In the snowy backyard, a young boy wielded a wooden sword, fiercely attacking a crude wooden mannequin. A symbol – the coiled violet dragon of the Convened Heart – was crudely drawn onto its torso. The kid was practicing combos, swings, thrusts, utterly focused. Ash watched for a moment, a strange mix of confusion and something else – recognition? – stirring in him.
He approached the boy slowly. "Hey," Ash called out gently. "Any real Order soldier would lop your head clean off if you leave yourself open with all those fancy moves. Focus on disabling them first – cut the limbs. Then take the head."
The kid froze mid-swing, turning sharply, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. "It is you… isn't it?"
Ash paused, studying the boy's face. "Uh, maybe you're seeing things, kid. Bit mental, perhaps?" He frowned slightly. "Don't think we've met... have we? Wait a minute..." Recognition finally clicked. "Aren't you the kid? From that village? The one back in the woods… the one who survived?"
"Yes! That's me!" the boy exclaimed; his initial shock replaced by excitement. "I've been looking for information about you! Wondering who you were! I knew you'd have to come through here eventually, but this is sooner than I expected! I was going to try and join the Hunter troops when I'm older, to avenge my mother... and I wanted to thank you. For saving my life."
A pang of guilt hit Ash. "That's my job, kid," he said quietly. "Saving innocents from bastards like them. But I'm sorry... sorry I wasn't there sooner. Sorry I couldn't save your mother, or the others."
The boy looked down, then back up, his expression surprisingly understanding for his age. "It's okay. I get it. You can't be everywhere at once, no matter how strong you are."
"Maybe not," Ash conceded, "but I was there... just not close enough when it mattered most." He shook his head slightly. "Hope like hell nothing like that happens again."
The boy's eyes lit up with renewed hope. "Since you're here now... can you teach me? Teach me how to fight? How to use a sword properly? How to move like you? How to be strong?"
Ash felt another pang, this time of regret. "Kid, I'm sorry, but I can't stay. I have a huge mission right now, something really important, trying to stop even more people from getting killed. I wish I had the time, believe me. But the Order... they're planning something much worse than before."
The boy's face fell. "Oh. I understand," he replied, clearly disappointed.
Seeing the look on his face, Ash relented slightly. "Look, I can't stay long, but... while I'm here waiting for the weather to clear up maybe, I can show you a few basic things. How about that?"
"Yes!" The kid beamed, pure joy erasing the disappointment. "Thank you! My name's Jorn, by the way!"
Jorden
The monotonous drone of the bus engine finally softened as it slowed, navigating towards a sprawling terminal. Jorden blinked awake, stiff from the long ride, the unfamiliar weight beside him thankfully gone – the old man must have gotten off earlier.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the driver's voice crackled over the intercom, "we have arrived at Star's Bridge. Please collect all your belongings."
Jorden grabbed his bag and shuffled off the bus with the other passengers, stepping out into the sharp scent of salt air mixed with city fumes. He paused, looking up, and the sheer scale of the place hit him
like a physical force.
Star's Bridge was a vertical maze of steel, stone, and seawater. Huge towers rose from the cliffs and straight out of the crashing waves, their tops hidden in the clouds.
A massive web of bridges connected everything. There were giant arched roads high in the air and highways that looked like silver ribbons. Narrow walkways were built into the sides of the buildings, hanging over the water.
Far below, ships looked like small toys, and the sound of their horns was a faint echo. Instead of sand, the coast was made of stone terraces and plazas carved directly into the rock.
Sunlight hit the windows and the waves, making the whole city shine like a monument made by the sea. It was beautiful, massive, and almost hard to believe.
And this is the place they call the 'Filth Pit', Jorden thought wryly, adjusting his bag. Full of crime and corruption. He couldn't deny the beauty, the sheer architectural audacity, but the warnings lingered. Right, first step: survive the streets and find the hotel. Easier said than done in a city that looked like a maze designed by madmen.
He took a determined step away from the relative safety of the terminal
The air outside felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Too open.
Then—
A figure peeled out of the alley.
Thin. Nervous. Watching everything at once.
It slid closer to Jorden.
Too close.
Something dull flashed in its hand.
Metal.
Low.
Hidden.
A knife.
Jorden didn't notice.
Not yet.
The man's grip tightened.
One step more—
And he was close enough to strike.