No. 120 Beatrice Alley – 5:45 PM
"Finally, a little peace…" Edward sighed softly.
After leaving the rundown shop in the suburbs behind, he wandered slowly along the illuminated stores of Beatrice Alley, paying no mind to the curious glances he occasionally received. His gaze lingered on the jewels displayed in the windows—far too dazzling for someone like him.
He repeated this pattern countless times: walking, stopping, staring, until the sun began to set, tinting the golden reflections of the displays with shades of orange.
Realizing he had been wandering for too long, he decided to change course and head straight home. But something stopped him along the way: a captivating scent sliced through the air, making his mouth water instantly.
He walked on, lost in the scent for an indeterminate amount of time, until he found himself standing in front of a flashy bar known as Astarte. Through the window, he could see several waitresses in provocative attire serving customers, while a soft melody filled the air.
He knew the place like the back of his hand.
"The roast they serve here is divine."
He paused for a moment, saliva pooling in his mouth, debating whether it was worth the risk to step inside just to satisfy his hunger. Then his eyes caught something out of place—two children sitting outside, near the window.
They were motionless, staring at a chicken leg served to a careless customer on the other side of the glass.
Edward observed them for a few moments. His usually impassive expression grew heavy, shadowed by something hard to name. One look was enough: they were severely malnourished. Sunken eyes, skin clinging to bones, expressions caught between longing and resignation.
He controlled the urge to sigh. His face returned to its usual neutrality—a mask useful in hard times—and in that instant, his decision was already made.
"Damn… this is going to give me a headache."
A bitter thought, as he walked toward the two children.
He approached carefully, mindful not to startle them and risk a misunderstanding. As he drew closer, he began to notice their features more clearly.
The taller one had ruby eyes and silvery hair like spiderweb threads, with a small mole beneath her left eye. The smaller child had emerald-green eyes, and her dark brown hair barely reached her ears.
"Hey, little ones," he called, his tone neutral, crouching to meet their height.
Startled by the sudden voice, the children jumped to their feet, assuming a stance that made it clear: they were ready to run at any moment.
"W-what do y-you want?!" stammered the one with red eyes, trying to sound firm despite her trembling voice.
Watching this, Edward felt a sharp pang of sadness tighten in his chest.
"Why is it always kids…?" he thought bitterly.
He exhaled heavily, regaining composure before asking:
"Is it just the two of you?"
The children shivered, and silence fell heavily between them.
"I… phrased that poorly…"
Feeling misunderstood, he rubbed his temple and glanced at the glass to his left. Inside, a chubby customer was savoring a juicy, steaming roast chicken.
Edward sighed and returned his gaze to the children.
"You want that, right? Come on. It's on me."
He stood and walked calmly toward the bar's door.
"Whatever… if they want it, they'll follow."
Casting a glance over his shoulder and seeing the children still frozen, he couldn't resist speaking, contradicting his own thoughts:
"What are you waiting for?"
The children exchanged a look, then silently began following the man in short, cautious steps—ready to flee if needed.
After confirming they were following, Edward turned the handle and pushed the heavy dark wooden door—but was immediately stopped by a muscular man, over six feet tall, with copper-toned skin and dark sunglasses.
"What's with the glasses?" Edward wondered, intrigued.
The man stepped forward, scanning Edward from head to toe with a firm gaze. Slowly, he removed his sunglasses and spoke with a deep, rigid voice:
"You're not welcome here, Edward Gravik."
The children, already suspicious, took a step back, fearing the situation might escalate.
Edward, however, smirked, leaning slightly forward until he was face-to-face with the man.
"Been a while, Joe. How's Clare?" he said, a teasing smile probing the giant's reaction.
Joe's face remained expressionless for a second… then his teeth clenched.
"You've lost the right to speak her name, Gravik," he growled, jaw taut. "Here to cause trouble again?"
Edward let out a low, humorless laugh and took a step closer, narrowing the distance.
"Trouble? I thought that was the only language spoken in here," his eyes sparkled with irony. "But no, Joe. I'm just hungry… and generous."
Joe tensed slowly, muscles coiling under the tight shirt, eyes fixed on Edward like a predator ready to strike.
