The next morning found Sasrir and me waiting by the castle's heavy gate, the cold seeping through our clothes. A Handmaiden had delivered the terse message at dawn: our first trial run with the Hunters, a standard food-gathering operation. We stood in the lee of the massive wall, the perpetual gloom of the Forgotten Shore feeling heavier than usual. Below us, the shantytown was already stirring, smoke from countless small fires curling into the slate-gray sky.
The slum dwellers went about their desperate business, but their eyes constantly flicked toward us. Most of their fearful or hateful glances were focused on Sasrir, his shadow-cloaked form a natural magnet for suspicion and dread. I was largely ignored, which suited my current line of thought perfectly. "Think they'll be on time?" I asked, just to break the silence and maintain a façade of normalcy.
Sasrir didn't turn his head, his attention seemingly on the shifting crowd below. "Doubtful. Punctuality implies discipline. This feels more like a hazing ritual than a military operation." His voice was a low murmur, barely audible over the distant sounds of the Outskirts. He was probably right; Gemma was likely testing our patience as much as our combat skills.
I nodded, shoving my hands into my pockets against the chill. "So, standard procedure. Follow their lead, don't show all our cards, try not to get stabbed in the back." IThe real question wasn't about survival tactics, but about the mask I should wear for this performance.
Internally, I was pondering what persona to present. The quiet and unassuming one had its merits; it made you seem harmless, beneath notice, a piece of the background no one bothered to account for. People tended to speak freely around the unassuming, revealing secrets they'd never tell a perceived equal or threat. It was the persona I'd used with the guard at the gate, and it had worked well enough.
But there was also the allure of the mysterious and omniscient archetype, the one who speaks in riddles and seems to know more than they should. That could be a powerful tool for intimidation and control, making others hesitate to act against you for fear of the unknown. The downside was it painted a massive target on your back; everyone would be trying to uncover your secrets or prove you were a fraud.
Then there was the third option: powerful and arrogant. It was the most straightforward, projecting strength to deter challenges and command immediate, if resentful, respect. It was a persona that could short-circuit a lot of petty tests and posturing. The problem was, it also set expectations. If you presented yourself as a powerhouse, you had to deliver overwhelming force every single time, or the vultures would swarm.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Sasrir asked, pulling me from my internal debate. "You've been quiet for a while." I glanced at him, offering a wry smile. "Just thinking about the best way to make a first impression on our new colleagues." I gestured vaguely toward the castle behind us. "First days are always so awkward."
Sasrir let out a soft sound that might have been a laugh. "Just be yourself. I'm sure your natural charm will win them over instantly." The dry sarcasm in his tone was unmistakable. He knew the kind of "charm" I usually relied on ended with someone bleeding out on the ground. Being "myself" wasn't really an option here; the real me was a calculating and adaptable weapon, and that tended to make people nervous.
"I was considering the mysterious sage approach," I mused aloud, partly to amuse him and partly to hear the idea out loud. "You know, drop cryptic hints about their futures, maybe hum an ominous tune now and then." I gestured to his shadowy form. "I'd need a better costume, though. You've cornered the market on the menacing silhouette look."
"That would require you to actually be quiet," Sasrir countered, his head tilting slightly. "A challenge, I think. And you lack the necessary presence. You look like someone's younger brother trying to act tough." His assessment was, as usual, brutally accurate. My youthful features were a hindrance for that particular role; I'd just come across as a pretentious kid.
"So, powerful and arrogant it is, then?" I said, only half-joking. "Just swagger in, look down my nose at everyone, maybe pick a fight with the biggest guy there to establish dominance." It was a tempting, simple solution, the kind that appealed to the primal part of the brain that understood strength hierarchies. But it was also the most likely to backfire spectacularly.
Sasrir was silent for a long moment, considering it. "It would be direct," he finally conceded. "But Gemma would see it as a direct challenge to his authority, not just the grunts. You'd be forcing him to respond, to put you in your place publicly." He was right. Arrogance was a game you could only play from the top, and we were decidedly at the bottom of this particular ladder.
