Luxerio turned slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs. His eyes met the source of the voice—a bearded old man clad in a heavy trench coat that hung off his frame like a worn-out relic of another life.

  His face was obscured by the shadows of the dim streetlight, but his presence carried an odd weight, as if he had been there for far longer than Luxerio had noticed.

  The old man spoke again, his accent thick and strange. "What are you doing standing in front of a wanted poster board in the dead of night?" He tilted his head slightly, his grizzled beard shifting. "Planning to eat the posters?"

  Luxerio blinked at the bizarre question but said nothing. Before he could even think of a response, the man waved a dismissive hand. "Beggars like you aren't allowed to eat city property, you know. So best disappear before someone less kind than me finds you."

  Luxerio almost sighed in relief. This was an out—an easy way to escape the encounter without raising suspicion. He nodded quickly, murmured a small, "Apologies," and turned on his heel, ready to vanish into the darkened streets.

  But then—

  "Hold on."

  His body stiffened involuntarily. His breath caught, a pulse of dread shooting through him. Something felt… off. The way the old man spoke now was slower, deliberate. It wasn't just idle talk.

  "You're heading in a bad direction, boy," the old man continued. "That way leads to the middle-class district. They don't take kindly to beggars like you. You won't find peace there."

  Luxerio exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. Just paranoia. That's all it was. He turned back briefly and gave a quick nod. "Thanks for the warning." Without hesitation, he adjusted his course, veering into a different alleyway.

  As he left, he completely missed how close the old man had been standing. Close enough to see his face. Close enough to study his eyes.

  The old man, however, remained by the poster board. His gaze locked onto one specific poster.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Half an hour later,

  Luxerio was panting heavily, crouched behind a rundown building. The alley was tight, walls covered in grime and peeling advertisements from years past. He pressed his back against the cold, damp concrete, trying to catch his breath.

  His legs ached. His body screamed in exhaustion.

  But he couldn't stop. Not yet.

  He had taken the longest, most indirect route possible—cutting through empty streets, slipping between shadows, avoiding every path where he might be seen. Every fiber of his being screamed that someone was watching. Even if he never saw them, he felt them.

  Still, he had bought himself time. He just didn't know how much.

  He ran a hand down his face, wiping away the layer of sweat and grime that clung to his skin. Now what?

  He had nowhere to go. No home, no allies. Even after ten years in this forsaken place, he and the others like him were treated like vermin. Like intruders.

  It wasn't even their fault.

  The Crossever Event swallowed their worlds. They didn't choose to be here. They didn't want to be here. But that never mattered to the natives of Avarleos. The Outsiders weren't warriors, they weren't heroes—they were baggage. Strays who refused to die fast enough.

  And now, someone had decided it was time for him to be handled.

  His jaw tightened as his thoughts turned to the bounty. Did those loan sharks put it up early because he was an Outsider? That would make sense. Slavery was alive and well in this city. And Outsiders were prime targets.

  But something didn't add up. They didn't need to trick him to sell him. They could have just taken him without giving him a single Qulio. No one would have cared.

  "No one would care," he muttered to himself bitterly.

  "That's true."

  A voice. Not his.

  His heart stopped.

  The blood in his veins turned to ice as he whipped his head toward the sound.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  A woman stood at the edge of the alley, her white longcoat pristine even in the dim lighting. Embroidered on her chest was a golden insignia—a piggybank, swollen with wealth.

  His stomach twisted in horror.

  Debt collector.

  His body moved before his mind could catch up. He threw himself to the side, bolting in the opposite direction without a second thought. He didn't have time to think. Didn't have time to hesitate.

  But he barely made it three steps before the shadows ahead shifted.

  Something massive blocked his escape.

  A hulking woman loomed in his path, muscles thick as cables, her arms crossed as she watched him like a predator amused by a cornered rabbit.

  He skidded to a halt, heart hammering in his chest.

  He was trapped.

  The first debt collector clicked her tongue, crossing her arms as she watched Luxerio instinctively back away from the hulking woman behind him.

  "Where do you think you're running to?" she asked, her tone mocking yet cold.

  Luxerio took careful steps, trying to keep both of them in his line of sight. His back pressed against the rough, damp wall of the alley, offering no escape. His mind raced, trying to figure out how they'd found him so quickly. He had taken every precaution, avoiding anyone, slipping through shadows, changing routes randomly—yet here they were.

  Almost as if she had plucked the thought right from his mind, the woman smirked. "A little old birdie tipped us off," she said, amusement dancing in her sharp eyes.

