Each step kicked up grey motes of ash, clinging to his skin like regret. The ground was soft with ruin. Charred flags fluttered in the wind like prayers from forgotten gods.
Bodies lined the roads. Faces he recognized. Failures. The names that he still remembered, and the names that he’d never learned.
They all looked at him.
This time, they all had golden eyes.
One by one, they whispered his name.
No accusation.
No forgiveness.
“Nick.”
“Hero.”
“Dad.”
“Master.”
“Cain.”
The titles chased him as he walked.
At the end of the road stood a wardrobe.
Smoke leaked from beneath its doors.
And when he opened it—
Lexi.
Chained. Eyes wide. Fangs bared.
She growled at him, but didn’t move.
And behind her, a dozen more stared back. Beastkin, orcs, goblins. All pressed into the dark like children hiding in a closet from a monster.
“You saved us,” said Lexi, voice flat.
Her golden eyes sank.
“But not her.”
And she turned to ash.
—
Nick jolted awake.
He sat upright, gasping, the phantom weight of all those eyes pressing down on him like a tombstone he earned and never stopped carrying. The room spun for a breath. Then steadied. The air hung still and cold.
His hands trembled.
“Damn it all,” he muttered dully.
He could still feel Cain’s wounds. The broken ribs, pounding headache, and the helplessness of watching Lexi rampage just so he could crawl away.
She’d been screaming.
She saved him.
And now…
Nick stood.
He crossed to the far wall, bare and empty, save for a patch of scuffed floor.
He didn’t summon the wardrobe right away.
His fingers hovered in the air, twitching.
He swallowed. Raised one hand. And with an effort of will, summoned it.
Ten feet tall, with dark, polished wood in shifting mythic patterns. Gold dragon-head handles shimmered, silent and solid in the hush of a waking world.
Nick reached out and opened it.
Heat washed over him.
The air inside was thick with the scent of sweat and unwashed bodies. The floor was dusty and grimy, but free from clutter.
There were voices.
He stepped inside.
Toward the back of the wardrobe, nestled between two piles of hastily gathered clothes, lay Cain—collapsed, unmoving, blood drying at his temple.
Two children crouched beside him—a goblin girl and a catkin boy, both bandaged and wide-eyed. The girl dabbed at Cain’s head with a cloth that had clearly been torn from the hem of her shirt. The boy held Cain’s wrist like he was afraid to let go, as if that grip might be the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.
Nick approached slowly.
“He hasn’t moved,” the girl whispered without looking up.
“He’s fine,” Nick replied. “He just needs some time to recover.”
“What do you know?” the boy challenged, glaring at him. “You weren’t there!”
“You weren’t there either,” Nick said evenly. “You ran. This is what happens when someone fights alone.”
The boy stared Nick down with all the defiance his small body could muster. “We don’t run. Beastkin don’t run.”
“You did.”
“Because they told us to! The warriors! They said if we died before we got a name, we were a waste.”
‘What is he talking about?’ Nick wondered.
He decided to prompt the kid for more information. Sometimes the world through the eyes of children could reveal surprising details.
“And did they tell you what happened if you didn’t die?”
The boy’s jaw clenched. His ears flicked. “…You get sent back.”
“Back where?”
“To the breeders,” the goblin girl answered.
The boy scowled at her. “That’s not what it’s called.”
“It is,” she muttered. “That’s what momma called it.”
Nick’s gaze shifted. The goblin girl was thinner, her limbs more delicate, and there was a sunken look behind her eyes that didn’t belong on anyone that young.
“Where are you from?” he asked her.
“By a forest, I think. I wasn’t told where I’m from. They sold us to the beastkin warbands when we were small enough to carry.”
“Sold you?”
“I think so.” She paused. “Or maybe traded. A small goblin is worth two or three bloodroot or maybe some ore.”
Nick swallowed, his mouth dry.
“But the beastkin don’t do that,” the boy snapped, as if desperate to separate himself. “We don’t trade people.”
The girl laughed. “That’s right, you sell them instead.”
“We don’t—”
“You’re a Bloodclaw, right, ‘Young Master’? You sold my brother to the humans.”
