Damn it...
The cold air whispered with a taught, merciless edge
a gaze so sharp it felt like a blade slipping beneath human skin.
It peeled at him, slowly, deliberately, as though the night itself wished to strip him bare of everything he was.
The lingering frost clung to the dim light, each breath of wind striking his flesh like a frigid hand. A flash of pale light cut across his face. His eyes wide, trembling held the pure fear of a man walking beside death. Shadows twisted along the walls of the maze, laughing in shapes only madness could understand, mocking the hollow echo of his steps.
His bones felt as if they had been fused together, blended into a single trembling frame. His mind scattered into frantic thoughts, each one pounding against the inside of his skull. He gripped the long, gold-and-black gun with shaking hands. His suit black layered upon black hung heavy with cold sweat.
He wished for home… or whatever memory of it still remained inside the ruined chambers of his mind. His body felt like an abused seed pushed into harsh soil rage and death rooting in him, growing through cracking bone. Each breath sliced him open again. His skin prickled, as if thin blades were pressing into him, carving paths of slow, deliberate pain.
His eyes fluttered.
Then closed.
A sharp crack split the silence, like glass under sudden weight.
And then
everything shattered.
The man, the maze, the moment
all scattered into crystalline fragments
and vanished into the dark.
Then lights flickered blink, blink each flash accompanied by a faint electrical hum that pulsed through the fog-laden street. Footsteps crowded together in uneven rhythms, a restless wave of people drifting through the narrow corner. Horses and carriages clattered past, their wheels hissing against wet cobblestone.
Smoke curled upward from a man burning by the street's edge, ignored by most, feared by few. Across from him, on a rust-patched iron bench, sat a frail-looking young man. His skin was pale as mist, marked by deep, sleepless shadows beneath his eyes. Dark hair fell untamed around his face as he gazed outward, watching the world move as if from a great distance.
Children hurried by shouting the day's news, their voices thin against the chaos. Vendors barked prices. Carriages rattled. The crowd flowed like a living organism, unaware or uncaring of the fire smoldering behind them.
The young man's eyes followed them all.
For a long moment, he simply stared into the shifting tide of people.
Then he rose.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He stretched his stiff limbs, brushed the dust from his coat, and slid his hands into his pockets. Without another glance, he stepped into the busy street walking straight ahead, swallowed by the moving haze of the city.
Keal Enox
His gaze drifted across the sprawling city a place he once belonged to, a place he now merely survived in. He had been a man before… but after the destruction of his body and mind, he became something quieter, smaller. These days, he worked at an inn to keep himself alive.
Head bowed, he avoided the crowd as he crossed the street, the burning man at the corner sending up thin pillars of smoke behind him. Keal turned left, following his usual path through the narrow shadows until he reached a small, forgotten inn tucked between tall stone buildings.
The inn was never busy. It was always quiet too quiet. Even in one of the largest cities, crowded and restless, few souls ever walked near this remote corner. Keal lived his life here, day after day, because he had nowhere else to go.
After the accident that stole both his parents, he had fallen out of everything school, purpose, dreams. Once, he had been a young man who loved history, who read books under warm lamplight. Now he was an underpaid innkeeper with hollow eyes and a frail frame, a figure that looked as though life itself had slipped through his fingers.
Sometimes he received a customer or two. Sometimes none at all. That was why he often sat on the corner bench outside, watching nobles pass by, listening to children selling newspapers, studying the carriages rumbling past. He wondered what life might have been… if he had more knowledge, more strength more of anything.
But life had taken everything.
And Keal was left struggling, searching for meaning in the ruins.
He walked into the inn, the door creaking softly behind him. The interior was silent so silent it felt almost sacred. He picked up a broom and swept the floor, rearranged the chairs and dusty desks, then moved behind the counter. As usual, he waited. He never expected anyone. This inn sat in the dark, lifeless part of the street, where even beggars rarely wandered.
Then
the doorbell rang.
A slow, delicate ding echoed through the room.
Footsteps entered.
A woman stepped inside a tall figure dressed in black, her hair a striking gold, glinting in the dim light. She moved slowly, cautiously, scanning the quiet place before her eyes finally rested on him.
Keal froze.
He had not expected a soul certainly not someone like her.
He rose quickly from where he'd been sitting, startled and confused.
"C-come in!" he blurted out, louder than intended. "Please… come in."