  Luxerio's stomach churned. That old bastard. He clenched his jaw, cursing the old man's existence. He should have known better than to trust a random stranger's kindness. He wished for all the Qulios in the city to come crashing down and crush that piece of shit geezer.

  Clicking her tongue again, the woman strode forward with slow, measured steps. Luxerio swallowed, fighting the urge to retreat any further.

  "Look, I swear, I didn't know I had to pay back so soon," he stammered, hands raised in a feigned display of surrender. "I only just found out today. Give me a week, no—a few days! I can get the money, double, even triple! Just give me a chance."

  He hated how pathetic he sounded, how he had to grovel. But what choice did he have?

  The woman didn't falter. Her expression didn't change, save for a slight tilt of her head, as if she were merely indulging him. Then, she shook her head slowly. "If we cared, we wouldn't have put up the wanted poster to begin with."

  Luxerio's breath hitched. "What?"

  "Your debt's already been paid," she said, now standing directly before him, so close he could see the subtle scars on her fingers.

  Luxerio blinked. "What?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His mind scrambled to make sense of her words.

  "And then some," she added, leaning down ever so slightly.

  Confusion mixed with dread. "Why—why would—"

  The woman's lips curled into a cruel smile as she leaned into his ear. "Because we were paid even more to get rid of you."

  A sharp, searing pain exploded in Luxerio's chest.

  His mind failed to register what had just happened. He only realized when he looked down and saw her hand buried deep inside him, fingers twisted cruelly through flesh and bone.

  The pain finally hit. He gasped, a wet, choking sound, and coughed out a splatter of blood. His vision blurred, his knees buckling. The woman twisted her wrist ever so slightly before pulling her hand free, letting him collapse onto the cold ground.

  Luxerio's limbs trembled. His vision wavered. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking the filth of the alley. He tried to breathe, but each inhale felt like razor blades scraping his lungs.

  A handkerchief drifted onto his chest.

  The woman wiped her bloodstained fingers clean before tossing it at him like discarded trash. "It's none of our business who you pissed off," she said. "But they really wanted you dead." She straightened, dusting off her jacket. "Their words were 'Get rid of the failure.'"

  Failure.

  Something inside Luxerio cracked.

  Through the haze of agony, a sick realization clawed at him. It was him. That man.

  Even now, even at his lowest, he wasn't even worth the effort of being killed directly. He had to send people to do it.

  Luxerio wanted to laugh. But he couldn't.

  The pain was too much. His body felt so cold. So numb.

  His breath grew weaker, his thoughts more sluggish, slipping between the haze of pain and looming darkness.

  "Long way till sunrise," the woman mused, glancing up at the dim sky. "Guess you'll get to enjoy the peaceful silence of death for a while."

  Silence, huh?

  A thought emerged—no, a realization. He had nothing to lose. If he was already dead, then...

  His lips moved, breath shallow. Words spilled out in a whisper.

  The woman frowned, stepping closer. "Huh? What was that?"

  His voice was barely audible, weak, and choked. But he repeated himself, this time clearer, more deliberate. "Since I'm going to die... I have nothing to lose."

  The woman scoffed. "Tch. You Outsiders really are pitiful."

  And then—Luxerio began to pray.

  The woman's smirk faltered.

  It started as a soft murmur, words slipping between wet, ragged breaths. The prayer, at first, seemed incoherent, a mess of syllables blending into the next.

  The woman sneered. "Really? Praying?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "The Eight Above aren't going to do a damn thing for someone like you. How insulting."

  Yet—something felt... wrong.

  Her words faltered as a shiver ran down her spine.

  The larger woman beside her—usually an unmoving wall of silent menace—shifted ever so slightly.

  A strange pressure hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

  Luxerio's prayer continued, the words low, guttural, crawling into the very marrow of the night.

  "Tch." The debt collector curled her lip in disgust. "Enough of this crap."

  She lifted her boot, prepared to crush his skull beneath her heel—

  Then she heard it.

  "...In my prayer, I seek not the world but what is false. I seek not the illusion but what is true..."

  The air grew heavy. Reality itself seemed to tremble.

  "I seek the night and day, the power and control, the life and death..."

  A shudder ran through her as the words vibrated against something deep, something primal.

  "As the world holds no balance and all the balance before thou contradictory nature..."

  Her boot froze mid-air.

  A terrifying realization hit her. She had made a mistake—a grave, irreversible mistake.

  She moved to end it quickly—

  But Luxerio's lips parted one final time, and the last thing she heard before everything collapsed was:

  "I pray... that my wish is not met and truly granted."

  And then—the world changed. And it didn't.

  Darkness swallowed the alley, and the night bled into something else that couldn't be comprehended.