Noir lingered behind the broken pillar, heart steady but mind alert. He had learned quickly that eavesdropping in a place like the Scrapyard could mean the difference between survival and sudden disappearance. The fire crackled before the lizardfolk group, their murmured words growing more urgent.
The name returned.
"Cloud Solslade."
The air stilled.
Even the embers seemed to dim at the sound of it.
"He's one of the Dragon-kin," someone whispered, "The only one who speaks to the surface city. He controls the border checkpoints. Nothing gets in or out without his command."
"Don't be stupid," another muttered. "Cloud Solslade doesn't speak to them. He commands them. That thing doesn't lead from the shadows, he rules from a throne of smoke and pride."
"Traitor," spat an older voice. "A Dragon-kin siding with the elite. Selling out his own people to keep them down here like rats."
"He's not our people," the first speaker snapped. "He's something else."
Noir blinked.
So this Cloud Solslade… was both a myth and a tyrant? A Dragon-kin powerful enough to seal an entire undercity with nothing but his presence?
"And he's here," another said, trembling. "He's here again. We felt it in the pipes. The pressure changed."
The group fell silent.
Noir leaned closer, attempting to memorize faces, voices—anything useful. He shifted his foot just slightly.
Snap.
A rusty bolt popped from beneath his shoe.
Noir froze.
Then—
BAM!
The ground under him gave way. He let out a yelp, arms flailing wildly as he tumbled backward off his perch. His limbs windmilled in cartoonish panic, one foot catching an exposed pipe, slamming his face into a metal wall on the way down.
"GAH—my spine! My dignity!" Noir wheezed as he landed face-first in a heap of half-melted crates and gooey nanotech sludge. "WHY IS IT WARM?!"
Silence.
Then footsteps.
Fast.
Too fast.
Noir struggled to roll over only to see a blur of scaled figures rush toward him—bare feet slamming the ground with a tempo of thunder. No hesitation. No acceleration.
Just.
Speed.
"...Welp." Noir raised both hands. "I regret everything."
The group of lizardfolk surrounded him in seconds. He was yanked up, spun around, and tied with braided wire faster than he could blink.
He now sat pinned to a pole like a roast chicken, blinking furiously as the world spun around him.
"Who are you?" one hissed, blade raised near his cheek.
"You don't look like you're from here," another said. "He's got Earth skin."
"And he smells like real air."
"Human."
Noir sighed.
"I was trying to help," he muttered.
"Speak!" the larger lizardfolk barked.
"Okay, okay! I'm from Earth. I was exiled. Not here to spy or report or whatever. I'm just a guy trying to do something decent before I get vaporized again."
They stared.
Noir looked from one blade to the next.
"I left Earth," he continued. "I'm not one of the elites. I was thrown into space like a war crime. I ended up here by accident and saw the hole and thought… why not?"
They blinked.
"I want to help," Noir said with a nervous shrug. "I mean, you guys are clearly stuck here, oppressed, trapped by some dragon tyrant dude named Cloud Solslade, and honestly, I'm not doing much else with my life right now."
A long silence followed.
Then the blade dropped slightly.
"We don't trust humans," the leader said flatly.
"Good instinct," Noir agreed. "Half of them don't trust me either."
Snorts of laughter erupted from two of the younger lizardfolk.
The elder spoke again. "You want to help?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll scout for us."
Noir raised an eyebrow.
"Scout?"
"There are tunnel routes we can't risk with our own. Not after last week. If you survive, maybe we'll talk more."
Noir smiled slightly.
"Sure. Dangerous recon mission with zero information or preparation? Sounds like how I got exiled in the first place."
The ropes came off.
One of them tossed him a cracked old datapad.
The map flickered.
"You start at sunrise."
(To be continued...)