The dawn struggled to break through the choking haze of Blackgate, casting long sickly beams between the buildings and rusted scaffolds. Rook Varn pulled his threadbare cloak tighter against the cold that clung to every surface, the faint glow of runes flickering weakly along his forearm beneath the sleave.
He moved quickly, weaving though the allies and cracked streets, careful to avoid the eyes of the Varnettes, the gang that ruled this district with ruthless domination. Every step was measured, every breath shallow, as if the slightest sound would summon them.
At the edge of the Bleeds, Mira waited beneath a rusted overhang, clutching a stolen scrap of bead like it was her own treasure. Her eyes brightened when she saw him, the exhaustion of the slums momentarily lifted by hope.
"Did you find anything today?" she asked, her voice barely above the natural hum of the city.
Rook shook his head. "Nothing worth the risk. The Lean's tighter than ever. But tomorrow...tomorrow's Ascension. That's when things change."
Mira's smile faltered. "I'm scared."
Rook knelt before her, pressing a calloused hand to her shoulder. You'll be safe. I promise I'll find a way."
As the first distant echoes of the Ascension bells began to toll, Rook's gaze drifted upward to the towering spires of the Thalspire, where the magical elite awaited their own fate. Somewhere up there, his future was written in glowing runes
But down here, in Blackgate's shadows, his story was just beginning.