Lucid stood over five men sprawled across cobblestones. They groaned. Clutched ribs. One tried to push himself up and failed. Slumped back down with a whimper.
He flexed his fingers. Looked down at his hands.
'I have gotten stronger.'
The realization settled over him like cold water. The ordeal had gone by quicker than he could register. None of his powers needed. No chains. Just his body moving on instinct and training that came from instinct.
The leader's knife lay shattered on the ground. Fragments of steel scattered like dropped coins. Where the blade had struck his chest, a golden white trail still glowed faintly. Fading now but visible.
'The Chain of Heart. It is different.'
He touched his chest where the chain resided beneath skin and bone. It had acted as resistance. Not healing. The knife had hit him full force and shattered like glass against stone.
'The rank increase changed it. From healing to defense. Against mundane objects at least.'
His mind worked through the implications. Mundane weapons could not harm him now. But weapons imbued with fate essence could. He remembered the rift. The man in the black suit whose attacks had actually hurt. Those who carried fate essence, especially corrosive fate essence. That stuff ate through his defenses like acid through paper.
He brushed his neck reflexively. Checking for wounds that were not there anymore. Alice had healed those. But the memory of corrosive energy burning through him remained sharp.
A crowd had gathered. Pressing in from all sides. Faces he did not recognize. Voices overlapping.
"Savior!"
"Thank you!"
"You saved us!"
Lucid stepped back. Put space between himself and the gratitude. It made him uncomfortable. He had not done this to be thanked. He had done it because watching them burn a bakery felt wrong!
A young woman pushed through the crowd. Early twenties. Flour dusted her apron and hands. Her face was pale but determined.
"My name is Petra," she said. Extended a cloth bundle toward him. "Thank you. Thank you so much. Please take these."
Lucid took the bundle. Unwrapped it. Pastries. Still warm. The smell hit him. Butter and sugar and something baked with actual care.
'When was the last time I ate something that was not rations or tavern slop?'
"Thank you," he managed.
"It is nothing compared to what you did." Petra's voice shook slightly. "They were going to burn my bakery. Everything I have worked for. Everything my mother left me."
An older man pushed forward. Weathered face. Hands that had seen decades of hard labor. He grabbed Lucid's sleeve with surprising strength.
"You need to understand what has been happening here," the man said. His voice carried urgency. "What you just stopped is nothing. It gets worse."
"Worse how?"
The man looked around. At the crowd. At the groaning cultists. At the guards who would arrive soon.
"Not here. Come."
He led Lucid down an alley. Away from the main street. Into a courtyard where laundry hung between buildings and children had drawn pictures in the dirt with sticks.
Petra followed. So did three others. All local. All carrying the particular exhaustion of people who had been afraid for too long.
The older man turned. Met Lucid's eyes.
"Three weeks ago things were normal here. Well. Normal for the slums. We had problems but they were our problems. The nobles never came down here. The magistrate never bothered with us. We existed and they ignored us."
He paused. Swallowed.
"Then cloaked individuals started appearing. At first just watching. Then demanding payment. Protection money they called it. Most people could not pay. Those who refused got visits."
"From the cultists," Lucid said.
"Yes. The Congregation, the Ember Ascendant. They work with House Maren. The house demands payment. The cultists enforce it. Anyone who resists gets burned out. Or worse."
Petra spoke up. Her voice was hard. "They killed eight people two weeks ago. Burned them alive in an orphanage. Children. Just children."
Lucid felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Why? What did they do?"
"Nothing! They did nothing!" Petra's hands clenched into fists. "It was because of him. Because of that stupid benevolent fool who came down here spreading wealth and kindness like it was charity instead of bait!"
The older man put a hand on her shoulder. "Petra."
"No! He needs to know!" She turned to Lucid. Her eyes were wet but her voice stayed steady. "There was a man. Called himself the Generous Scoundrel. Came to the slums a month ago. Started helping people. Gave loans. Set up businesses. Made it look like he cared."
She spat the last word.
"But he did not care. He just wanted to build something. Prove he could. And when House Maren noticed people in the slums suddenly had money and hope and structure, they decided they wanted their cut."
"And when people could not pay?" Lucid asked quietly.
"The orphanage burned. The bakery next door was destroyed. Eight people died because some noble businessman wanted to play hero without thinking about consequences." Petra wiped her eyes roughly. "He painted targets on everyone he helped. Made us visible. Made us valuable. And then he disappeared when it got dangerous."
Lucid processed this. The timeline made sense.
'A loan shark. That is what she called him. Someone who loans money with interest. Who builds debt and calls it generosity.'
The older man spoke again. "The magistrate turned a blind eye. House Maren has been buying up property in the slums for months. Forcing sales. The cultists provide enforcement. It is coordinated. Planned. They want the slums cleared so they can rebuild. Gentrify. Profit."
