The bread was gone in three bites, a fleeting comfort against the gnawing hunger. The few credits he'd earned weren't enough for a proper meal, so Ryu navigated the familiar, shadowed paths of the under-tunnels, heading for a market stall that sold day-old, slightly stale nutrient paste at a discount. It was a grim meal, but it was better than nothing.
He was halfway there, passing through a section where the flickering lights had given up entirely, when a pair of figures materialized from the oppressive darkness. They were larger than him, their silhouettes jagged and menacing. "Well, well," a gravelly voice slurred. "Look what we have here. A little dust-rat, all alone."
Ryu's blood ran cold. He recognized them—local thugs who preyed on the weak, the isolated, the perfect victims. His mind raced. He had nothing on him but a few credits and a body already screaming with exhaustion. He could try to run, but his legs felt like lead. He could try to fight, but the memory of Grak's effortless victory was a fresh, painful wound.
"Hand over your credits, rat," the second thug grunted, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles. The sound was unnervingly loud in the narrow tunnel.
Ryu's hand instinctively went to the small pouch tied to his belt. It was a pittance, but it was all he had. The thought of losing it, of the back-breaking labor being for nothing, sparked a flicker of defiance in his chest. "It's not much," he stammered, taking a half-step back.
The first thug laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Doesn't matter. We'll take it. And we'll take a payment in bruises for you wasting our time." He lunged forward, his movements clumsy but fast. Ryu braced himself for the inevitable impact, for the familiar sting of pain and humiliation.
It never came. There was a sudden, almost silent rush of air. A blur of movement so fast it was barely perceptible. A glint of polished steel in the faint, ambient light. The thug who had lunged at him stopped dead, a look of pure shock on his face. His arm, which had been reaching for Ryu, now hung limp at an unnatural angle. A sharp, clear voice cut through the silence. "He said it's not much. I suggest you listen."
The voice was female, calm and imbued with an authority that was utterly out of place in this grimy tunnel. Standing just behind the thugs was a figure Ryu hadn't seen or heard approach. She was slender, clad in a simple, dark tunic, but she held herself with the poised deadliness of a coiled viper. In her hand was a short, elegant blade that seemed to drink the dim light. Her eyes, visible even in the gloom, were fixed on the two thugs with an intensity that promised swift and terrible violence.
The second thug, seeing his partner neutralized without a sound, took a step back, his bravado evaporating into raw fear. "Who… who are you?" he whispered.
"Someone you don't want to know," she replied, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Leave. Now."
They didn't need to be told twice. The injured thug clutched his arm, whimpering, as they scrambled back into the darkness, their footsteps a frantic, clumsy retreat. The silence that descended was heavier than before.
Ryu was frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the woman, this impossible apparition of deadly grace. He recognized the emblem subtly stitched onto her collar—the Azure Dragon. A high clan. What was a warrior of her caliber doing down here? He expected a sneer, a dismissive comment, the usual contempt the powerful held for the weak. Instead, she simply gave him a long, appraising look. Her eyes weren't cruel, but they weren't kind either. They were analytical, as if she were measuring his worth, his potential, or his lack thereof.
"Be more careful," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. Then, with a fluid motion, she sheathed her blade. Without another word, she turned and melted back into the shadows, leaving Ryu alone in the tunnel, his mind reeling. He hadn't been saved by a hero. He had been a piece of scenery in someone else's much larger, much faster world.