The air was thick with the scent of ale and old wood, the quiet hum of the late-night tavern downstairs a muffled presence beneath their feet. The Copper Flask had settled into its usual nighttime lull—just a few lingering patrons, some drunken laughter, and the occasional clatter of dishes as Delia cleaned up. Now that Nick’s other persona was finishing up his talks with the duke and the guildmaster, it was the perfect time to leave.
Nick watched the moonlight filtering through the small window of their rented room, casting elongated shadows across the wooden floor. He cracked his knuckles, adjusting to the sensation of controlling a second body, his movements simultaneously familiar and instinctive, yet subtly foreign. Even with the seamless connection between them, he still couldn’t adapt to the feeling of being in two places at once.
It would take a lot of practice before he could perform complex tasks with both bodies simultaneously.
Across from him, Lexi stood by the window, her ears flicking every few moments in restless anticipation. The faint rattle of the slave chains on her wrists was the only sound between them.
You ready?” Nick asked, keeping his voice low.
She hesitated. She wasn’t dressed in rags anymore—he had given her some simple pants and a t-shirt and a dull, cloak, something loose enough to hide her chains and let her blend in. The hood covered her cat-like ears, though her golden eyes still gleamed in the dark, highlighting sharp, feline pupils.
“We’re… sneaking out through the window?”
He smirked. “It’s faster. Less chance of running into someone we don’t want to see.” He tilted his head. “Unless you’d rather walk out the front door and explain how two unknown patrons got onto the second floor without Tabby knowing?”
She frowned, adjusting her stance. “…Fine.”
Nick moved first. He stepped onto the windowsill and, in a single smooth motion, dropped down onto the awning below. His boots hit the worn canvas lightly, barely making a sound, before he rolled forward and landed on the street below with practiced ease.
Lexi peeked over the edge. “I… I don’t think I can do that.”
Nick extended a hand. “Come on, it’s just a little drop. I’ll catch you.”
She hesitated again, glancing at the door, then back at him. Taking a breath, she carefully climbed onto the windowsill. She tensed, her muscles coiling, and with a quick leap, she jumped.
Nick caught her easily, steadying her as she landed lightly against him.
Her ears twitched. “That… wasn’t so bad.”
He grinned. “Told ya.”
Before she could argue, he released her and gestured for her to follow. They moved quickly, slipping into the shadows of the alleyway before making their way toward the slums.
The slums of Cairel were a world apart from the merchant districts. Gone were the cobbled streets and tidy storefronts, replaced instead by uneven dirt paths, lined with crooked shacks of wood and brick, their rooftops tilted at precarious angles as if leaning on each other for support. Narrow alleys snaked between buildings, some so tight and dark they looked like they hadn’t seen sunlight in years.
Here, homes and businesses blended together, makeshift stalls pushing out into the streets, where merchants hawked their wares in hushed tones, always watching the crowd for trouble. The air was thick with mingling scents of cheap liquor, rotting wood, and sizzling grease, a cloying mix that clung to the back of the throat. Candlelight flickered from behind grimy windows, casting the street in a half-light that felt neither safe nor welcoming.
Nick kept his steps slow, deliberate. Rushing was how people got marked as prey. In a place like this, it wasn’t about looking tough—it was about moving like you belonged, about carrying yourself with the quiet confidence of someone who had nothing to fear. People watched from the shadows, their faces partially hidden by hoods, scarves, or the dim glow of lanterns, but none of them stepped forward.
Lexi stuck close to his side, her small frame brushing against him as she moved. She was silent as a shadow, her footfalls barely making a sound on the dirt path, but her posture betrayed her unease. Even with the cloak draped over her shoulders, hiding her chains, she still moved like someone who expected to be dragged back at any moment.
Nick kept his eyes forward but took note of every little movement around them. A hunched man leaned against a wall, pretending to drink from a flask while watching passersby. A group of cloaked figures haggled over something wrapped in cloth, speaking in low, clipped tones. A child darted through the crowd, hands disappearing into the pockets of a careless merchant before vanishing into the maze of alleyways.
This was the best place to start gathering information.
He needed to find Lila.
Asking for her by name would be stupid, of course, but if he approached the game the right way…
His eyes landed on a street vendor—an old woman with wiry white hair, her face worn and lined with deep creases, her hands moving with practiced ease as she turned skewers of spiced meat over a small iron grill. The faint sizzle of dripping fat mixed with the low hum of voices around them. Unlike the merchants in the market district, she wasn’t calling out to customers.
Most likely, she didn’t need to.
“Business good tonight?” Nick asked, keeping his tone light.
The old woman didn’t bother looking up. “Good enough,” she muttered, flipping a skewer.
