian. Asdras subtly widened the gap between himself and his companion, staying close enough to avoid seeming rude but far enough to avoid the full brunt of their stares.

  'It's just the smell,' he thought.

  They rounded a corner, and a sudden, sharp scent of ozone, like the air before a thunderstorm, cut through the usual alley stink. A woman with a silver ring glinting on her finger brushed past, then launched herself upward as if climbing invisible stairs. She vanished into the labyrinthine rooftops, leaving a ripple of murmurs in her wake.

  "Bloody red-eyes, think they own the place," a burly man grumbled, his voice echoing the sentiment of many. "Last week, we had to work double, fixin' that blasted wall in the northeast. One of 'em tore it down like it was made o' paper."

  A woman with a sharp face and eyes that missed nothing hissed, "Shut your trap, you fool. They hear you, there'll be hell to pay."

  "Hell like what?" The man scoffed. "Kill us? Toss us in the Hole? They need our backs to keep this city runnin'. They ain't gonna dirty their hands with mortar and stone in this cold."

  Further down, the alley opened slightly into a makeshift courtyard. A ring of children, ranging from scrawny eight-year-olds to adolescents Asdras's age, were engrossed in a game of "Hunt or Bounty." Barrels, overturned crates, and piles of discarded refuse served as obstacles. Makeshift weapons — sticks, stones wrapped in cloth, even a rusty bucket lid — were clutched in eager hands. Those with green bandanas tied around their arms were the "hunters," their faces fierce with mock-seriousness. The others darted between the narrow gaps between buildings, disappearing into doorways that likely led to the city's underbelly, playing the "bounty."

  Asdras picked up his pace, a slight tug on Brian's arm making his friend stumble. Asdras chuckled, "It's me, you idiot. We're here."

  Before them stood a two-story building, its roof capped with dark-brown clay tiles, lending it a rustic, almost weary air. The walls, once a pale yellow, were now weathered and faded, streaked with the grime of countless seasons. A sign reading "Rine's Heart," hung crookedly between the walls, hinting at a darker alley beyond. They pushed open the heavy wooden door, releasing a gust of cold air that briefly overpowered the mingled scents of stale beer, woodsmoke, and something indefinably old.

  The innkeeper, a woman who looked as worn and sturdy as the building itself, leaned against the dark, scarred wood of the bar. She set aside her mop with a thud that echoed briefly in the dimly lit common room. The low hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional creak of a floorboard, filled the space. Heavy tables, their surfaces etched with the intricate knotwork designs reminiscent of Northern longships, were scattered about, but the fire struggling in the large hearth seemed to lose ground against the chill that seeped through the ill-fitting window frames.

  Her eyes, a sharp, assessing grey, flicked over them. They lingered a heartbeat longer on Brian before settling on Asdras. A practiced smile, one that didn't quite banish the weariness in her gaze, touched her lips.

  A burly man, his apron bearing the soot-stained marks of a blacksmith, approached the bar, slamming a few coins onto the surface. "Another ale, Rine, and make it snappy!"

  Rine slid a mug across the bar with a practiced flick of the wrist, catching the coins midair without a glance.

  "Keep the change," the blacksmith grunted, already turning back to his companions. Rine's smile tightened, almost imperceptibly, as she pocketed the coins.

  As Asdras approached the counter, Rine's fingers, roughened by years of work, tapped a silent rhythm against the wood. For a fleeting moment, Asdras thought he recognized the beat, a faint echo of a melody Narder used to hum.

  "What can I do for you lads?" Rine asked, her voice holding a note of cautious welcome, the tone of a woman who'd seen too much and expected little.

  Brian, summoning his most guileless expression, a feat that nearly sent Asdras into a fit of laughter, asked, "Where's the nearest place I can get a bath?"

  Rine's eyes flickered over Brian's appearance, taking in the disheveled state and the lingering scent. "Got one here, for a few coins," she said, her voice even. "Or, if you're feeling industrious, an hour's worth of scrubbing and mopping will earn you a soak."

  Asdras, knowing that further haggling would only delay the much-needed bath and meal, cut in. "We'll take the bath and some food. One silver. Deal?"

  The offer hung in the air, a small, unexpected weight. Rine's eyes widened slightly; one silver was a considerable sum, especially in these lean times. Summoning her most gracious smile in weeks, she replied, "Deal, my dears! I'll get you set up with a good, hot bath, plenty of water, and soap."

  She gestured towards a staircase leading to the upper floor. A few of the patrons, their faces flushed with drink, shouted curses. "May your arse rot and your balls shrivel, you stinking dog!"

  As they ascended the stairs, Asdras caught the faint scent of mint and something else, something floral and subtly sweet. He smiled inwardly at the sight of two separate bathing rooms instead of one. Turning to Rine, he asked, "Where can we leave our things?"

  Rine pointed to the last room down the hall. "You can dry off and change in there."

