Alaric woke before the sun, the pale gray light creeping through the battered curtains of his room at the Rusted Oak. His body felt marginally better than the night before—the steady pulse of new vitality already working its subtle magic. Small aches were gone, replaced by a steadier endurance that reassured him his decision to invest in his body hadn't been wasted.
Today wasn't about surviving another night.Today was about building.
He quietly strapped the combat knife to his waist beneath his jacket, double-checked the alarm trap on his door, and slipped into the growing pulse of the city.
Zenith didn't sleep; it only changed masks. Where gangs had prowled the alleys at night, daytime belonged to merchants, laborers, and the desperate. Alaric blended into the flow, just another shadow among thousands.
His first goal was simple: supplies. Food, basic medical gear, and some burner comms if he could afford it. No more relying on luck and scraps. If he wanted to climb out of the gutter, he needed tools, information, and allies.
He made his way through the crumbling edges of the Grey Quarter, slipping into a half-ruined marketplace called the Crossroads. A chaotic sprawl of stalls, hawkers, and illegal vendors, it was a place where anything could be bought—if you knew who to ask.
Navigating through the maze, Alaric felt eyes on him constantly. Not all were hostile; most were just scavengers looking for easy marks. Still, he kept a hand loose near his blade.
A flash of red caught his eye—a fabric vendor shouting above the crowd—and a second later, a sharp whisper reached his ears.
"Psst. Fresh goods. No questions."
Alaric turned subtly. In a gap between two leaning stalls, a man lounged against a rusted wall. Shabby coat, quick eyes, a permanent smirk carved onto his face. Classic fixer.
"Looking for work? Or something... sharper?" the man asked, tapping the side of his nose.
"Depends," Alaric said cautiously. "What are you offering?"
The man grinned. "Opportunities. Information. Protection, if you got the coin."
Information. That was what Alaric needed more than anything.
"Name's Kieran," the man said, extending a hand Alaric didn't take.
"Al," he replied, offering the shortened name he often used on jobs.
Kieran didn't seem to mind the brush-off. Instead, he leaned closer. "There's a job opening for runners. Moving a package across district lines. Pays decent."
"What's the catch?"
Kieran's grin widened. "You get seen by the wrong people, you disappear."
Simple. Dangerous. But also the perfect way to learn more about Zenith's underbelly.
"I'm listening," Alaric said.
They moved to a shadowed corner, where Kieran laid out the deal. A simple courier mission—pick up a package from the Drowned Market and deliver it across the East Bridge to a contact waiting in an abandoned service station.
"Get it done quick and quiet, and there might be more work," Kieran said, tossing him a battered burner phone. "Updates come through that."
Alaric slipped the phone into his pocket. He didn't trust Kieran—no sane person would. But he needed an in, and this was it.
"One more thing," Kieran added, almost as an afterthought. "Watch for the Crimson Jacks. They're hunting freelancers on their turf lately."
Wonderful.
Alaric left without another word, weaving back into the crowd. As he walked, his system pulsed quietly.
[New Quest Available: Shadow Delivery]
Objective: Deliver the package to the target without being caught.
Reward: 1 Stat Point
A grin tugged at his lips. Finally, a quest that played to his strengths.
But before he took a step further toward the Drowned Market, he paused, feeling that prickling sensation crawl up his spine again.
Someone was watching him.
Not Kieran. Someone else. A gaze heavier, sharper.
He drifted into a side alley, blending with a group of day laborers. He didn't look back immediately—he'd learned better. Instead, he used the reflections in cracked windows, the faint distortions in puddles on the ground.
A figure. Cloaked, distant, always just a few steps behind.
Not moving to engage. Just… observing.
Alaric's pulse quickened, but he forced himself to keep walking casually. If they wanted him dead, they'd have struck already.
Was it her again? The mysterious woman from the slums?
The thought sent a shiver of something he couldn't name down his spine.
He needed to stay focused.
The package first. Then he'd deal with the shadows trailing him.
Zenith wasn't just a city of opportunity.It was a city of predators.
And Alaric intended to become the most dangerous one among them.