Windy Alley was unlike any other corner of Ormuth. Narrow, dark, and damp, it was filled with shadowy figures drifting silently like zombies. The moment Lukas set foot in the alley's boundaries, he felt several pairs of eyes sizing him up, hungry and predatory. He pulled his hood low over his head and face, his right hand resting lightly on the plasma pistol holstered at his left hip, thumb brushing the activation switch out of habit. He knew this place was dangerous—his instincts, honed as a former Astralis soldier, screamed that he was walking into a trap.
At the end of the alley, a rusted steel door came into view, faint blue light seeping through its cracks, accompanied by whispers and the soft clink of metal. Lukas paused, checking the bio-scanner in his backpack. Its screen flickered, confirming three life signs inside—weak, but enough to know someone was waiting for him. He knocked three times, steady and deliberate, the familiar Ormuth signal for a non-hostile arrival.
The door screeched open with a piercing wail. A short, wiry man in a tattered cloak, his face marred with battle scars, blocked the way. "Who're you looking for?" he rasped, his hand gripping a dagger half-hidden under his cloak.
"Lukas Voren, freelance hunter," Lukas replied, his voice low and steady. "I'm here for the info broker. Got some Valer to trade."
The scarred man smirked, his eyes scanning Lukas from head to toe. "Valer? Everyone's got Valer. But we don't take kindly to strangers here. Who are you, really?"
Lukas kept his tone calm, his gaze locked on the man's every move. "Like I said, Lukas Voren. I don't work for Valeria—hell, I despise them. I just need info on someone, quick and clean, then I'm gone."
The scarred man gave a soft grunt but stepped aside, motioning Lukas in. Inside the cramped bunker, the air was thick with the stench of machine oil and tobacco. Two others sat around a metal table—a woman with short, green-dyed hair and eyes sharp as blades, and a hulking man with a mechanical arm that whirred faintly with each movement. On the table sat an encrypted comms device, its screen flashing signals Lukas recognized instantly: resistance tech, the kind Valeria hunted relentlessly.
"What do you want, Voren?" the green-haired woman said, her voice icy. "Ormuth isn't a playground for bounty hunters sniffing around."
Lukas pulled a wanted poster from his jacket, placing it on the table but keeping his fingers over the detailed description. "I'm looking for someone. Codename Nightingale. I know she was in Ormuth two days ago. Any of you know anything about her?"
The three exchanged glances, and the air in the bunker grew heavy. The big man clenched his mechanical fist, the metal creaking. "Nightingale? You must be out of your mind. Sure, Valeria's got a fat bounty on her, but no one dares touch her. She shows up and vanishes like a ghost."
Lukas frowned, sensing the resistance in their tone. "I don't work for Valeria," he said, his voice low but firm. "I work for myself. If she's with Zytherya, I need to know what she's up to. I might not turn her in."
The green-haired woman let out a sharp laugh, leaning forward. "Sounds nice, Voren. But you expect us to trust a guy who once marched under Valeria's banner? Lucius Varrus, right? Word about you's spread all over Zytherya. Astralis Academy's traitor, now a bounty hunter. Who do you think you're fooling?"
The scarred man by the door cut in, his raspy voice tinged with reluctant respect. "Gotta hand it to you, Voren. Takes guts to walk away from a golden future in the Republic, all for some bleeding heart. Not many can turn their back on the phoenix crest and live to tell the tale. But that doesn't mean we trust you."
Lukas's grip tightened, the name Lucius Varrus cutting like a knife through his past. He felt their scrutiny—not just suspicion, but a flicker of curiosity, even grudging respect. Keeping his face neutral, he replied, "Rumors are just rumors. I'm not Lucius Varrus anymore. I just want info on Nightingale. If you won't talk, I'll find her myself. But if she falls into the hands of the Astralis Legion, don't blame me."
The green-haired woman raised a hand, silencing the others. She studied Lukas, her eyes weighing him carefully. "Yesterday, a girl was in the western smelting district. Black cloak, hood pulled tight over her face. She was asking about a stolen Xylara shipment. No one saw her face, but her voice… definitely Zytheran accent. She left this." She slid a small metal fragment across the table, etched with a symbol: a nightingale with burning wings.
Lukas picked up the piece, his fingers tracing the intricate engraving. This wasn't just some random mark—it was the emblem of Zytherya's resistance, something Valeria feared but never publicly acknowledged. He pocketed the metal and gave a slight nod. "Thanks. I'll take it from here."
"Don't make us regret talking to you, Voren," the big man growled. "If you hand her over to Valeria, no corner of Zaether's jungles will hide you."
Lukas stepped out of the bunker, the steel door screeching shut behind him like a final warning. He melted into the crowd of the night market, neon lights in greens and reds flickering overhead, illuminating the weary faces of merchants, bounty hunters, and smugglers. Lukas pulled his hood lower, his sharp gaze scanning every corner, alert for anything out of place. The smelting district lay at Ormuth's western edge, where massive smokestacks belched black clouds and crimson flames roared like a beast breathing in the dark. If Nightingale was there, she wasn't working alone.
As he crossed a narrow alley toward the main road, Lukas noticed a small figure trailing him from a distance. He paused at a stall selling dried fruits, pretending to inspect a bag of roasted seeds, but his eyes tracked the reflection in a metal sheet hanging nearby. The figure ducked behind a cart stacked with metal crates, moving clumsily—a kid, probably no older than fifteen, with messy hair and eyes glinting brightly in the shadows.