The boy looked like he wanted to lunge. “Liar!”
Nick held up a hand. “Enough.”
The silence that followed his command was brittle, taut with friction.
The boy’s fists trembled. His lip curled, but he didn’t speak.
Then, quietly, he asked. “Where’s the princess?”
Nick tilted his head. “Princess?”
“The catkin who helped this guy rescue us.” He motioned toward Cain. “She was in the hallway when we ran.”
Nick didn’t answer immediately.
He crouched, leveling his gaze with the boy’s. “What’s your name?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
The boy hesitated. “Takkar.”
Nick nodded. “Takkar. She might be dead, or captured, or worse.”
“Where is she?” Takkar interrupted, voice cracking. “This guy got out. Why isn’t she here?”
The goblin girl looked away. The others—silent shapes watching from further inside the wardrobe—shifted.
Nick’s voice was steady, but low. “She stayed behind. It’s thanks to her that the rest of you were able to escape,” he lied.
It wasn’t true—not entirely. But it felt like something she would’ve done. And that was close enough for now.
Takkar’s ears flicked.
“She’s not dead?”
“I don’t know.”
The words settled like dust on a battlefield. Nothing final. Nothing hopeful.
“We need her…” Takkar said after a long silence. “She’s the princess. As long as we have her, the Bloodclaw can have pride. She’s our only hope for a future.”
Nick’s expression darkened. “Then why was she alone when I found her? Why weren’t there any Bloodclaws there to support her?”
Takkar flinched.
Nick stood, letting the question linger. Then he turned his attention outward.
The others inside the wardrobe had gathered—nearly fifteen in all. A scattering of beastkin, goblins, orcs, and a single troll. They watched him, weary, hungry, suspicious. Some clung to each other, others stood alone.
He took a slow breath.
“I’m not your master,” he said. “Nor am I your enemy. But I need to know something.”
A few heads lifted.
“What did they take from you? And why did they do it?”
A long pause.
Then a female orc spoke, voice rough. “Who? The humans, or the Bloodclaw?”
“Either.”
“The Bloodclaw sold my son to the humans. I refused to bear another child, so they took the one I had.”
A goblin muttered, “My brother worked the forges. The orcs melted his fingers off when he dropped a blade.”
A catkin said, “My brother. The humans made me choose who to save. They were laughing.”
Nick listened, one horror after another stacking in a quiet pile of remembered grief. And still, none of them asked what came next.
After listening to enough horrors, he realized why:
None of them expected there to be a ‘next’.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said honestly. “Your society is fucked. Humans, goblins, orcs, beastkin… the way things are now, none of you are worth saving. You’ll just keep feeding the same cycle.”
He looked around, gaze sweeping the crowd.
“But that doesn’t mean it has to stay that way. If you want to leave, I need to know where you would go.”
A heavy silence answered.
Then someone murmured, “There is no place for any of us.”
Nick nodded, the weight of their world settling on his shoulders.
He glanced at Cain again—still unconscious, unmoving.
Then he looked to the people in the room.
“I don’t care who you were in the past, or what kind of culture or history you come from. I am tired of all the bullshit excuses. You’re going to fall in line, do something good for a change—and maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to help you.”
Another long silence followed.
No one moved.
Some looked down. Others looked away. The troll shifted his weight, the chains on his wrists clinking softly. One goblin girl bit her lip until it bled.
Finally, a voice broke the silence.
“…What if we want to help?”
It was the goblin girl by Cain’s side. Her cloth was soaked crimson now, but her hands didn’t shake.
Nick met her eyes. “Then you do.”
“Just like that?” a male voice scoffed—older, from the back. An orc with a bent tusk stepped forward, arms crossed. “What, you expect us to start following orders? You’re not even one of us, human.”
“No,” Nick said flatly. “I’m not one of you, and I’m never going to be. But you’re mistaken about something.”
He turned, addressing the room. “You don’t have to follow me. You don’t have to believe me. But sitting in this sanctuary forever isn’t an option, so figure it out. You can stay here until Cain wakes up.”
He started walking away, then paused and looked at the orc with a bent tusk. “And also, I’m not human.”
