A lot of shit had gone awfully wrong for Tassian. At this point in life, he had almost grown used to it. Almost.

Now he had been kicked out of his apartment room, stuck out on the cold streets of Mishan. There was a sharp divide between people like him and the well-to-do classes. Ossified class relations were the key marker of cities like Mishan. The rich stay rich and the poor stay exploited.

He worked his way through the slums, moving past rotten tent after rotten tent. The place smelled horrible, human waste scattered across the streets. The people here would have dumped everything into the river had it been close enough but it wasn’t so instead people pissed and shat in the alleyways.

The nobles always claimed that their system brought great prosperity but it never happened like that. Tassian was old enough to know that now. No, the money just moved, devastated new communities. Sure, it might make the slums less noticeable, less of an open festering sore but these people would never really be integrated into the central city life. Not to mention the people up in the floaters.

Even when Tassain was lost in thought, he always kept searching, never stopping. Force of habit. Detective work never really did end. People thought mysteries always wrapped up nicely but the reality was things were never that clean. Clues were overdetermined, often pointing to multiple competing explanations. The way things usually went is that time made one settle on a single criminal.

Some poor mother had come up to him recently, requesting that he look into a local group of loan sharks. Tassian figured that she was in deep shit, owed them a lot of money. Everyone owed a lot of money around here and there wasn’t ever enough to go around. He decided to take her up even though it was a rather tedious hassle and a job that would likely go unpaid for. The only benefit would be that it might help to get his name out there.

She was convinced they were up to illegal activity and, by all accounts, they most likely were. He just had to find one piece of evidence and he could report them to the authorities. Maybe they’d do something, maybe not. They certainly did like to lock people from the slums up so Tassian was hopeful. Well, hopeful was too strong of a word. Hopeful was a word he would have used to describe himself before he died. Nowadays he was a more moderate bearish with a dash of duty.

He stepped around the dirty children that were playing in the streets with twigs and pieces of cloth. A tip had suggested they operated in this part of the slums. It was only a matter of time before he found them. Loan sharks weren’t known for being secretive. The whole point was to put yourself in public places so the desperate could easily find you.

He had noticed an interesting figure smoking outside a dilapidated building, no tents around. The man was dressed too sharply to be a slum dweller. Rather conspicuous, like he wanted to be noticed. These kinds of people were the most troublesome. Tassian sighed roughly and made his way over, shoes tracking shit across the slick cobblestone.

“Hey,” Tassian said.

The well-dressed man took notice. He gave him a curious eye. “Whatchu want?”

Tassian pulled the trenchcoat tighter around him. No indication he was a loan shark other than the suit but he decided it was best to treat the man as if Tassian had known he was a loan shark. “You the guy?”

“What kinda guy you lookin’ for?” the man asked, an expression that was less quizzical and more knowing.

“I’m in deep shit. Need some money to get out.”

The man looked him over, definitely noticing how dirty the coat was. “Alright, follow me.” He spun around and made his way into the alley.

Tassian followed him, making sure to keep a few feet away from him at all times. It was just a precaution but one that was borne out of experience. Too many experiences.

The place the man was leading them was only a short distance away. It was a rundown warehouse, complete with smashed-in windows, pieces of timber haphazardly scattered about, and a few stray ferret dogs.

They stopped in front of the metal door. The man pounded on it a few times, hard enough that Tassian thought he would have hurt his hand. Instead, the door was opened and they were greeted by two scruffy-looking thugs.

“You here for a loan?” the woman asked.

Tassian nodded. The well-dressed man was already making his way back down the alley, leaving him alone with the two thugs.

“Come in then.”

And so he did. The warehouse held row after row of shelves stocked with the most random items one could possibly find. They must take any assets they can from clients who can’t pay, Tassian reasoned. It was a little detestable but that was just how the underground worked. Life here was brutal, a twisted survival of the fittest.

Someone behind him closed the doors. One of the two thugs picked up a folder and started to rifle through it, looking for something. The other glanced in Tassian’s direction before speaking. “Got yourself in a tough spot, eh?”

“Yea, you could say that,” Tassian said. As he spoke, he did his best to move subtly over so he could get a look at the guy behind him. He kept his hands stuffed into his jacket as he walked.

“How much you lookin’ for? I could get you set up right now. We have quite a bit of cash on hand.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

The man flashed him a devilish smile. “Ain’t nobody around to fuck with us, not after we did ‘em all in.”

Tassian nodded like he understood, feeling that familiar sense of anxiety settle over him. They were going to try to get him to take money right now. He wasn’t prepared for that but it would look too suspicious to decline.

“So, how much you need?”

