In a dilapidated diner on the fog-shrouded fringes of Ashenport, Gideon Ironheart sat tucked away in a corner. The wooden table, scarred by time and grime, held a solitary bowl of oil-stained stew and a hunk of dry bread. A few coins lay scattered before him—scraps earned from a brutal street-side betting brawl the night before. His knuckles were bruised a deep purple, and a faint trickle of blood still pulsed beneath the skin. Over his shoulders, a tattered jacket was coated in layers of grey soot, yet the faded ghost of an ancient military insignia still clung to its chest.
He gripped a chunk of meat with a scarred fist and shoved it into his mouth. It was coarse, seasoned only with a hint of salt and grit, but it was his first warm meal since the beating he took yesterday. As he chewed, Gideon's eyes drifted shut. The mist began to seep through the window cracks, causing the diner's lanterns to flicker like dying stars. In the silence, the images of his past began to resurface.
He had once been a warrior. Having enlisted in his early twenties, he had spent a lifetime wielding a blade in border skirmishes. His fists had shattered skulls; his steel had ended lives. He had placed his absolute faith in the orders of General Harlan, believing they fought for the nation, for the very essence of freedom. But one day, the world fractured.
During a particular campaign, the order came down to torch a rebel village. But the village held only women and children. The General had claimed it was an enemy outpost, but Gideon saw the truth with his own eyes: there wasn't a single weapon in sight. He had defied the order. "This isn't war. This is a crime!" he had roared. The General's response was a brutal thrashing and a plunge of a blade. Yet, Gideon did not die. He fled into the midnight mist, deserting the army and leaving behind his honor, his past, and his dreams.
Now, in his forties, he scratched out a living by trading blood for coin in underground pits. In yesterday's match, he had faced a youth barely twenty. Amidst the bloodlust of the gamblers, Gideon had shattered the boy's jaw with a single blow. He won the money, but it bought him nothing more than this meager bowl of stew. He had no idea how he would survive tomorrow. As he chewed, a smile touched his lips—not of joy, but a bitter, hollow rasp. Who would have thought a warrior's life would end in such ruin?
He bit into the bread and opened his eyes. The faces in the diner were a blur of misery. One man slumped over a beer; another groaned with his head against the table. In Gideon's mind, the echoes of war returned—the blood, the screams, the friends swallowed by the fog. He saw the General's smiling face and heard the parting insult: "You are no longer a soldier; you are a traitor." He clenched his fist, the ache of his wounds returning. But he wasn't fighting an enemy anymore. He was fighting for copper, for survival, for a single meal a day.
As he finished the last of the stew and pocketed his winnings, heavy footsteps thundered at the entrance. Every head in the diner turned. A man stood at the threshold, his silhouette blurred by the gloom as he barked:
"Hey, old man! Where have you been hiding?"
The voice was rough, yet hauntingly familiar. Gideon's eyes widened. He dropped his spoon and looked up.
"Julian...?"
Julian Sage offered a thin smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He stepped forward with measured caution and slid into the empty seat beside Gideon. He rested his long-sleeved coat against the greasy table, his fingers momentarily still.
"I figured I'd find you here. I was right."
Gideon narrowed his eyes. "Who told you? I didn't tell a soul I was here."
Julian let out a short, acerbic laugh. "Kaelen Voss sent me to fetch you."
Gideon's expression shifted instantly. His entire body went rigid. "Voss...? How does he know? How does he know I'm here? I haven't seen him in an eternity."
Julian tapped the rim of the stew bowl, the leftover broth rippling at his touch. "A man like Voss... he makes it his business to know everything he wishes to know. Where you are, what you're eating, how you're working, even what you're feeling. I'm not saying you're just in his sights, Gideon. I'm saying he truly sees you."
Gideon fell silent, his breathing quickening. "And now... he wants me to come to him?"
Julian nodded. "Yes. Immediately. If you're ready, we go together. He is waiting."
Gideon stared at the table for a long heartbeat before finally standing. The chair screeched against the floorboards.
"Let's go."
Julian stood and led the way to the door, with Gideon following close behind. The patrons watched them leave, but not a word was spoken. As they pushed the door open, the outside mist rushed in, a biting wind slapping against their faces.
The fog on the streets had thickened, the gaslights barely glowing through the haze. They walked in silence, their footsteps crunching loudly on the frost. They navigated the labyrinthine alleys until they reached the heart of the city. Finally, they stopped before a grand manor. A warm glow from a fireplace spilled out from the entrance, where a figure stood waiting.
Kaelen Voss.
He stood draped in his long black overcoat, his silver hair shimmering like starlight in the mist. His dark eyes watched them with quiet anticipation, a faint, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"Welcome... my friends."
Kaelen's voice carried a deceptive warmth, yet beneath it lay an unfathomable depth. He gracefully decanted a ruby-red wine into the crystal glasses and extended them toward Julian and Gideon.
"This vintage hails from the Southern Hills. The tyrants usually reserve it for their most prestigious banquets... but tonight, we shall drink it to toast the triumph of our grand strategy."
"How have you been, Gideon? It has been a long time since our paths last crossed," Kaelen remarked.
Gideon met his gaze and replied, "Certainly, Kaelen. While I am still weathering the storms of life, you remain as radiant and untarnished as ever."
Julian swirled his glass, watching Kaelen with keen observation. Gideon, on the other hand, gripped his glass with his massive paws, marvelling at Kaelen's unwavering composure. It had, after all, been many long years since they were last together.
"Wait a moment..." Kaelen said softly. He gave a subtle nod toward a tailor who stood poised in the shadows of the corner.
The tailor stepped forward with reverence, carrying two garments wrapped in exquisite silk. When Kaelen unfurled the suits with a fluid motion, Julian and Gideon's eyes widened in sheer astonishment.