Edward, unfazed, pulled the cigarette from the corner of his mouth, exhaled smoke sideways, and said with disdain:
"No need to scratch yourself so much. If you wanted to start, you would've already tried."
Silence fell, broken only by the muted music drifting from the bar. A drop of sweat slid down the temple of a customer watching from the window.
"Are you really going to humiliate yourself in front of the children, Joe?" Edward's provocation sliced the air like a thin blade.
The security guard's jaw clenched, knuckles cracking as he closed his fists.
"I've seen corpses treated with more respect than you, Gravik."
"And I've seen doors behave more politely than you," Edward shot back, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head slightly. "Now, either you let me pass, or you'll just be another obstacle to a decent meal."
For a brief moment, it seemed confrontation was inevitable. Then a female voice broke the tension, soft yet authoritative:
"It's fine, Joe. Let him in."
The tension snapped like a wire. Joe didn't move immediately but lowered his shoulders and reluctantly stepped aside, opening the way.
Edward smiled sideways.
"Always so obedient…"
He stepped through the door, the children following at a cautious but curious distance.
Inside, Astarte seemed like another world—red and amber lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting dancing shadows across walls draped with luxurious tapestries and dusty mirrors.
The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, sweet wine, and tobacco—a dense fragrance, almost tangible, like the perfume of decadence.
Edward inhaled deeply, absorbing the heavy atmosphere—a stark contrast to the subtle chill outside.
At the far end of the hall, between carved columns depicting women and a few Latents, a woman sat on a velvet throne, flanked by cushions and half-empty bottles. Her presence dominated the room effortlessly. She wore a black silk dress embroidered with gold, highlighting both her elegance and power. A fan rested in her lap, but it was her gaze that held attention: sapphire eyes that seemed to pierce the soul of anyone daring to meet them for more than a second.
"Edward Gravik…" she said, her voice velvety and precise like a finely tuned harp string. "I never thought you'd come back… let alone with company."
She subtly glanced at the children, who hesitated at the doorway, partly hiding behind Edward's legs.
"Were you missing my food or my company?"
"The roast," he replied without hesitation, moving toward an empty table. "But if the company is still complimentary, I'll accept that too."
Her lips curved in a small smile, though her eyes remained cold.
"Always bold…" she murmured. "But you're not here by accident this time, are you?"
Edward pulled out a chair, glancing at the children, who still seemed hesitant to move.
"Sit," he said in a gentler tone, then looked back at the woman on the throne. "You're right. I'm not here by accident."
She closed her fan slowly and crossed her legs.
"Then speak… or shall we discuss it after dinner?"
Edward exhaled smoke toward the ornate ceiling.
"If it's the same chef as last time, I don't mind waiting."
She snapped her fingers, and two theatrically styled waitresses emerged from the shadows with menus and wine pitchers.
"Is… this really for us?" asked the red-eyed child, saliva dribbling at the corner of her mouth.
"But… isn't this too expensive?" the shy one asked, eyes down, wary of a trap.
Edward smiled smugly.
"If you don't want to eat, just pass it over here."
The children exchanged a look and silently began devouring the food before them. Edward stood nearby, watching with a quiet satisfaction warming his chest, ignoring the cruel woman providing the meal.
While they ate, he spoke:
"So… what are your names?"
"We never knew our parents, so we don't really have names… But… some people call us Gomi (ごみ)," replied the red-eyed child, smearing herself with meat.
"Trash?" Edward thought, a twinge of anger understanding the meaning.
"Have you ever considered going to one of the local orphanages?" he asked curiously.
"That's the easiest way to have a somewhat peaceful childhood."
The child paused, glancing sideways at Edward.
"I… don't like that place," the red-eyed girl said.
"The priest has a big black blotch with a mouth on his back… it scares me," whispered the timid one.
"A Latent with a moderate corrosion rate… understandable they're scared," Edward thought.
"I see… but it's still the best choice. There, you'll have food and a roof over your heads. Besides, the priest isn't that strange."
The children exchanged surprised glances, then asked in unison:
"What do you mean?"
Edward was silent for a moment. He raised the glass of whiskey to his lips, finished the last sip, and set it slowly on the table.