Lukas turned and strode toward the cart. The kid flinched, ready to bolt, but Lukas was faster, grabbing her by the collar before she could slip into the crowd. "Don't run," he said, voice low but not threatening. "You've been tailing me since Windy Alley, haven't you? Speak. What do you want? Why're you following me?"
The kid, a girl with a face smudged with soot, squirmed but couldn't break free. "Let go! I didn't do anything!" Her voice was shrill, laced with a Zytheran accent, but her eyes were sharp, like a cornered animal.
"I saw you skulking since I left the bunker," Lukas said, loosening his grip but blocking her escape. "What do you want? Talk, or I'll make you."
The girl scowled, her eyes flickering between fear and defiance. "I thought Valeria trained all their officers to be proper gentlemen. Why so rough, huh, Lucius Varrus?"
Lukas's eyes widened. "How do you know about me?"
"I overheard you talking with those three back there," she said, wriggling and then biting his hand hard enough to sting. "Let me go, and we'll talk properly. I know about the person you're looking for."
Lukas released her collar, the girl reminding him of his younger self—stubborn and not easily intimidated. He pulled out the metal fragment with the nightingale emblem and held it up. "I'm looking for her. If you know something, spill it. I've got Valer to pay."
The girl, calling herself Ryn, glanced at the metal, hesitation flashing in her eyes. She clenched her fists, wrestling with something inside. "I… I know where she is," Ryn finally whispered, so quiet Lukas had to lean in to hear. "But I need your help, Voren. No help, no talk. Not a word."
Lukas frowned, puzzled. "Help with what? How much Valer?"
Ryn shook her head fiercely, her eyes blazing. "Not money! My parents are being squeezed by loan sharks. They owe from a loan during the drought, with interest so high no one could pay it. Yesterday, they took my sister—Lira—to force my parents to pay up. If you save her or take those bastards down, I'll tell you exactly where Nightingale's hiding."
"Are you crazy? You borrow, you pay. I'm already breaking my back to clear my own debts," Lukas said.
"You don't get it," Ryn snapped. "These aren't just lenders—they're mobsters. They run dirty deals. Take them out, and you could even claim a bounty from Valeria for their heads." She pulled out a wanted poster for the gang and shoved it toward him.
"Why not go to the cops?" Lukas asked, skeptical.
"The cops around here are all in on it," Ryn shot back, sounding far older than her years. "Reporting them is like signing your own death warrant."
"Alright, let's move. This place doesn't feel right," Lukas said, noticing a few piercing stares aimed their way.
He motioned for Ryn to follow, leading her through narrow alleys thick with the lingering stench of machine oil and scorched materials. He picked a secluded spot behind an abandoned forge, where the clanging of hammers had long gone silent. Dim neon light cast their shadows on the peeling, stained walls.
"Talk," Lukas said, crossing his arms, his gaze sharp as he studied Ryn. "Who are these loan sharks? Where are they? And how do I know you're not spinning a story to drag me into trouble?"
Ryn stood tall, her scrawny shoulders trembling slightly. "I'm not lying. They're called the Black Sword, a gang of space pirates holed up in the North District. Their base is near an old warehouse by the docks. Lira's locked up there—I'm sure of it. I tailed them yesterday and saw her tied up. If we don't move fast, they'll do something to her."
Lukas frowned. Black Sword, huh? If Ryn could tail them as clumsily as she did without getting caught, they were probably amateurs. But what gave him pause was their numbers. Taking on an entire gang alone wasn't a small feat, especially when he was racing against time to find Nightingale.
"You said they're wanted? Show me," Lukas said, his voice low with interest.
Ryn rummaged through her tattered coat, pulling out a crumpled, yellowed sheet. Lukas snatched it, his eyes scanning the handwritten text and the red seal of the district magistrate. The wanted poster listed three Black Sword leaders: Skarr, a giant with a scar slashing across his face; Veyra, a female assassin known for her poisons; and Torq, the mastermind who stayed in the shadows. The bounty for each head was 10,000 Valer—enough to chip away at Lukas's debts if he pulled it off.
"Not bad, kid," Lukas said, folding the paper and tucking it into his jacket. "But if I do this, I need to know you're not playing me. Nightingale—do you know exactly where she is, or is this just hearsay?"
Ryn bit her lip, her eyes wavering. "I swear, I know. She's… she's at a place called the Safehouse, a hidden bunker under Rainbow Street. Only her network knows the way in. I've run messages for them, so I know the path. But if you don't help Lira, I won't take you there. No deal, no matter how much Valer you've got."
Lukas sighed, rubbing his temple. He hated being cornered, but this kid had what he needed. Besides, the thought of the Black Sword stirred his blood. If they were as rotten as Ryn said, taking them down wouldn't just help her—it'd be a chance to clean out a filthy corner of this city.
"Fine," he said at last, his voice resolute. "I'll deal with the Black Sword. But you're coming with me. You'll point me to that warehouse, and if anything smells off, you're the first I'm holding accountable."
"Deal. If something goes wrong, you can take my head first. But watch out—they're not small fry. They've got guards and traps everywhere," Ryn said, her face cautious.
"Haha! You've got some guts, kid. What's that head of yours worth for me to bother taking?" Lukas laughed, giving her a playful smack on the head.
"Ow! I'm serious!" Ryn snapped, her voice carrying the petulant edge of a child.
The two left the shadowed corner, stepping into the night. Lukas led the way, his steps quick but careful, while Ryn trailed close behind, her soot-streaked eyes glinting with fiery determination.