“Not human?” Takkar asked.
Nick smiled faintly and turned to leave.
Then—
A tug at his cuff.
He stopped, surprised to find a child at his side. A foxkin girl no older than five or six, her russet ears twitching with unreadable calm. She hadn’t made a sound, hadn’t stirred the air. She just… appeared.
She looked up at him with large amber eyes—too bright, too still. There was something off about them. Like they contained far more wisdom than years.
“You forgot one,” she said softly.
Nick blinked. “One what?”
Her small fingers let go of his sleeve. “You said we have to ‘figure it out’, but he can’t make choices anymore.”
She turned and pointed toward a bundle near the far wall—a boy curled in on himself, face hidden, unmoving.
Nick hadn’t noticed him.
“I think he’s broken,” the girl added.
“…What’s your name?” Nick asked.
She tilted her head. “Do I get to choose?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t already have one?”
She shrugged. “I had one. But it doesn’t fit anymore.”
There was something odd about the way she said it. Her voice held a quiet weight and somberness.
“…You can pick whatever name you want.”
She nodded, already turning away. Her tiny frame made no sound on the wood, and for a heartbeat, her silhouette fanned out behind her, like fur caught in moonlight. A dozen tails, maybe more—
Nick blinked.
There was only one tail.
He shook his head and stepped out of the wardrobe.
The air outside felt too clean.
He lingered for a moment on the threshold, letting the warmth and weight of the hidden space dissolve behind him.
With a quiet breath, he raised a hand. The wardrobe folded inward like a thought no longer needed. The space it occupied became a bare wall again, worn and scratched.
The room outside was quiet, a small upstairs chamber of The Copper Flask.
Ray sat on the edge of the bed. She was hunched forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled. Her silvery hair fell across her face, still damp from washing. Her eyes lifted as Nick reentered the world.
“What took you so long?”
“Why are you in my room?” Nick countered.
“You didn’t answer when I knocked.”
“Trespassing is a crime, you know.”
“In what world?”
He paused. “It’s not a crime here?”
She shrugged. “How should I know? I’m not a lawyer.”
“You don’t need to be a lawyer to know about laws.”
“Sounds tedious.”
He sighed. “For the record, it’s most likely illegal to kill people.”
She kicked lightly at the floor. “…Laws are stupid.”
Nick leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Yeah, they really are, aren’t they?”
Ray narrowed her eyes. “You’re being weird. Something bothering you?”
“I’m always weird,” he replied. “You’re just used to it.”
“No,” she said slowly, “this is a different kind of weird. You look tired and worn down. You feel… sad. It’s like you just crawled out of a nightmare.”
He didn’t answer immediately. He crossed the room to a washbasin and splashed water onto his face. The cold bite helped, but didn’t chase away the lingering heaviness in his chest.
Ray waited.
“Did something happen?”
He dried his hands and stared at the tower like it might give him an answer. “Yeah. Something happened.”
“Are we in danger?”
“No,” he said. “Not yet, at least.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“Are we getting involved?”
He looked at her. “You won’t be.”
She folded her arms. “That’s my choice.”
He let out a breath. “You’re really not going to make this easy, huh?”
“I don’t want to be left behind.” Her voice was quiet, but firm.
Her words hit him harder than she probably intended.
“Did you… figure something out? As your other self?”
He sat down on the edge of the bed furthest from her. “Let’s just say I’m… reevaluating a few things.”
Ray didn’t reply right away. She watched him, gaze sharp, as if trying to read the space between his words.
“Is… Lexi okay?”
He flinched.
“I thought so,” she murmured. “She wasn’t in there with you.”
“…You saw?”
“I peeked inside the wardrobe. Looks like a lot happened last night.”
He sighed.
“I got a little angry,” he admitted.
Ray hopped to her feet and walked in front of him. Then she knelt and rested her small hands on his knees and repeated her question. “Is she okay?”
He didn’t answer.
“I bet she saved Cain, right?”
“…”
She grinned. “So now you’re even. You saved her once; she saved you once. You don’t owe her anything anymore.”
Nick’s eyes sank with fatigue.
He didn’t argue.
He just looked tired.
Project Knightfall 