Kail sprinted through the crowd, elbowing aside passerby without apology as he ran through the streets. His heart with a war drum, thumping like thunder in his mind with every booming stroke. Blood dripped from his wounded palm as he rounded the corner, splattering stark crimson onto the weathered stone. He was panting hard as he opened the door to Sir’s house, dropping his pack on the floor before pressing his left hand hard against the cut. Stepping outside, he forced himself to remain calm as he poured some of the rainwater into a cup, washing the wound on his palm. He scrubbed at the wound vigorously, which was burning with an unnatural heat, his fingers feeling thick and swollen. No matter how hard he scrubbed to clean the wound, however, the blood kept flowing. He could barely move his hand, his fingers unresponsive. Peering close, he saw a thick, clear white slime that coated the lips of the wound. He sniffed at it, recoiling at its putrid smell. Even without any knowledge of what it would do to him, he knew that it was poison.

Making himself take deep breaths to slow his heart rate, he walked back inside and rapped gently on Sir’s door. His breathing was coming in fast, a sensation of lightheadedness threatening to grip him as he fought to focus. A low grunt came from inside the room, telling him to go away.

“I’m poisoned.” Kail said softly, not moving from where he stood. His one hand squeezed tight, and he could feel his swollen flesh pulsing with every heartbeat.

A low-pitched curse snuck its way past the door, and he heard movement—a low scuffling sound as Sir got off the floor. An angry face greeted Kail as the door opened, stern and flushed with livid fury.

“Are you stupid, boy? You got yerself poisoned? Tell me I’m just going deaf.” His expression was one of incredulity, as if he was embarrassed even to know the fool in front of him.

Kail shook his head apologetically, replying simply, “I was cut. The blade had poison.” He offered to palm to show Sir. The old man’s face reeled in response, eyebrows raised in shock.

“Frost lily poison?” he remarked lowly. “And you’re still alive?” Kail merely looked at Sir, not responding.

“The hell were you doing, boy? I just fixed you up from death, and you go off chasing it again?” Sir grumbled, carefully pressing down gently on the inflamed flesh.

Kail mumbled, “I was going back to the Black Wolves territory. There were marks there—from the rat things. But when I looked further, a cleaner got me.”

Sir heaved a sigh before grabbing Kail’s palm in both of his hands. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he muttered, “I can’t believe I’ve raised an idiot after all these years. What a wasted effort.” When he opened his eyes, they were gleaming white, wisps of smoke curling from the edges. “It’s already spread through your arm and most of your chest.” Without preamble, he slapped Kail hard on the shoulder, making Kail recoil in shock. He had not felt anything from the blow, only a numb burning that traveled down his arm. Concerned, he looked at Sir only to find a grim set of lines etched into his old face.

“This will be hard. Lie down.” he grunted as he stepped aside to let Kail enter the room.

Kail nervously lay down onto the old wooden floor, hearing timber creak under his weight as Sir shut the door. After pressing his hands against Kail’s skin, Sir took a deep breath before closing his eyes. They opened again wreathed with that milky white, his mouth muttering short phrases in an unsettling cadence. There was a tension in his body, the cords on his neck bulging against papery skin. With each beat, Kail felt heat surge against his flesh; in a mere manner of seconds, he was sweating profusely. His arm felt like it was on fire, the skin being seared raw by an unyielding heat. Sir was chanting still, his body swooning slightly in a gentle pulse. Slight ribbons of purple danced around his fingertips, sinking into Kail’s flesh with each beat, pulling more and more of the fire to the surface.

The chanting grew to a climax now, Sir’s eyes gazing upwards as his tongue voiced guttural sounds with an fervid intensity. The heat was excruciating, steam rolling off the surface of his skin as beads of sweat sizzled into vapor in the air. Some of the sweat stayed, slowly creeping out of his pores until he realized that it was not perspiration but rather clear poison. More and more of it oozed onto his arm, the tugging of the magic bringing it to the surface.

Each beat of the chant came faster now, the cadence speeding up. Sir’s head was swooning, his brows furrowed with concentration. The magic pulsed with greater urgency, the poison now coating Kail’s arm in a viscous fluid that dripped out of his pores. More and more of the magic poured into his flesh until with a final breath of relief Kail felt the sudden snap as the heat left his skin. The flaming heat left him, making him feel naked without its scalding presence. He was breathing hard, the poison coating his arm.

Sir was still chanting, his magic now scooping poison off Kail’s arm. Purple ribbons wrapped around the venom, swelling as they began to absorb the toxin with a greedy hunger. The magic circled his arm, squeezing tighter and tighter with each beat as they expanded until they suddenly fell to the floor limply. Slowly, the magic dispersed into purple dust that dispersed into the air, taking the poison with it. Kail’s arm was dry and red, the skin peeling off in flaky bits. The poison had completely left him.

Sir collapsed onto the ground with hardly a sound, his chest heaving rapidly as a bright sheen of sweat covered his wrinkled face. The veins on his face and neck were bulging as his pulse skyrocketed, teeth chattering as his mouth ran off nonsensical sounds. The wisps of white from his eyes were a dense smoke that poured forth in a milky fog.

