The streets reeked of sweat, filth, and desperation. Beggars lined the dirt paths like forgotten relics, their hands outstretched in silent pleas. Children with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes weaved between them, their laughter unnervingly bright against the backdrop of decay. Nine pulled his hood lower, the fabric of his cloak veiling his presence as he navigated through the squalor.
It was one of the beggar districts nestled within the Central Plains, a place that saw everything yet spoke of nothing. Secrets thrived in these narrow alleyways. Information traveled faster than the wind, carried by those who had nothing but their tongues to barter.
Above, flocks of birds circled—a dense, chaotic storm of wings. Carrier pigeons. Couriers of the hidden world.
Nine's eyes flickered with recognition. It had been years, yet nothing had changed. The scent of old memories clung to this place like smoke.
A child's shrill laughter rang out, high and carefree.
"Hahaha! You can't catch me!"
Nine halted mid-step.
A girl with wild hair, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration, darted between the narrow pathways, her bare feet kicking up dust. Her tiny form weaved through the crowd effortlessly, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she stuck her tongue out.
His chest clenched.
Aya.
Nine could almost see her again—small, scrappy, and full of life. He had been just as ragged back then, just as starved. The slums had given them nothing but hardship, but they had carved out joy where they could.
He could still remember the exact way the sun had looked that day, how it had filtered through the gaps in the broken rooftops, spilling golden warmth onto their dirt-streaked faces.
"I can," he had said, grinning.
And then he had bolted after her, his legs a blur.
Aya had shrieked in delight, her laughter mingling with the scent of roasting chestnuts from a street vendor nearby.
"AHHHH! You're cheating!" she had wailed, but she had never stopped running.
Her small feet had barely touched the ground, her wild hair bouncing as she tried to escape. But Nine had been faster, always faster. He had caught her wrist, spinning her around before tackling her to the ground, both of them tumbling into the dust in a tangled mess of limbs.
For a moment, they had simply laid there, breathless, the sky stretching infinitely above them.
Then she had flicked a pebble at his forehead.
"You always win," she had pouted.
Nine had only laughed, nudging her side with his elbow. "Then get faster."
She had huffed but then grinned, her smile brighter than the sun.
Nine blinked.
The illusion shattered.
He exhaled, a slow, measured breath, pulling himself back to the present.
The child he had mistaken for Aya was just another beggar girl, chasing after a ball wrapped in cloth.
His fingers twitched.
How long had it been since those days?
Too long.
He let out a quiet chuckle before slipping into a dilapidated hut, peeling away his cloak.
The air inside was thick with the scent of unwashed bodies and rotting food. A few beggars glanced his way, their gazes momentarily sharp before returning to their idle scratching and gambling.
"Hul," Nine murmured.
A man nearby—a scruffy beggar with a missing tooth and a tunic that might have once been white—scratched at his groin before lazily jerking his chin at another.
A moment later, a voice boomed.
"Lord of Lust."
Nine turned his head just in time to see Hul grinning, his yellowed teeth bared in a feral display.
"I dropped by since I was already here."
"Money." Hul rubbed his fingers together.
Nine rolled his eyes. "Shut the fuck up."
Always about money. Greed clung to the world like rot to wood. The constant obsession disgusted him, yet he had long since learned to wield it as a tool.
With a careless flick of his wrist, he stepped deeper into the hut. Hul followed, his movements lazy but his gaze sharp.
"So, what can I offer you?"
Nine sat cross-legged atop a rickety wooden table, his presence unshaken by the crumbling structure beneath him.
"Tell me about the Lords."
Hul's grin widened as he dragged a worn wooden board forward, its surface covered in ink-drawn portraits. The Seven Lords. Each depicted with an eerie likeness.
"People always come to me for this information." Hul's voice was laced with amusement.
He raised a bony finger—holding a half-eaten chicken foot—and tapped the first portrait.
"Pride."
The inked figure bore an unmistakable arrogance, his features chiseled with a cruel regality. His eyes, even on parchment, seemed to look down upon all who gazed at him, a man who stood at the peak of power and saw the world as his rightful dominion.
"The first essence to appear. He commands the northern regions alongside Gluttony, but Gluttony has already fallen under his rule."
"Skip what I already know," Nine interjected.
"Tch. No patience." Hul clicked his tongue before shifting to the next.
"In the east—Wrath and Greed. Wrath is a wildfire, his mere presence enough to set armies ablaze. And Greed? A shadow with a bottomless hunger, his hands in every fortune, his whispers in every deal. Those two don't tolerate trespassers. Even the birds hesitate to fly over their lands without permission."
His bony finger slid further down the board, tapping a familiar portrait.
"The south—Sloth and Lust." His grin twitched. "Sloth… is an enigma. A phantom presence ruling through silence. And Lust? Well, I hear Lust's territory is changing. Not even finished yet, but it's already gaining a reputation."
Nine smirked.
"I can offer your beggar district a place to stay there," he said casually, eyes gleaming. "Reduced taxes. In exchange, I want your allegiance."
Hul's amusement shifted into sharp consideration. But his hesitation lasted only seconds.
"In what ways can I serve?"
"The usual," Nine replied smoothly. "Information. Connections. Eyes and ears where I need them."
Hul scratched his chin, his nails blackened with grime. "You disappeared for nearly two years. Then reappeared in the western regions, stirring up a market riot… and now, suddenly, you're a Lord."
Nine only winked.
Hul snorted. "Fine, fine. But I assume you want your records clean again?"
A flicker of something unreadable crossed Nine's face. "Yes."
Rats had been digging into his past. Someone had taken a particular interest in his time at the competition.
Nine's fingers drummed against the wood.
"It'll be done," Hul assured. "You helped us enough back in the slums. Wouldn't be right to let someone sniff around your history."
Nine finally stood, tugging his cloak back into place. "Arrive at my domain when I send word."
Hul nodded. Their partnership ran deep—built on necessity, profit, and a mutual understanding of survival.
Nine turned, slipping back into the streets.
But before he returned—
Nine's figure vanished into the trees.
Tonight, he would hunt.
Something fresh. Something warm.
His family deserved only the best.