"And anyone who resists gets burned," Lucid finished.
"Yes."
Lucid looked at the pastries in his hands. At Petra's flour-stained apron. At the older man's weathered face.
'This is bigger than cultists harassing a baker. This is organized. Systematic. Part of something larger.'
"The Generous Scoundrel," he said. "Do you know where he is now?"
Petra's expression darkened. "No. And I do not want to. If I see him I will break his nose and tell him exactly what his kindness cost us."
"He was trying to help."
"He was trying to feel good about himself!" She stepped closer. "You do not understand. People like him never do. He came down here with his coins and his plans and his stupid belief that money solves everything. He did not ask what we needed. He did not ask if we wanted his help. He just decided we were broken and he could fix us."
Her voice cracked.
"And when House Maren came demanding payment for businesses he set up, for loans he gave, for structures he built, we could not pay. Because his generosity was never free. It was investment. And when the investment went bad he left us to pay the price."
Lucid had no answer for that.
Movement at the alley entrance. A child ran toward them. Breathing hard. Face pale.
"They are coming! The guards and more cloaked people! They are looking for whoever fought the cultists!"
The older man cursed. "You need to leave. Now. If they find you here they will make an example."
"I can fight them."
"You can fight five. Can you fight twenty? Thirty?" The man grabbed Lucid's arm. "You helped us. We appreciate it. But you need to go before this gets worse."
Lucid wanted to argue. Wanted to stay and finish what he started.
Then he thought of Arthur at the courthouse. Ayame at the tavern. Both alone. Both vulnerable if someone decided to target them.
'If the cultists identify me they will look for leverage. They will find my companions.'
"The tavern district," Lucid said quickly. "North side. Three story building with a broken sign. If you need help that is where I am staying."
The older man nodded. "Go. We will handle this."
Lucid ran.
Out of the courtyard. Through alleys that twisted and turned. His feet found paths automatically.
He burst onto a main street. Adjusted his pace to something less suspicious. Walked quickly but not running. Just another person moving through Port Vexis with somewhere to be.
His mind raced.
The pieces were connecting but the picture was incomplete.
'Why now? Why Port Vexis? What does this have to do with the Transcendence?'
He turned a corner. The tavern was three blocks ahead. Safety. Ayame. Arthur. They needed to know what he had learned.
A figure stepped out of shadows ahead. Blocked his path.
Tall. Cloaked. Ember symbol visible on the chest.
"You are the one who interfered," the figure said. Voice distorted. Echoing. "The one who stopped our collection."
Lucid's hand moved to where his chains would manifest. "Move."
"We know who you are. We saw the Mark on your wrist when you fought. Orange. Glowing. The Transcendence."
'Shit. They saw it. They know.'
Three more figures emerged from nearby alleys. Surrounding him. Cutting off escape routes.
"Queen Elara sent you. To disrupt our operations. To interfere with our partnership with House Maren." The lead figure tilted its head. "A mistake. You should have stayed in your tavern. Stayed with your companions."
Lucid's blood went cold.
"Your companions. The blue-haired knight. The Oni girl. Both alone. Both vulnerable. Both excellent leverage."
"If you touch them—"
"We already have people moving. By the time you reach the tavern they will be gone. Taken. Held until you agree to leave Port Vexis and never return."
The figure stepped closer.
"You have a choice. Come with us quietly. Answer our questions. Help us understand why the queen sent you. Or resist and watch your friends suffer for your pride."
Lucid activated his chains. Golden white light erupted from his palm. The Chain of Heart manifested fully. Wrapping around his torso. Ready.
"Third option," he said. "I go through you. Reach my friends. And burn down everything you have built here."
The figures laughed. It sounded like breaking glass.
"You defeated five untrained collectors. You think that makes you strong enough to challenge the Congregation?" The lead figure raised a hand. Purple energy crackled between fingers. Corrosive fate essence. "We are Illuminated. Awakened. You are marked by a queen but you are still weak."
The energy lashed out. Lucid dodged. Barely. It scorched stone where he had been standing.
'Corrosive essence. The one thing that can hurt me. And they know it.'
He shot a chain throw one of them, it pierced their shoulder.
He looked, to his right, something came. He stepped a way. Dodged. He got ready for a counter attack, a whiplash.
Then he started coughing.
He staggered for a moment. Took a weak step. It was a second. That was all they needed, purple energy came grazing his left sides, it hurt.
He gritted his teeth.
'Shit.'
They noticed, more of them started to gather.
'Why now..
He ran away. Toward the tavern. Toward Arthur and Ayame. Toward the only thing that mattered.
Behind him the cultists gave chase.