He slipped a silver coin onto the cart. It wasn’t flashy, but it was a step above what most would pay for street food, especially in the slums.
“I’m new around here,” he continued, picking up a skewer and taking a bite. The meat was slightly overcooked but well-seasoned—salt, pepper, and a hint of something spicy that lingered on the tongue. “Looking for a place to drink, maybe meet some interesting people.”
She finally glanced up, her dark, beady eyes studying him with sharp, silent scrutiny. Sizing him up the way only someone with decades of experience could.
After a moment, she nodded toward the east, her voice low.
“Try that old shack over there. The Broken Horn. You look like the type.”
Bingo.
Nick gave a small, appreciative nod, tossing the rest of his skewer to Lexi so she could have a snack. She hadn’t spoken a word, but he could feel her tension ease slightly.
The air inside The Broken Horn was thick with the scent of ale and old wood, the quiet hum of low conversation rolling beneath the surface like a slow-moving current. The place wasn’t particularly loud, nor was it quiet—it existed in that comfortable middle ground where no one paid attention unless you gave them a reason to.
The building itself was a squat, two-story structure with a sagging roof and a warped wooden sign above the entrance, etched with the image of a shattered ram’s horn. A thick fog of cheap smoke and stale ale seeped through the cracks in the walls, giving the impression that even the building itself was trying to drown its sorrows.
As Nick and Lexi approached, the muffled sounds of conversation spilled from within—low voices, a few sharp bursts of laughter, the occasional scrape of a chair against wooden floorboards.
Nick pulled his hood up slightly and pushed open the door.
The first thing that hit him was the heat. Not just from bodies packed into the space, but from tension that clung to the air like thick smoke. This was a place where people came to drink, deal, and disappear—and no one here wanted their business overheard.
Lanterns hung low, casting dancing shadows across warped wooded tables. The crowd was a mix of mercenaries, thieves, and informants, each hunched over their drinks, speaking in low tones meant only for their companions. No one turned to greet them, but Nick caught the flicker of movement—several glances his way, quick and assessing, before returning to their cups.
Nick walked in like he belonged, heading straight for the bar. Lexi hesitated at the entrance, but he felt her step in just a moment later, keeping close but trying to make herself as small as possible.
Behind the counter stood the barkeep, a man wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat that cast just enough of a shadow to hide the sharpness in his eyes. His graying beard and lazy grin giving him the look of a man who had long since stopped worrying.
His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms crisscrossed with old, faded scars. He idly flipped a dagger between his fingers, the motion smooth and practiced—a habit. The way the steel caught the dim light was as much a distraction as it was a warning.
Nick leaned against the counter, setting down a silver coin and sliding it forward.
The barkeep plucked the coin off the counter and bit down on it. Then he grinned. “What’ll it be, stranger?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let the moment stretch, watching, listening.
A group of men at a corner table were watching the barkeep more than they were drinking. One of them leaned toward the other, whispering something before glancing nervously at the barkeep.
So that was the kind of place this was.
It wasn’t just a bar. It was a place where power moved—quietly, subtly.
“Something strong,” Nick said. Then, in a lower voice, “And maybe a conversation.”
The barkeep’s grin sharpened.
“Ah,” he mused. “A man after my own heart.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows against the counter. The dagger in his hand never stopped moving. “I’m sure you know that words cost more than ale.”
Nick took another silver coin from his pocket and set it down.
The barkeep flicked his wrist, sending the dagger spinning once in the air. Before it even finished its turn, he caught it and used the tip to drag the coin toward himself.
“I like you,” he said. He gestured toward an empty table in the back corner. “Sit tight. I’ll bring you something strong.”
Nick nodded and turned, motioning for Lexi to follow. She kept close to him as they moved, sliding into the shadowed corner of the room where they had a clear view of the entrance and most of the patrons.
The moment they sat down, Lexi released a pent-up breath. “This place feels dangerous, in a different way from the dungeon…”
Nick smirked. “That’s how you know we’re in the right place.”
She didn’t look convinced.
A few minutes later, the barkeep approached, carrying two clay cups and a dark bottle. He set them down, pouring a thick amber liquid into each, then casually took a seat across from them.
“So,” he began, tapping his finger against the table. “What kind of conversation are we having?”
Nick wrapped his fingers around the cup but didn’t drink yet.
“I’m looking for someone.”
The barkeep chuckled. “I’m flattered, but I’m taken.”
Nick grinned. “I need to find someone who deals in… opportunities. A woman. Good with knives and sneaking. Calls herself Lila.”
The barkeep’s expression didn’t change, but there was a pause—just a fraction too long—before he chuckled.
“Ah. That kind of conversation.”
Nick leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming once against the table.
The barkeep chuckled again, picking up his drink. “Tell me, stranger—why should I help you?”