“Five hundred,” he said quickly.

“A little bit more than just a tough spot, then.” The man shuffled away as he spoke, going over to one of the large shelves and pulled out a heavy looking bag. He unzipped it and withdrew two small pouches of clinking coins. “250 in each.”

He walked over to Tassian and dropped them into his hands, which immediately reinserted themselves into their pockets.

“How much is the interest?”

The thug waved a hand at him, doing his best to appear jovial and easygoing, like they were casual friends. “Don’t worry about that. We can talk about that in a few weeks. It’s just important that you are able to get back onto your feet.” He smiled, showing far too many teeth, as if he wasn’t used to it. “All we gotta do is just take your name down and your handprint.”

The thug who was going through the files finally pulled a blank paper out. Tassian was able to see that it was magically infused. Tassian’s gaze shifted around warily, a bead of anxiety forming, his hands jamming themselves even deeper into his pockets.

The man with the paper set it down on a small table beside Tassian. The first thug spoke, “If you can just put your hand on this paper, then we can file it away and get back into contact with you.”

Tassian didn’t make any move towards the table, instead awkwardly standing in place. The thug gestured at the paper after a moment of uncomfortable silence. He knew that things were about to get rough.

Tassian sighed and walked over to the paper. He stopped in front of it, stared at it for a second, and gingerly reached out a hand. He felt the thick, rough sheet against his fingertips, brimming full of magic. He pressed his hand fully onto it, left it for one second and pulled his hand back, simultaneously glancing over to finally see the thug who was guarding the door. He was looking off to the side, ignoring the transaction that was occurring.

Tassian’s body blocked the paper from the sight of the other two.

“Perfect. We will get in contact with you later,” the first said as he walked over to see the paper and, upon noticing it was as white as when they had first set it down, stopped, confused. “Oh, I think-”

He was cut off by a sharp elbow to the stomach. Tassian continued to push his elbow in, sending the man sprawling to the floor. He glanced at his two other opponents. They were separated by about ten paces, meaning that he wouldn’t be able to get to both in time. He opted for the thug that had originally presented him with the paper.

With a flick of the wrist, both of Tassian’s hands started to crackle with electricity. He made it as if he were going to the man by the door but then launched himself to the right, feet flying across the floor in a blistering fury as he descended upon the surprised thug.

The thug attempted to react but was far too slow and Tassian was able to grab his throat, electrocuting him. He held him for just a brief second before letting him drop to the ground, watching as the man’s body convulsed in repeated shocks.

The thug by the door had recovered from the initial surprise and began yelling loudly.

“Fuck me right in the asshole,” Tassian mumbled to himself, shaking his head before he raced toward the thug. For what it was worth, he tried to put up a defense, having picked up a metal rod that had been lying by the door. Of course, it was useless against someone like Tassian but it was a valiant effort.

He swung at Tassian as soon as he was within distance, only for Tassian to bend just barely low enough that it grazed his back. Tassian slammed his open palm into the man’s throat, ramming the man into the wall behind him while simultaneously electrocuting him. His fall to the ground was much like his friend’s, full of spasmastic twitches and violent convulsions.

The first man Tassian had sent to the ground was climbing up now, hand clutching his stomach. Tassian, rather casually, picked up the metal rod on the ground and threw it at the thug. It sent him right back to the floor, this time out cold.

At just that moment, the door that Tassian had entered burst opening, a stream of thugs pouring through, armed to the teeth with swords, daggers, and maces.

“Well, now I’m really screwed.”

They descended on him, a wave of cold steel and bellows. He dodged a sword swing to his left, sidestepping it, and turned to run deeper into the warehouse. Before he could, he felt a searing pain between his shoulder blades. He looked down at his chest to notice a spear tip peaking out.

All Tassian could think about was how hard it was to get blood out of this coat.

The mob descended upon him, swords and daggers cutting into him. His body hit the floor hard enough to bounce and he blacked out.

♠

Tassian awoke to find himself in a pile of garbage. The stench was so strong that it seeped into his bones and he groaned in pain.

He stared up into the sky and watched the lazy white clouds slowly make their way across the vast blue sea. It was a stark contrast to the pain induced from all the stab wounds. By all accounts, Tassian should have died on the spot, feeling that they had even punctured his heart.

Yet Tassian couldn’t die because he was already dead.

Eventually, he got himself to his feet, figuring that he needed to start moving out of this particular dump before people started to notice that he was still alive. It was always a tricky thing to explain so he preferred to just avoid it altogether.

He noticed he was in a fenced area next to the Ylondas river. Trash overflowed the boundaries, having been piled up far too high. Tassian began his careful descent down and out of the area, scratching at a stab wound that was particularly irritating.