  She led them to the bathrooms. Each contained a large wooden tub, already filled with steaming water. The scent of fresh herbs — mint, definitely, and perhaps a touch of lavender — rose in fragrant clouds. A sheet of tin, nailed somewhat haphazardly to the wall, served as a makeshift mirror. The water was hot and clean.

  Rine provided them with a rough brush, a bucket of steaming water, and a generous chunk of soap that smelled faintly of pine. Then, with a curt nod, she left them to their ablutions.

  Brian attacked his grime with a ferocity that left his skin pink and slightly raw. Asdras, more methodical, focused on scrubbing his hands until they were meticulously clean.

  After several buckets of water had been sloshed and discarded, they were finished. Brian, from his bathroom, could be heard offering a soft, drawn-out prayer to the heavens and Saint Rose, a saying he'd picked up from Father Joe: "Wouldn't want to look too unkempt even on the road, let alone for any self-respecting act of being a man."

  Once they'd dried themselves with rough towels and used a coarse brush to untangle their hair, Asdras began to hum a cheerful tune. He was about to suggest they seek out that promised meal when Brian's sudden scream cut through the air.

  "No! Tell me where it is, where is it!"

  "What?" Asdras asked, startled.

  "My pack! My clothes! My stuff!"

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  Asdras scanned the room, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Maybe... maybe the innkeeper took our clothes to be cleaned?" he suggested, a tentative hope in his voice.

  Brian, still wrapped in a fur bathrobe, considered this, his expression easing slightly. "You might be right. It did stink something awful," he admitted.

  Asdras decided to head downstairs to investigate, gesturing for Brian to check the rest of the inn. He gave a quick once-over of the common room, spotting Rine sharing a drink with a middle-aged man. He deemed it safe enough and signaled for Brian to join him.

  Seeing the boys approach, their faces a mixture of confusion and anxiety, Rine's eyes widened. "What's wrong, dears?" she asked, a note of concern creeping into her voice.

  Brian, his voice tinged with shyness, scratched his cheek. "Did you... did you take my things to be cleaned?"

  "What things?"

  "My pack, you know? With all my stuff in it."

  Rine paused, her mind working. To avoid alarming her paying customers, she asked again, her voice carefully neutral, "What do you mean? Isn't it in that room? Your friend seemed alright to me."

  Brian, his voice rising with a hint of desperation, replied, "No, that's not it! I just finished drying off, and when I went to get dressed, it was gone. You must know where it went, right?"

  A man seated on the balcony nearby cleared his throat twice, drawing their attention. "If you're willing to part with a bit of coin, I can tell you where it is," he said, his voice smooth and slightly amused.

  Brian, his patience frayed, moved towards the man, nearly knocking over a chair in his haste. "What do you mean, pay? Where is my stuff?"

  Rine moved to intervene, but before she could speak, the man reached into his pocket and retrieved a small emblem, placing it on the balcony railing. "One silver. Take it or leave it," he said, his eyes glinting.

  Asdras examined the emblem closely. It was a silver disc, tarnished with hints of copper, featuring an intricately engraved skull with crossed swords at its center. Recognition dawned. He patted Brian's shoulder, whispering, "Military."

  Asdras produced a silver coin from an inner pocket of his shirt and handed it to the man.

  "Sorry," Brian muttered, his anger deflating with the realization.

  The man smiled, a knowing, slightly predatory smile, and pointed towards the back entrance of the inn. "It was a boy, 'bout your age. Went that way. Smelled like overripe fruit."

  Brian's mind flashed back to the children who'd pelted him with vegetables earlier. A surge of renewed anger, mixed with a desperate need to retrieve his belongings, propelled him forward. He and Asdras sprinted towards the back entrance, bursting out into a narrow, twisting alley.

  The boys navigated the labyrinthine alleyways, following the lingering, sickly-sweet odor. Their pursuit led them to a dead-end alley, where a ragtag group of children encircled an old man. His clothes were tattered, and bandages, stained with dirt and something darker, peeked from beneath his sleeves.

  As they approached, the children's chatter ceased. They turned, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and defiance. Some giggled at the sight of Brian, still clad only in his bathrobe.

  Brian cleared his throat, puffing himself up, trying to project an air of authority that was somewhat undermined by his attire. "Who stole my things?" he demanded.

  The children exchanged glances but remained silent. Just as Brian was about to repeat his question, Asdras pointed to a boy cautiously opening a nearby door. He wore a red T-shirt and leather pants; short, cropped hair framed a face marked by a faint scar above his left eye.

  Brian and Asdras lunged towards the door, but the children, with surprising speed, formed a makeshift barricade. They brandished their assortment of "weapons" – rocks, rotten vegetables, rusty knives, and even a sturdy-looking branch.

  Asdras drew his sword, holding it aloft, a silent warning. Some of the children hesitated, taking a step back. Others, fueled by youthful bravado, inched forward.

