The rhythmic patter of rain drummed against the rooftop, cascading down in thin rivulets across the shop's fogged windows. Dim lantern light flickered against the damp wooden walls, casting faint shadows over the countless weapons lining the store. The air smelled of steel, oil, and damp earth—a familiar scent in a city where rain never ceased.
Zay walked along the rows of weapons, his boots lightly tapping against the floor, his gaze shifting across swords, spears, and daggers. Yet none of them called to him. None of them were what he needed. He exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he centered his thoughts.
"This will be the first major weapon I need." He thought to himself.
His amethyst eyes snapped open, sharp and unwavering, as he turned toward the counter. "Do you perhaps have... Midnight Fangs?"
Cas, the shopkeeper, raised a brow before a knowing smirk tugged at his lips. "So, you know about them?" he mused, his voice edged with intrigue. "Is that why you took down that bastard? Hoping I'd reward you for your troubles?"
He scoffed lightly, but there was no malice—just the tone of a man who had seen his fair share of hunters and warriors. He ran his fingers along the glass case in front of him, the surface smeared with faint streaks of condensation from the humid air. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the back of the shop.
The sound of something heavy being dragged across stone echoed from the storage room. A moment later, Cas returned, carrying a box of dark, almost obsidian-like material, pulsing with faint traces of aura-infused protection sigils. It was locked—not just by a key, but by an enchantment woven into its surface.
From beneath the counter, Cas retrieved a small, unassuming key and inserted it into the box. With a click, the seals unraveled, and the aura that once guarded the container dissipated into thin mist. As he lifted the lid, a subtle hum filled the air.
Inside, resting against a velvet-black cloth, lay a pair of gloves as dark as the box, if not darker.
Cas carefully lifted them from the box, placing them onto the glass counter with reverence. The gloves were made of a rare black metal infused into high-grade leather, their surface smooth but reinforced for both dexterity and raw impact. Along the knuckles, faint etchings glowed momentarily before fading into obscurity—runes that enhanced their durability and combat effectiveness. Sharp, curved knuckle blades extended just enough to tear through flesh and armor alike, yet retracted seamlessly when not in use.
But what made them truly unique was the hidden chain woven within them—an enchanted construct bound to the gloves themselves. It could be summoned at will, its length adjustable, its form shifting between whip-like fluidity and rigid steel. The links shimmered faintly under the store's lantern light, betraying an almost predatory presence.
Cas exhaled slowly, crossing his arms. "Midnight Fangs," he said, his voice quieter, more measured. "The only pair I've ever made. Took me over three decades to get the forging just right. They're not just weapons—they're an extension of their wielder. If you can't handle them, they'll be nothing more than a burden."
He paused, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I won't ask how you knew I had these. I assume you have your own reasons, young man."
With that, he stepped back, watching.
Zay's gaze remained locked on the gloves, his fingers hovering just above them.
"This is it."
Zay whispered the words under his breath, his amethyst eyes locked onto the gloves before him. With deliberate movements, he reached forward, his fingers brushing against the cool, midnight-black metal.
He lifted one, feeling its weight. Surprisingly light, yet dense with power. Sliding his hand into it, the material adjusted instantly, wrapping snugly around his fingers as if it had always belonged there. He flexed his hand, testing its responsiveness. The knuckle blades remained retracted, hidden beneath the surface like a beast waiting to strike.
Then, he took the second glove, slipping it on just as smoothly. He stretched his fingers, rolling his wrists as he tested their range of motion. Perfect fit.
He turned on his heel and left the shop, stepping into the cold embrace of the rain. The sky wept, droplets splattering against the damp stone streets as the night's chill seeped into the air. Water slicked his hair as he walked, but he barely noticed—his mind was elsewhere.
He glanced down at his hands. The small, curved blades along the knuckles had disappeared, making the gloves appear deceptively ordinary. Anyone unaware of their nature would mistake them for simple, well-crafted leather gloves.
But he knew better.
"Midnight Fangs…" Zay thought, his fingers clenching slightly. "They're called that because of the midnight-like metal they were crafted from. And the fangs… those are the blades where the knuckles rest."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. That wasn't the only reason they were special.
