The amber liquid in the heavy crystal glass caught the dim light of the bar, shimmering like liquid gold. Henry swirled it slowly, his pale skin stark against the dark wood of the counter. His long black hair was pulled back in a neat, severe tie, revealing a face that had seen more than a twenty-one-year-old's fair share of trouble. He wasn't just sitting; he was waiting.
Across the bar, the bartender worked a rag into the depths of a glass pitcher. She'd been watching him. "You've got a refined palate for a drifter," she noted, nodding toward the whiskey. "You new in town?"
Henry didn't look up. "Just passing through. Vacation."
She stopped scrubbing, leaning her elbows on the bar. "Vacation? In this dive? You look like you're barely old enough to vote, let alone drink top-shelf."
A faint, cynical smile played on Henry's lips. He finally looked up, his eyes harder than she expected. "I'm twenty-one. A second-year at Starfall Academy."
The bartender's eyebrows shot up. She straightened, her tone shifting from skeptical to intrigued. "An Ascender, then."
Henry gave a curt nod. "The diploma says so."
"Then you'd know if the rumors are true," she leaned in, her voice dropping. "The Prophecy. They say the 'Chosen' heroes are enrolling this term. Is Starfall really taking them in?"
Henry stared into his empty glass as if he wished it would magically refill. "Yeah. We're all thrilled. It's a goddamn fairy tale."
The bartender leaned over the counter, a knowing smirk on her face. "You sound jealous, Henry. Most people are praying for the Heroes to arrive. A little divine intervention is usually cause for a parade, not a funeral."
Henry looked at his glass, the whiskey swirling like a storm in a jar. "Yeah, I'm fucking thrilled. It's not like—"
The chime of the bell above the door cut him off. It wasn't the usual soft ring; it sounded like a warning.
A man stepped out of the night, looking like he'd crawled out of a high-end nightmare. He wore a heavy, midnight-black trench coat that flared at the hem, revealing a flash of blood-red lining. A silk cravat was tucked neatly into a layered waistcoat, and a tall black top hat sat perched atop a mess of jagged black hair.
He didn't just walk in; he took over the room. His eyes—sharp and predatory—locked onto Henry as a wide, jagged grin split his face.
"You look hammered, Henry," Jack said, his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.
Henry let out a long, weary sigh, slamming his glass onto the wood. "Jack. You took your sweet time. I've been sitting here rotting for an hour."
Jack ignored the complaint, stepping up to the bar with a flair that made his coat billow. He gave the bartender a wink that was more unsettling than charming. "Let me guess: was he crying about the 'Heroes' again?"
The bartender laughed, pulling a fresh glass from the rack. "Right on the money."
"I knew it," Jack chuckled, leaning his gloved hands on the counter. "Any longer and you would've been treated to his favorite sob story. The one where the 'Great Heroic Prophecy' decided his younger siblings were the chosen ones, and poor Henry here lost his entire inheritance to his siblings."
Henry's jaw tightened, his knuckles white against the bar. "Fuck you, Jack."
Jack's grin only widened, his sharp teeth catching the dim light. "Don't be like that. Being the 'disappointed older brother' is a great look for you. It builds character. Or at least, it builds a hell of a bar tab."
Jack clapped his hands together, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the cramped bar. "Chop chop, my brooding friend! Let's move. This is your final hunt before you're hauled back to the hallowed halls of the Academy."
Henry didn't move immediately. He drained the final drop of whiskey, letting the burn settle in his chest before sliding a heavy gold coin across the polished wood. It was an obscenely large tip, the kind that bought a bartender's silence as much as their service.
"Keep the change," Henry muttered, grabbing his gear. "See you around."
"Stay alive, Ascender," she replied, tucking the coin away with a practiced flick of the wrist.
Outside, Blackridge City was a maze of damp cobblestones and flickering gaslights. The rhythm of the city was a steady beat of horse-drawn carriages clattering past and the distant chime of clock towers. Jack walked with a flamboyant stride, his black coat flaring behind him like the wings of a scavenger bird.
"So," Jack said, tilting his top hat to a passing lady who quickly looked away. "What's the flavor of the evening? A rogue spirit? A wayward chimera? Please tell me it's something with a high casualty rate and a higher payout."
Henry kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the dark alleyways. "There's been a surge of attacks in the lower districts. Swarms of rats dragging grown men into the gutters."
Jack slowed his pace, his sharp grin faltering for a fraction of a second. "Rats? Henry, please. We are hunters, not the municipal pest control. My coat alone is worth more than the bounty on a thousand rodents."
Henry let out a dry, short laugh. "No, dumbass. I'm not dragging you out here for vermin. The patterns are too coordinated. I suspect there's a Rat King nesting in the deep sewers."
He paused at the edge of a heavy iron manhole cover, his pale face illuminated by a nearby streetlamp. "So buckle up. We're going down."
Jack stared at the rusted iron lid, his nose wrinkling in immediate disgust. "The sewers? This is how you treat me? Our last hunt together before you leave me for the 'Academy,' and you want to spend it wading through the city's digestive tract?"
"Think of it as a homecoming," Henry remarked, beginning to pry the cover open.
"Oh, how I have been betrayed!" Jack cried out, throwing a gloved hand over his heart and leaning back with theatrical agony. "The perfidy! The cruelty! To think I called you my best friend, only to be cast into the filth like a common peasant."
Henry sighed, the sound heavy with years of practiced patience. "What makes you think you're my best friend, Jack?"
Jack stopped his performance instantly, his eyes widening in mock horror. "You mean... there are others? You have best friends other than me? Name them! I shall challenge them to a duel for the honor of your miserable company!"
"Shut up, weirdo," Henry muttered, though the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "And watch your step. If a Rat King is down there, the walls are going to be alive."
They stepped into the dark, leaving the civilized world behind for the damp, echoing silence of the deep.