The rain thinned to a persistent drizzle by dawn, but the sky remained low and heavy — pressing on the city like a lid. Lonir walked through the waking slums. The streets filled slowly with the morning's broken shapes: street vendors selling stale bread, children dodging puddles, guards shaking off the fog of a long night.
Nobody looked at him twice. His face was partially scarred now, but in this part of the city, scars were as common as breathing.
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He had no destination. Only distance — from the graveyard, from the alley where three men lay ruined in the mud. The Covenant Anchor swung at his hip, and the horned figure on its surface still wore that quiet, tilted contentment. He did not meet its gaze. He could feel its attention already, like a humid breath on the back of his neck.
Hunger gnawed at him — faint, distant, but real. He had not eaten since before the knife. He turned toward the market square — a muddy open space where stalls huddled beneath leaking oilcloth, reeking of wet wood and frying fat.
He stopped at a cart selling pale-colored porridge. The vendor — an old woman with one milky eye — glanced up.
"One copper for a bowl," she said, her voice like scraped gravel.
Lonir reached into his robe. No coins. Nothing but the cloth itself.
He met her single clear eye.
She looked away first.
"Move along, then," she muttered.
He did not.
Something shifted inside him — the same grey blankness that had settled in after the first offering. He could have done it. He could have activated The Bleak, endured the dissolving, and made her hand over the bowl without questions. But he hadn't reached that point yet.
He turned away with familiar frustration.
"Wait."
He stopped.
A man leaned against a nearby stall — lean, wearing a hood, his clothes patched but cleaner than most. His face bore no scars. His eyes were sharp. Too sharp for a place like this.
"You look like you need a meal," said the man. A simple smile. But one that was slightly too deliberate.
Lonir studied him.
The man straightened. "My name is Kayl. I've been watching you. You have that look — like the world has kicked you more than it should have."
Lonir said nothing.
Kayl laughed softly. "Silent type. Fine. Come — it's on me. I know a place nearby. Warmer than a wet street, at least."
Lonir considered. The Covenant Anchor seemed to shift slightly — heavier on one side, as though leaning him forward.
He followed.
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Kayl led him through winding passages to a small hut hidden behind a warehouse. Inside it was dry, lit by a single lantern. A table. Two chairs. A pot boiling over a coal stove. The smell of herbs and actual meat — real meat.
"Sit," said Kayl.
Lonir sat.
Kayl ladled the soup into two bowls and pushed one across the table. "Eat. No conditions."
Lonir ate. Slowly. The warmth spread through his body, but it did not reach whatever lived inside his chest.
Kayl watched him. "You're new to this, aren't you?"
Lonir paused.
Kayl leaned forward. "That look. Like you woke up from a nightmare and found out it was real. I know it. I went through it myself, once."
Lonir set down his spoon.
Kayl's eyes dropped to the Covenant Anchor at Lonir's hip, then back up. "Beautiful piece. Where'd you get it?"
The knowledge tightened around Lonir's throat — a planted certainty pressing like a hand.
He opened his mouth.
But Kayl spoke first.
"Don't bother lying. I can see it. The mark. You've sealed a covenant."
Lonir went still.
Kayl's smile widened. "Yes. As I thought. I have one too — from long ago. Mine is with the Goddess of Mercy. They call it a weak covenant — but it keeps me alive in this rotten place."
He rolled back his sleeve. On his wrist: a small, pale card in the shape of a dove — cracked, incomplete.
Lonir stared at it.
Kayl nodded. "You see? We're alike. There aren't many of us. The gods don't choose just anyone. But you look like... something darker. Those scarred eyes. That skin. It suits you."
Lonir's hand moved toward the Covenant Anchor without thought.
Kayl continued. "The rules are simple enough. Stay alive. Collect cards. Don't break your covenant. Kill another contractor, and you earn the chance at new powers — your god offers you three choices, though He must approve the grant. Refuse to engage with other contractors for too long, and your god leaves you stagnant, without new cards. And be careful: the gods watch always. Always. My Goddess of Mercy is gentle — She prefers I avoid fighting, lean into healing, live longer. She doesn't care for violence."
Lonir was quiet for a moment, then spoke — his voice low and rough.
"Despair."
Kayl blinked. Then laughed — short, sharp. "Despair? I've never heard of that one. Are you certain? The great ones are rare — Dominion, Death, Truth, Madness. Those are the ones that consume their contractors whole. But Despair? It sounds invented. Perhaps it's a trick. Some gods play games."
Lonir said nothing.
Kayl leaned back. "Listen — I can help you. Show you how to hide better. Avoid the Hunters. In return, perhaps we work together. Mercy is weak, but it pairs well with the powerful. I've seen Mercy contractors survive in every Hunter crew in the world. You fight. I heal you."
Lonir looked at the empty bowl. The soup sat heavy in his stomach.
He stood.
"Thank you for the meal," he said, his voice flat and even. "But no."
Kayl frowned. "Why not? We're rare. Better together."
Lonir shook his head. "That seems like a flawed assumption. Gods like yours — Mercy, Love — they tend not to align well with mine. I haven't tested it, but I believe it."
Kayl stood as well. "Wait — let me show you. The covenant of Mercy can help you. Those scars look recent."
He extended his hand. It glowed with faint white light — the dove card pulsing.
Lonir took a step back.
Kayl stepped forward. "One touch. It will heal you."
His fingertips grazed Lonir's forearm.
Warmth spread — soft, gentle. The scars tingled. The black veins faded slightly.
Then stopped.
The Covenant Anchor at Lonir's hip seemed to pull sharply. The thorned figure on its surface looked less content now — its posture subtly stiff.
Lonir stepped away.
Kayl blinked. "Strange. It usually works better than that. Your god must be powerful. Tell me more about this Despair. How did the covenant form? What are the requirements? What does your first card look like?"
Lonir met his gaze. The emptiness inside him deepened.
"It's rather unpleasant," he said quietly. "It breaks you open and makes you taste bitterness. Then you endure it. And then you can use the power."
Kayl laughed again — nervous this time. "Unpleasant? That sounds like madness. Or a trick — maybe the Moon God, the deceiver. I've met contractors of Love — soft bonds, healing hearts. And contractors of Valor, sometimes — the God of Violence, I think — raw power, no dissolving nonsense. Despair? Probably not even real. Just a phantom name."
Lonir turned toward the door.
Kayl grabbed his arm. "Wait — think about it. Together we could—"
Lonir pulled his arm free.
He stepped back into the wet street. Colder now.
Kayl called after him from the doorway. "You'll regret going alone! The Hunters will kill you!"
Lonir did not look back.
The city swallowed him.
The Covenant Anchor settled — satisfied again, its thorns gleaming in the drizzle.
He walked on.
The other cards flickered in his mind — closer now, as though a door had been nudged ajar.
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He reached the edge of the old tannery district as the mist clung thick to the morning air.
The smell was brutal — cured leather and rot, acidic enough to burn the back of his throat with every breath. The buildings here leaned on one another like exhausted men, their rooftops sagging under years of damp, their walls slicked black by oily runoff that gave every surface a greasy, wet shine.
He had no destination. He simply needed to keep moving — away from the market, away from Kayl's hut, away from the memory of the soup still sitting uneasily in his gut.
The Covenant Anchor was slightly cooler now against his hip, as though it had eaten something during the last use and was still digesting.
Footsteps followed him — wet slaps on stone, not hurried, but deliberate. Measured. Echoing off the close walls like a heartbeat inside a casket.
Lonir stopped.
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