The old man had exerted himself too much; now he was paying the price. Purple magic vented from his pores, a crackling sound filling the air as massive amounts of heat filled the room. The very air became hard to breathe, Kail’s lungs being scalded with every breath. The magic that gathered around Sir was becoming dense as the backlash grew larger and larger.

Suddenly the chanting stopped.

The smoke from his eyes cleared as his body spasmed, clearing the smoke from his body. His eyes rolled furiously in their sockets, muscles straining to their limits before settling back down. His body was running through its functions after venting so much magic, fighting to regain control of a cart thrown askew. His back arched violently, his chest thrust into the air as the bones of his spine cracked one by one. Finally, he fell down to the floor, chest breathing normally.

A light snore told Kail that his master had fallen asleep.

Kail had draped a blanket over the old man’s chest before lying down to sleep, only to find that he could not even close his eyes. Sir was sleeping soundly, his mind tired from the burden that wielding magic had upon him. Kail sat on the floor for a while, thinking. His thoughts wandered as he absentmindedly rapped his fingers on the floor. His mind was filled with countless questions, his body tired but his spirit filled with boundless energy. And so, he wondered.

He wondered about the gangs and the dead that littered the streets. It would be dark outside soon, and with the disappearance of the sun would come the deaths of countless in the city. Their screams would punctuate the night like a shrill staccato. Kail knew the sound; he had grown up with it every night. His heart had already grown cold to its presence.

He wondered about the rat things, and why they were here. For as long as anyone could remember since the founding of the city, the rat things had been there. Some said that it was a part of the curse of the night on Maris Tor, a part of the Devil’s curse upon them. They were the eyes of the darkness, its teeth and fangs. They were savage beasts, but worst of all, they were once human. They were corrupted beasts and broken men, driven to madness and feral insanity. They were monsters, pitiable and deadly.

He wondered about Sir, about the master that he owed so much to. The old man had raised him, taught him, and saved him countless times now. He owed to this man his very life and every fiber of his heart swelled with a sense of burning loyalty. He was proud, proud to know this man. He was proud of his mentor’s strength and utterly devoted. Closing his eyes, Kail swore thrice upon his heart as a sign of his filial loyalty: once for all he owed in the past, once for all that he knew in the present, and once for all that he would give in the future. The boy’s eyes burned bright as a sense of complete admiration and love filled his chest.

He swore to live a life like that of Sir’s, to live a life that would make his mentor proud.

It was with those words that determination dripped its way into his coursing veins, a surge of energy filling his muscles. This web of conflict and lies that had wrapped its way around the city, he could feel it closing tighter and tighter. He would break it open, he would do it. He knew now as a sudden sense of hope and resolve burned bright on his spirit. He was meant to break this curse upon the city. He would make Sir proud.

The faces of the dead flashed through his mind, but there was no longer hesitation. To make Sir proud, no matter the price.

Opening the door to Sir’s room, he took a long look at his master’s face, a fondness and pride bringing a small tear to his cheek as he realized how much he owed to the old man. With a quiet promise that he would see him again, he shut to door, silently creeping his way out of the house. In his excitement, Kail hardly noticed that Sir’s quiet snoring had long since stopped.

With his weapons gathered, Kail stepped onto the streets, slipping into an alleyway before realizing a sudden wetness on his fingers. It had started to rain.

The water splashed off the stone, at first gentle but slowly growing into a downpour that drenched the city. The splatter of the rain on the ground slowly cleared the mists that covered the ground as the night came.

Rain had not fallen in Maris Tor for over a year. The air was humid from the sea, but there were no mountains at its back and the winds that merchants loved so faithfully blew with them any wisps of clouds in the sky. Yet, on this rare occasion, rain pattered on roof tiles, trickling down shabby buildings as real as any other water.

Amongst the soft sound of falling water, Kail heard a faint whimpering and the sound of scrabbling claws. He felt his body suddenly tense as he waited, hearing the sound come again. Quickly, he ran, worn boots splashing through rain puddles as he rounded the corner fast enough to catch a glimpse of a slender tail, black in the night as it slipped behind a building. Sprinting, Kail ran in its direction, feet sliding in the wet dirt, mud splashing onto his pants.

Sure enough, when he closed in on the source of the sound, he found a rat thing, still small and skinny. It was clawing at its head, clearly disliking the rain that fell from the sky. Shaking its head vigorously, it scampered off down the alley, claws slipping on the wet stone. Clawing furiously at the metal grille at the end, it slipped into the sewers below, the scraping nails on metal clearly heard echoing down the tunnel.

Kail knew where this tunnel led: it ran down to the western part of the city, where Blood Hawk territory was. These men had set monsters upon the city; they would be sure to hold answers. Taking a deep breath, he set into a jog towards the west, staying close to where he knew the sewer ran underground. Here, he was already far from the vice-filled center of the city; now the streets were mostly empty save for the occasional fresh trail of blood trickling down the wet brick.

After ten minutes of running, the moon started to peek out of the clouds, the rare stint of rain already ending as the last drops of water drizzled down from the sky. Kail could hear the scrabbling and whining of rat things nearby, their pups mewling as the rain clouds parted. Slowly, Kail shrugged his claw-shield off his shoulder, fingers tightening around his hook. Remembering his promise, remembering his pride, he strode forward, confidence in his step. To make Sir proud, no matter the price, he thought, and his grip tightened around his hook.