A group of four figures finally emerged from a postern gate, their movements coordinated and efficient. They were clad in similar leathers, each bearing the spiral insignia, though theirs looked worn and earned. This was our escort, our judges, and potentially our executioners if we put a foot wrong. The leader, a woman with a scar bisecting her eyebrow, looked us over with a flat, unimpressed expression.
"The new blood?" she said, her voice raspy. "I'm Kora. Try to keep up, and try not to get killed." She didn't wait for a response, simply turning and heading down the winding path toward the Outskirts. Her three companions fell in behind her, not even glancing back at us. The message was clear: we were an inconvenience, a burden to be tolerated.
As we fell into step behind them, I made my decision. For now, I would be quiet and unassuming, the eager-to-learn rookie. I'd watch, I'd listen, and I'd learn the dynamics of the group. I'd let Sasrir be the obvious threat, the one they all watched. And when the moment was right, when a demonstration of power was needed, it would come as a complete surprise. The mysterious and the arrogant could wait their turn. Survival, today, was about perception.
The group moved with a practiced silence, stalking through the corpse of the Dark City. We climbed over collapsed walls of strange, smooth metal and skirted around gaping holes that dropped into impenetrable darkness. The air was thick with dust and the scent of ozone, a permanent miasma clinging to the ruins.
After several minutes of this tense travel, one of the Hunters, a lanky man with quick eyes, fell back to walk beside us. "So," he began, his voice a low murmur, his gaze fixed on Sasrir's shadow-cloaked form. "What's the deal with your friend's... permanent cloud cover?" He gestured vaguely at the shifting darkness.
I offered a casual shrug, keeping my tone light. "It's his Flaw," I lied smoothly. "A real nuisance, but he's learned to live with it." I didn't elaborate, letting the common, understood tragedy of a Aspect's drawback do the work for me. Sasrir gave a single, grim nod from within his shroud, a perfect performance of silent confirmation.
The man, seemingly satisfied with this explanation, nodded sympathetically. "Rough deal. Name's Finn." He gestured ahead with his chin. "The one leading us, that's Kora. Her Aspect is 'Stone-Skin'. Makes her tough as rock, but slows her down a bit."
He then pointed to a wiry woman scanning the upper ruins. "That's Lyra. She's 'Far sight'. Eyes like an eagle, can detect ambushes from a mile away. It also increases her intuition. Doesn't do much in a straight fight, but she's saved our hides more than once."
"Finally, the big guy bringing up the rear is Roric," Finn continued, thumbing behind us. "His is superstrength. Not fancy, but he hits like a falling building." He then looked at me expectantly, a clear invitation for reciprocation. The unspoken question hung in the air: what could we do? What was our value to the team?
I decided to keep it vague and utility-focused. "I'm Adam. I can sense emotions," I said, which was technically true for my telepathic senses. "And Sasrir here can manipulate shadows." It was a gross oversimplification of his shadow-walking and assassination skills, but it fit the narrative of a scout. We were presenting ourselves as specialists, not front-line fighters.
Finn absorbed this with a thoughtful nod, filing the information away. He didn't press for more details, understanding the unspoken rule of not prying too deeply into another Sleeper's capabilities. In this world, your Aspect was your greatest weapon and your most vulnerable secret. Of course, it was highly likely that one of the two we thugs we met in the ruins had already reported Sasrir's shadow bending capabilities, but Finn played ignorant. He couldn't deceive my Telepathist eyes however.
Our conversation lulled as Kora held up a clenched fist, bringing the group to an immediate halt. We crouched behind a shattered wall, the silence suddenly profound and heavy. Lyra, from her perch, made a series of quick hand signals, indicating movement two blocks ahead. The casual mood from moments before evaporated, replaced by a sharp, professional tension.
Finn gave us a final glance, his expression now all business. "Stay close, do what we say, and you might just make it back for dinner." He moved forward to re-join the others, his form blending seamlessly with the rubble. Sasrir and I exchanged a look, a whole conversation passing between us in an instant. The test had begun.