  The old man in the center of the commotion spoke, his voice surprisingly strong despite his frail appearance. "Easy, easy now. Arryin, give the lad back his things. Remember, we ain't thieves or vagrants. We're saviors!"

  The old man's eyes, bright and sharp, flickered between Brian and Asdras, a curious glint in their depths. "Why not stay for a story?" he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

  Arryin, with a sullen expression, tossed Brian's backpack to him. Brian caught it awkwardly, struggling to maintain some semblance of dignity while standing in his bathrobe.

  Asdras exchanged a quick glance with Brian, then gave a subtle nod to the old man.

  The old man smiled, a wide, almost unsettling smile. "Ah, yes, dignity. Go on, lads. Get yourselves properly dressed. We'll be waiting."

  They retraced their steps, their eyes briefly meeting those of the children and the old man. Once out of sight, they quickened their pace, hurrying back to the inn.

  Rine's face flooded with relief when she saw Brian return, his backpack clutched tightly in his arms. As Brian hurried upstairs to change, Asdras asked her, "Do you know an old man who tells stories?"

  "No, why?"

  The man on the balcony set aside his second bottle, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Is he nearby?"

  "Yes, he's the one who told the kid to give Brian back his things. He invited us back for a story," Asdras replied.

  The man burst into laughter, clapping his hands together. "No need to rush! Go on, go on! In fact, I'll come with you. Just need to fetch a dear friend of mine. His tales are… something else."

  Brian returned, finally dressed, and asked Asdras, "Are we going back?"

  The man on the balcony urged them on, his voice full of enthusiasm. "Go, go! It'll be amazing!"

  Asdras blinked, then turned to Brian, a slightly bewildered expression on his face. "Well... let's go, then."

  As they made their way back to the alley, they maintained a cautious distance from the old man and the children, close enough to hear the story but far enough to feel a semblance of safety. Some of the children shot them angry glares; others eyed Asdras's sword with undisguised curiosity.

  The old man clapped his hands, the sound sharp and surprisingly loud, creating an almost palpable wave of silence. He drew a deep breath, his eyes wide and bright with a feverish intensity. "Gather 'round, you lot! Listen close, for I'm about to tell you a tale of a man who dared to join the Eruption!"

  Everyone leaned in, their faces rapt with anticipation, hanging on every word.

  "He roamed these very alleys, in the darkest hours, his eyes darting like scared rabbits, fear gnawing at his very soul. 'The demons,' he'd whisper, his voice a trembling thread, 'they're coming for me. I'm marked, I tell you, damned!' The man, his voice a frantic tremor, confided in me, 'They see the truth, they do!'"

  With a dramatic flourish, he paused, pointing first at himself, then at the assembled children. "And I, I dared to ask, 'Who are they?'"

  "'The Council! The Church!'" He spat, his voice thick with venom. "'They preach their message, a battle cry against the monsters, but it's all a lie, a twisted game! They want control, I swear it! They want us all leashed like dogs, ready for the slaughter!'" The storyteller's fervor was infectious, his words painting a picture of dark conspiracy.

  Applause, sudden and unexpected, rippled through the crowd. The military man from the inn was the source, his clapping slow and deliberate. Beside him stood a middle-aged man, bald, dressed in dark robes, a copper cross hanging heavy against his chest.

  Amidst the unexpected applause, the old storyteller leaped from his makeshift seat, his intention to flee clear in his panicked eyes. But before he could take more than a few steps, strong hands tackled him to the ground, his arms twisted painfully behind his back.

  "Why?" Arryin, summoning his courage, shouted the question that hung in the air.

  The military man shrugged nonchalantly, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Misleading folks about eruptions and awakenings? That's a misdemeanor for civilians. For the Church... well, that's heresy," he said, his voice light, almost cheerful.

  He winked at Asdras. "I might be retired, but my friend here? He's still very much active. And when it comes to heresy... well, he'll take care of it."

  The military man approached Asdras and Brian, offering a friendly pat on their shoulders. "Thank you, lads! This old codger's been stirring up trouble in the city for a while now. We've been trying to catch him for weeks," he chuckled, a sound that lacked genuine mirth.

  Brian stared at the other man. "Are you... are you an exorcist?"

  The military man waved for his friend to draw closer, his voice a low murmur. "Come here, my friend. These boys helped us."

  The exorcist, who had been holding the old storyteller, now studied Asdras and Brian with a contemplative smile. "Testimony," he said, his voice smooth and slightly unsettling. "Come with me."

  Though a flicker of hesitation crossed their faces, the military man reassured them. "Go on, lads. It's likely you'll receive a handsome reward."

  Asdras nodded, his decision made. "We'll go to the church, then. That's fine."

  Brian suddenly remembered. "That's right! We need to deliver that old man's letter."

  The exorcist fixed a dry, assessing gaze on Asdras's hands. A creepy smile stretched his lips. "Especially you, boy with green eyes. We have a special reward for you."