Dawn crept across the rooftops of Lowend, casting long shadows through the city's forgotten veins. The air smelled of ash and rot, but Ash Draven breathed it in like incense.
He wasn't looking for clean streets or noble allies.
He was looking for fire in the dirt.
Kael walked beside him, quiet but alert. His bruises had begun to fade, and his eyes had gained a new sharpness. Ash noticed.
"Healing well," Ash said.
"I heal fast," Kael muttered. "Been doing it most of my life."
Ash smirked. "You'll need that skill."
They turned a corner and stepped into a crumbling courtyard where a group of rough figures stood waiting. Word had spread quickly—someone in Lowend had broken the gang known as the Carrion Fangs in a single night. Some thought it was a lie. Others came to see if it was true.
Ten men. Two women. All armed. All watching Ash with cautious eyes.
One of them stepped forward. Big, scarred, and dangerous-looking. A heavy axe hung on his back.
"You the one who took down Gorn?" the man asked.
"I am."
The man grunted. "You look too clean."
Ash tilted his head. "You look too loud."
Some in the crowd chuckled. Others tensed.
The big man narrowed his eyes. "You called us here for a reason. Speak fast before I decide I don't care."
Ash stepped into the center of the ruined square.
"I'm not offering gold," he said. "I'm not promising safety. I'm offering something you've never had before."
He let the silence stretch.
"Purpose."
A few scoffed. The axe-man crossed his arms.
"You're mad."
Ash nodded. "Probably. But madmen build kingdoms when cowards won't move."
He turned slowly, addressing all of them.
"You've lived your whole lives under someone else's boot. You've begged. Fought. Watched your friends die in alleys while nobles sip wine behind their walls. I don't care what crimes you've done or what blood is on your hands. What I care about is this—"
He unsheathed his short iron blade and drove it into the ground with a sharp clang.
"Are you ready to burn this world and build something better?"
No one spoke.
Then, Kael stepped forward.
"I am," he said, loud enough for all to hear.
Ash looked at him. Didn't nod. Didn't smile.
Then another stepped forward. A thin woman with cold eyes and a burn scar down her neck. She said nothing—just moved to stand beside Kael.
Then a third.
And a fourth.
The axe-man cursed and shook his head. "You're all fools," he muttered. "He'll get you killed."
Ash met his gaze. "Then die alone, coward."
The man froze.
Ash's words weren't loud. But they were said with such certainty, such conviction, that they cut deeper than steel.
And so the man turned.
And left.
By nightfall, Ash had seven.
Seven broken, dangerous, loyal souls.
Not soldiers. Not yet.
But embers.
Kael sat beside the fire again, watching them talk, laugh, argue. They didn't know each other. But something was forming.
Ash knelt across from him, sharpening his blade.
"You saw it," Ash said quietly.
Kael nodded. "They followed."
"Because they're tired of surviving," Ash said. "They want to live."
Kael looked down. "I've never belonged to anything."
Ash glanced at him. "Now you do."
In the distance, atop the golden walls of Ravenmark, a noble lord sat in his study, sipping tea. He glanced at a parchment report.
Unrest in Lowend. Minor.
He tossed it aside.
Just another ripple in the mud.
He didn't know.
Not yet.
That something was rising from that mud. Something that would one day reach his gates and burn everything he called order