CHAPTER 6
Alicia didn't sleep the night she escaped. She found shelter beneath a thick-rooted tree, her back against damp earth, eyes fixed on the canopy above. The forest creaked and rustled around her, cold wind threading through the leaves. She didn't mind. Compared to metal restraints and tiled floors, this was freedom.
The orphanage had been a trap pretending to be a home for helpless children .
She pondered about how they didn't get caught trafficking kids when they get missed but then it was a big possibility that the " adoptive parents" were not actually who they seemed to be
Now Alicia was in need of Food, shelter and safety and to get that she needed money , money was always the problem, be it in her previous or current life.
Now without it, she'd be hunted, used, discarded and humiliated ( not that she will of course) . But with it, she could buy protection, information, and eventually, power. Revenge wasn't on her mind. She didn't care about the others. Escaping the room she was caged in was already a win, Now she wanted more.
By dawn, she was up , walking aimlessly The road at the forest's edge was cracked and sun-bleached. She followed it for hours, hiding in ditches whenever vehicles passed. Eventually, she reached the outskirts of a city. Smoke curled from factory chimneys. The air stank of metal and exhaust. It was perfect.
She slipped through the industrial border unnoticed, one face among thousands. No one cared about a dirty, lone child in a place like this. She found shelter behind a junkyard wall and slept on flattened cardboard. It wasn't comfortable but it was better then nothing after all .
Over the next few days, she explored the slums, moving through alleys and watching from shadows. She stole food whenever the chance allowed her to , or traded stolen cigarette packs for scraps.
Days after days passed and she noticed a certain pattern
She noticed a courier—a teenager with twitchy hands—delivering small black packages regularly to a place called The Ember Room.
Curious, she followed him from a distance. She watched how he was let in at the back entrance after muttering what seemed like a password shared between them "Flint burns twice." she recalled .
That night, Alicia formed a plan to earn money and get experience at the same time
She approached the same door, dirt smeared on her face, her expression blank. She repeated the same phrase.
The doorman looked her over, scrutinizing her slightly then stepped aside allowing her to enter.
Inside, The Ember Room was dim, smoke-heavy, and full of silence. Men spoke in hushed voices. She could see that the liquor bottles were mostly for show. This wasn't a bar—it was a front.
Similar to the 287th hunter exam's entrance, the elevator was in the backroom
Behind it, a stairwell led somewhere deeper. She didn't explore it yet , She wasn't ready to. But she listened to every hush and whisper around her.
She heard mentions of shipments, new recruits, dock rotations—code words for illegal business. It didn't take much to understand what the place was. This branch was part of a larger criminal network. A mid-tier mafia group with real resources. Dangerous, yes—but also profitable.
Alicia began leaving small items behind on the bar counter each night: a ring, a watch, a silver clip—trinkets she had stolen from careless marks , and a small piece of paper expressed on it the desire to work for them as a way of showing her determination
On the fourth night, she found a note under a glass.
[ meet me in the alley at midnight ]
"There was no signature to it" Alicia noted
Flipping the paper
She read it once, memorized the handwriting, and burned it in a trash can nearby. Then she walked away from the scene
This was her chance to gain money after becoming practically homeless now
" I thought about going to heavens area but the distance is too far and I don't know how to board an airship " she scratched her head
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Midnight came, and Alicia stood alone in the alley like the note said , anxiety bubbling up in her stomach
The alley was narrow, tucked between two crumbling buildings in Lowtown. A single flickering lamp overhead cast just enough light to draw shadows, not banish them. Trash bins lined the walls, their lids half open, the air thick with the smell of rot and oil. It was quiet , too quiet.