Dark magics flourish in the underground, beneath the noses of those conceited academy pricks. Not that Tassian had willfully cast this particular spell upon himself. Never anger an ascendant, that’s what he had learned or else they will curse you with the burden of life and what a fucking burden it was.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, stifling his growing anger. If his blood started pumping, he would get more of it on his coat, which was already in tatters. He sighed again.

I definitely made a mistake by trying to pursue this particular line of inquiry, he thought to himself. Loan sharks were a dangerous breed, too feisty. No, he would need something that was more his style, more of a mystery.

He hopped over the fence and slipped through an alleyway towards the street. As he made his way through the alley, he noticed a poster. He stopped in front of it.

The poster was requesting any information on the murder of some High Mage and offering rewards at increasing rates, with the highest reward being concrete evidence that would implicate a suspect.

Tassian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again, feeling a headache this time start to settle over him at the thought of all the work it would be to get something like this done. At the very least, though, it was more his speed and Tassian could appreciate that.

Of course, there was always that distant worry that the ascendant who cursed him would come back to fulfill what was started, to use his body as their vessel but until then, Tassian decided, he would keep moving.

♠

Pallas gripped her sword tightly. The time was almost upon them to finally descend on this monstrosity of a city and Pallas couldn’t wait. She had devoured souls before and was not afraid to do so again to protect her peoples. For far too long they had been subjected to their imperialism, forced to give up their land, their riches, their freedom, but no longer.

Her wraiths floated before her, darkness bleeding off them like a black fog. They were far older than any ascendant, perhaps as old as some of the Ancient Axraths themselves. And yet, as old as they were, as powerful as they were, they came to her, the latest to claim ascendancy. Pain’s Wraiths. It had a nice ring to it.

They would strike long before her army was ready. Their duty was to strike fear into the Mishanese city dwellers and cause fear they certainly would.

The old hag wandered up beside her, ambling. “You don’t need them for this,” she said, voice quiet and rasping in the scattering winds.

Pallas gripped her sword tighter, staring over the city from the rocky outcrop. The floaters looked magnificent at night, twinkling like jewels in the nighttime sky.

“And why is that, oh Gray Owlfox?”

She stretched out a hand slowly, trembling with age, and set it onto Pallas’s shoulder. “You are strong now that you’ve ascended.”

Pallas finally turned her gaze from the distant city towards her companion. “Should I not send them?”

“Not tonight but otherwise I do not care.”

“Then why bring it up?”

The old hag coughed into her sleeve. Her body rattled in the nighttime breeze. Pallas often was surprised by just how old she was, as if Gray Owlfox was the eternal guardian of the Moon Elves.

The hag recovered from her fit and looked back to Pallas. “I don’t want you to forget your power. These creatures are old as time itself and many have fallen to entrusting their strength to them entirely. They forget the ways of the Moon.”

Pallas knelt down before her, head bowed, her speech beginning to flow in the tongue of their elder language. “Cast aside your doubts, Fukukïtsu, for I am the Shield of the ways of the Moon. My soul is the desire of our people.”

The old hag seemed content with that. Then, she reached into her robes and pulled out a small metal hair clip. It had been delicately made, the finest display of intricate metalworking that has ever graced the Moon Elves. Two moons adorned each side and in the center was Lady Moon, her peaceful expression captured in exquisite detail, hands folded together in her usual prayerful pose. “The council has declared you to be our matriarch. A hundred years have marched by without one but your achievements have convinced them and your power is the greatest to have been ever seen by our clan. Take this barrette as the manifestation of their declaration.”

Pallas, still kneeling and with her head bowed, offered up two cupped hands. The old hag placed it into them, fingers lingering for an extra moment, capturing in it all the love of their two centuries that they had spent together, master and pupil.

Pallas accepted it, feeling the magic roll off it in waves. Slowly, she pulled her hair back and clipped it into place.

“Rise, First Kachou of the Old Sword.” the hag ordered. She obeyed, drawing herself to her full height, which might have not been intimidating to any human but her very presence was enough to make them stare in awe.

The old hag surprised Pallas by descending to her own knees. It was a painful effort, the hag’s face contorting in pain but a look of resolute determination kept Pallas at bay. She was a stubborn master, one that was steeped in the traditions of old, their loyal defender.

The old hag spoke. “Free us, First Kachou of the Old Sword. Free us from the chains and bondage of slavery. You are our only hope.”

Pallas couldn’t help but look out back over the city laying before them. So much death and destruction had been caused by their hands, their weapons. Time slowly marched on as she anticipated the impending spilling of blood. The time for revolution neared.