Without turning to them, he lifted the left side of his shirt.
The two froze.
The man who had given them food—the seemingly kind one—had a black blotch extending from his right waist to his left armpit. It pulsed grotesquely, alive. Rows of sharp teeth protruded, and pairs of eyes rolled frantically, searching… for something.
Seeing the children's shocked faces, Edward lowered his shirt calmly and gestured for the waiter to bring another glass.
"This is normal among adults. You'll have to get used to it. There are far uglier people out there."
He sipped the new whiskey, a faint smile forming.
The children nodded silently, absorbing what they had just witnessed, and returned to devouring the fatty meat, fearing they might be sent away before filling their stomachs.
From afar, the madame observed, lips curled in a discreet smile—a smile full of secrets and hidden intentions.
…
Time passed slowly. Soon, the plates were clean.
Edward asked no more questions, only observing quietly, savoring each sip as if it were his last bit of peace. He glanced toward the velvet throne with a hint of regret.
"…damn… why am I so unlucky?"
He rose calmly and reserved two rooms at the inn—one for the children, one for himself.
He led them to the second floor, handing the key to the red-eyed girl. Without another word, he returned downstairs.
The girl watched him walk away, noticing a small folded napkin in his hand:
"Lock the door or escape through the window."
…
The bar had grown quieter. The crowd thinned, and conversations became muted murmurs.
Edward crossed the hall and settled near the exit, leaning back, eyes fixed on the yellowed moon above, looking tired. He silently drew a new cigarette from the pack, placed it in his mouth, and lit it calmly.
Moments later, the madame approached, flanked by her numerous guards.
"What charming children," she said, with a fake smile, settling opposite him.
Edward did not hide his scorn, replying sharply:
"What do you want, Miss Rouge?" He tapped the cigarette on the ashtray with a small snap.
A crooked smile appeared as she leaned back, eyes fixed on the moon as if speaking banalities.
"Killing seventeen of mine wasn't free… and you know it," she said with forced sweetness, venom laced in each syllable.
She crossed her legs elegantly and continued:
"You're still wandering with that man, aren't you? I want information about him."
"He's been too busy loafing around," Edward replied weakly, drawing another cigarette.
"I just ran into him today by sheer luck. I don't know if I have anything worthwhile to share."
As they spoke, Edward's eyes scanned the hall, analyzing each guard—stance, weapons, distance—and escape routes.
"This won't end well," he thought, brow furrowed slightly.
"I see," she nodded calmly. "Then tell me everything you know about his mark."
"Does she want him dead?" he wondered.
For a moment, he hesitated. Sharing that information with her could be a mistake.
"That bastard's annoying… but he's too connected to ignore."
Seconds passed. Edward straightened in the chair, a faint smile on his lips.
"…How much are you willing to pay?" he joked, blowing smoke. "In the end, any choice would lead to the same place." His eyes stayed on her, body subtly tensing, muscles coiling like ropes about to snap.
Four guards stepped forward, silent but menacing—the implicit answer clear.
Edward let out a weak laugh, almost a sigh.
"You're really stingy…"
Rouge smiled, that forced sweetness hiding blades behind her teeth.
"We don't survive by the whim of fate," she murmured venomously, standing.
"Be polite to him, okay? He's still valuable to us," she added, patting Joe's shoulder with a sweet smile as she moved away from the quiet hall.
Edward watched her retreat calmly as her guards emerged from all directions, circling like hyenas around a carcass.
He drew the last cigarette from the pack, bringing it to his lips, lighting it with a brass lighter worn by time, etched with strange symbols that glimmered faintly in the flame.
"I should have ignored those kids…" he sighed inwardly.
The room seemed to darken. The lighter flickered like the only living spark in the suffocating gloom.
The guards noticed the change and stepped forward—just a hand's width away—when a low, irregular sound trembled in Edward's abdomen.
A hungry growl, almost animalistic, as if something within had awakened.
Clack! The lighter snapped shut, and darkness seemed to swallow the hall.
Instinctively, the men turned to Edward… but all they saw was a shadow.
Nothing remained—no light, no scent, no floor beneath their feet—only an ethereal voice whispering directly into their minds:
"Blame that snake for this."
…