"The real power lies within the chain."
"The hidden, retractable chain isn't just a simple weapon... it's infused with the Seal of Dissolve, a Seal that has control over poison, venom, and acids strong enough to turn entire cities into lifeless wastelands. Of course, the gloves only carry a base-level of Dissolve, but even that is more than enough for me. It means I can wield its power, without needing to unlock a Seal. A free advantage."
"It's basically an extra Seal," he mused, flexing his fingers.
Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the wet streets in a brief silver glow. The rain kept falling, its rhythm steady, relentless. Zay exhaled, watching his breath fade into the cold night air.
The stone streets glistened under the dim glow of lanterns, their golden light flickering against the rain-slicked cobblestones. The rhythmic drumming of raindrops filled the air, accompanied by the occasional drip… drip… from wooden rooftops that strained under the persistent drizzle.
As Zay walked, his boots splashed through shallow puddles, sending ripples across the uneven stone. The air was damp, carrying the scent of wet earth and aged wood, mingling with the faint aroma of burning firewood from nearby chimneys.
He passed rows of aged houses, their wooden frames darkened from years of rain. The homes were tightly packed together, some with paper-screened windows, where warm candlelight flickered within. Tiny droplets clung to the glass, distorting the silhouettes of the families inside—figures moving, laughing, sharing their meals. A laundry line swayed gently between two buildings, the soaked fabric clinging limply as the rain continued its unrelenting descent.
At one doorstep, a stray cat huddled beneath an awning, its fur damp and matted as it curled up for warmth. Zay barely spared it a glance as he continued forward.
When he finally reached his home, a simple but well-kept wooden house, he raised a hand and knocked. The door slid open with a quiet creak, revealing Renzo standing there, his expression neutral as his gaze flicked over Zay's drenched form.
Without a word, Zay stepped inside, the warmth of the house immediately wrapping around him like a thin veil. He pulled off his soaked boots, setting them neatly near the entrance where a small woven mat absorbed the excess water. His clothes dripped quietly onto the floor as he removed it, the fabric now heavy from the rain.
Stepping into the living room, he found himself surrounded by the familiar presence of his family. The space was modest but filled with warmth—a low wooden table sat at the center, a single lantern flickering softly above. The scent of rich stew and steamed rice lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of old parchment and the ever-present smoky hint of burning incense from the small altar in the corner.
Dale, seated near the table, turned to face him. His voice was casual, but his eyes studied Zay with a flicker of curiosity.
"So, where were you today?"
Zay barely hesitated before replying, his voice smooth yet distant.
"Nowhere special. Just walking around… enjoying the rain."
His gaze drifted downward, settling on the meal already set before him—a steaming bowl of thick stew beside a neatly shaped mound of soft, white rice.
"Thank you for the meal," he murmured before picking up the bowl, lifting it slightly before taking the first bite.
Across the table, Lily quietly observed him. Her deep blue eyes flickered as she noticed the thin, barely visible slashes along his arm. His sleeve had slipped slightly as he lifted the bowl, exposing the faint cuts running across his skin. The wounds weren't deep, but they were fresh—evidence of a fight, or perhaps training he hadn't spoken about.
Yet, she remained silent. For now.
Beside him, Renzo sat down, grabbing his own meal without a word. Across the room, Maple was finishing her food. She placed her empty bowl down carefully before bowing her head slightly.
"T-thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
With slow, deliberate movements, she rose to her feet, brushing off the folds of her long, pink robe, ensuring no dust had settled on the fabric. The silk shimmered faintly under the lantern's glow, the light tracing the delicate embroidery along the sleeves.
Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down her back, smooth as flowing ink, swaying gently as she turned. She walked with quiet grace, as she made her way down the dimly lit corridor leading to her room. The wooden floor creaked ever so slightly beneath her steps before she finally reached her door.
With a soft, almost ghost-like motion, she slid it closed behind her.
The house fell into a comfortable silence once more, the only sounds being the occasional crackle of the lantern and the gentle patter of rain against the windows.
Zay took another bite, his gaze turning to a window and watched the rain.