Nick finally took a slow sip from his own cup. The burn of cheap liquor ran down his throat, warming his insides in an unpleasant, familiar way.
He set the cup down and met the barkeep’s gaze.
“Because you’re going to like me,” he replied.
The barkeep laughed. “Oh? And why’s that?”
Nick smirked, letting the sharp edge of confidence slip into his tone.
“Because I’m going to be very useful.”
For the first time, the barkeep’s smile faded. He studied Nick carefully, weighing him against something in his mind.
After a moment, he sighed.
“Wait here.”
Then he stood, took the bottle with him, and disappeared into the back room.
Lexi tensed. “What if he tries to trap us?”
Nick shrugged. “Then we deal with it.”
She frowned, ears flicking under her hood. “You sound way too calm about that.
“Kid, we haven’t even gotten to the dangerous part yet.”
He took another slow sip of his drink, letting the cheap liquor burn down his throat.
“If he meant to kill us, he wouldn’t bother with theatrics.”
She didn’t look convinced. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table.
Nick leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs as if he had all the time in the world.
Across the room, a group of men played dice at a corner table, their conversation low and full of practiced laughter. A woman in a patched leather vest sat against the far wall, sharpening a knife, her gaze shifting toward the back room now and then.
She was waiting for something.
Or someone.
Nick made note of that, just in case it became relevant later.
Then, finally, the barkeep returned.
He didn’t come alone.
Behind him, a woman moved like a shadow, her steps soundless despite the uneven floor.
She was lithe, draped in a hooded cloak that concealed most of her form, but even with the fabric masking her features, her presence cut through the room like a blade.
Emerald green eyes peered out from beneath the hood, sharp and assessing. They landed on him first, then Lexi.
She walked to the table and sat across from him.
Nick got the impression that if she wanted to, she could’ve crossed the room without anyone noticing—which is exactly what she had been doing in both their previous encounters.
Lila.
She didn’t introduce herself. She didn’t have to, since she knew he was looking for her.
Lila tilted her head slightly. “You remind me of someone.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”
She studied him. Then, without turning her head, she examined Lexi—her posture, her chains, the way she subtly angled herself closer to Nick as if expecting him to shield her from something unseen.
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Lila’s gaze.
“You’re not just some street rat looking for work,” she said finally.
“No,” Nick agreed easily. “I’m looking for something more.”
She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “And what exactly do you think I do?”
“I think you deal in opportunities.”
She let out a soft, amused hum. “Well, you’re not wrong.”
Her fingers tapped once against the table. “You’re a lot like someone I’ve met, and she looks a lot like a slave that was there in our first meeting.”
Nick shrugged. “I assume you’re referring to my cousin. People often told us we looked alike growing up. For the record, I’m the handsome one.”
She scoffed, though he caught the slight upward tilt of her lips.
He’d been thinking about the name to use for this second persona for a little while now.
Something separate from Nick.
This body would be an entirely second self, an identity he could shape however he needed.
Nick was a soldier, a leader, and someone who needed to inspire.
This persona would be something else.
A predator in the dark. A ghost in the system. Someone who could slip between the cracks and strike when needed.
And so, he thought of a name that fit.
“Cain,” he said. “My name is Cain.”
An old name. The first murderer. The wanderer. The man who bore the weight of sin. A name tied to history, to myth, to a story of exile and survival. A fitting moniker for someone who had become the Custodian of the Eternal Sin.
The barkeep let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Cain, huh? A nice and easy name to remember.”
Lila nodded. “Well, Cain,” she mused. “You went through all this trouble to find me. So tell me—why should I care?”
“Because I’m going to be very useful to you.”
She stared at him, searching for something.
Then, slowly, she smirked.
“Alright then, Cain. Let’s put that to the test.”
She reached into her cloak and placed something on the table between them.
A coin.
It was old and worn at the edges, the design too faded to recognize.
Cain picked it up, rolling it between his fingers, feeling the weight of it.
“What is this?” he asked.
She rested her chin on her hand, watching him.
“A choice.”
Cain twirled the coin between his knuckles, waiting.
Lila tapped the table once. “Down the hall, two men are tied to chairs. One is a petty thief, the other is a monster.”
“A monster?” Cain raised an eyebrow.
“A beastkin,” she clarified. “A bad one. Real scum. The kind of guy the world is better off without.”
She gestured to the coin in his hand. “The thief is a human, so he will respawn. The beastkin, of course, won’t.”
Cain felt Lexi tense beside him.
Lila glanced at her briefly.
“You want to work with me?” she murmured. “Then show me who you are.”
Cain stared at the coin in his hand.
Then, without hesitation, he flicked it into the air, caught it, and stood.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Project Knightfall 