Night in Blackmoor came cold and fast, swallowing the orphanage in damp silence. The children huddled in their straw nests, dreaming of food or freedom, but *Thorne Blackwood* sat upright on his cot, eyes open, mind burning.
He had made the first move. Told *Ruby* tonight was the night. Now there was no turning back.
He stood slowly, stepping over cracked floorboards, avoiding the creaky ones like a ritual. The wardens didn't patrol much at night—they were lazy—but there were always snitches. Thorne had learned that lesson with a broken arm in his last life.
He slipped into the hallway, shadow-wrapped and barefoot. Ruby waited in the stairwell, arms crossed, a knife tucked into her sleeve.
> "You're serious," she said. "This isn't some bluff."
> "Didn't live through the end of the world to bluff, Ruby," Thorne whispered. "We're going to build something. But first—we test the walls."
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🩸 *The Rat King*
They descended into *Level B*, the condemned wing. An abandoned basement sealed off after a fire years ago, rumored to be haunted, cursed, or worse. Thorne knew the truth.> It was where Blackmoor stored the *forgotten ones*—children too broken to fix, too wild to tame.
They found the hidden door beneath a rusted workbench. Thorne pried it open with a cracked ruler and a curse, revealing a narrow stone tunnel lined with frost and old blood. Ruby hesitated.
> "Why here?"
> "Because this is where we start," Thorne said. "Down here, there's a boy who runs an illegal ring of contraband. Food. Needles. Blades. Information."
> "So we kill him?" she asked, dead calm.
> "No. We *recruit* him. Or we burn him out."
They moved like whispers through the tunnel. Voices echoed ahead—laughter, the clang of tin, the rustle of stolen bread. A small group of older kids huddled around a makeshift fire barrel. And at their center sat a pale boy with mismatched eyes and sharp teeth.
*Rikkan*—the so-called *Rat King*.
Thorne stepped into the firelight.
> "Evening, Rikkan. I hear you're the one to talk to about the black market."
Rikkan looked up, startled. The others stood, reaching for rusted tools and makeshift shivs.
> "Who the fuck are you?"
> "Your replacement," Thorne said coolly. "Unless you'd rather strike a deal."
Rikkan bared his teeth. "And what could a fresh corpse like you offer?"
Thorne stepped forward, unafraid.> "Power. Real power. I know which guards take bribes. Which nobles will pay for a dead body. Which kids are born with magic and where they'll be sent. I know the name of the man who'll burn this entire province in five years, and I know how to stop him."
> "You're insane."
> "Maybe," Thorne said. "But I'm the only one in this dump thinking *ten years ahead.*"
A tense silence.
Then Rikkan laughed. "Alright, Lord of Ash. You've got one night. Impress me."
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🔥 *The First Deal*
By dawn, Thorne had learned two things:
1. *Rikkan* controlled over half of the contraband flow in Blackmoor, including tools stolen from the groundskeeper's shed and dried meat swiped from the kitchen.
2. The guards weren't just lazy—they were *corruptible*.
And now, *Thorne had leverage.*
Back in their dorm, Ruby sat cross-legged on a mat, staring at the bruises on her hands.
> "You think this is really going to work?" she asked.
> "It already is," Thorne said. "We're not just surviving anymore. We're shaping the shadows."
> "And the endgame?"
Thorne smiled, something cold and fierce behind his eyes.
> "We build an empire of blades and whispers. We train killers, manipulators, seers. And when the flames return—this time, *we light them.*"
Ruby didn't smile, but her eyes gleamed.> "Then I'm with you."
And so, from the ashes of a forgotten basement, the *Ember Syndicate* was born.
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*End of Chapter 2*
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