It was with renewed purpose that Tennebris found herself returning to the city, turning her back to the mysteries of the Shrouded Hollow. Quieting her inner turmoil, her instincts had begun to hold her back as she reflected on her experiences in the forest. There were dangers to consider, sure, but over the hours she had been here, not once had her fears been confirmed. There were no creatures watching her, no unseen horrors lurking in the shadows, no one was there.

  Her instincts had gotten her far in life. As far back as she could remember she relied on them to keep her alive, safe, and healthy. It was just that she always followed her gut. If she felt the shadows watching her, she would leave them behind. If food didn’t taste quite right, she wouldn’t eat it. Whenever she found trouble brewing nearby, she would find a way to make herself appear innocent. It had saved her innumerable times previously.

  It felt like she had the weight of the ocean pressing down on her. Like a tsunami meeting breakwater. She couldn’t figure it out, and tried, feebly, to squeeze logic into her mind. As the Shroudwood’s wildlife gave way to the sprawling hills of Havenreach, she began to relax a bit as familiarity returned.

  Havenreach’s farms were known for their agriculture. The crops grown here, due to the temperate climate, had a certain unique quality to them. It wasn’t ever really defined, but the experts would all say that “Wine from the ‘Reach was akin to nectar of the gods.”

  However, the wine trade was blighted. In the days leading up to the attack, insects attacking the farms through the night were a common rumor whispered in the streets. Walking among their fields, she could see the insect attacks weren’t a rumor at all.

  The fact that the insects had made straight for the city in a swift, calculated motion. Yet here, there were clear markings of an infestation.

  “So, what was it? Was it an attack or were they running from something?”Some things about this just didn’t add up. She had also heard rumors that chattering noises could be heard coming from the sewers in the underbelly. Other rumors implied that they were occupying the coastline at the new harbor, halting trade.

  Havenreach at one point, had two ports, one to import fruits, and another glass bottles. They would then process everything into a wine that wouldn’t take the world stage but would be quite sought after by the private elites.

  Nuts, being the major crop of Havenreach, they heavily traded it in exchange for other goods. On the other hand, it was also known for its mid-grade wines and traded it for glass bottles. The trade deal was lucrative for everyone involved and would continue for years after it was struck. It wasn’t until one small farm began to grow their own fruits that a worldwide infatuation would be born.

  Havenreach imported wine bottles, and exported everything else. Seemingly overnight, it became a world power trade, as people clamored for this new product. Those who were able bought into the explosively growing farm trade. While others, who weren’t so lucky lost their jobs entirely, were forced into a life of crime.

  Slowly, the district became rundown. Now known as the Fringe District, it is used as a marker for the border of the central city, and the slums. In the Fringe District the Old Wharf, as the urchins called it, lay Tennebris’ safehouse.

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  Unable to benefit from the city’s walls and gates it was clear that the farms had made out much worse in the attack; they were a single rock, against the force of a waterfall.

  As she took in the scene, truly seeing the merciless destruction and wonton death for what it was. She had paid it no mind as she passed it for the first time, but this time, it was enrapturing. Workers had been bisected, then left for dead. Meanwhile, crops were basically untouched but still showed signs of scorch marks. It was a destructive war, that only one side consented to.

  The unnecessary loss lingering in her thoughts, she stepped over the familiar destruction of the city square. Turning her attention to the sky, she unfurled her withered wings to feel the warmth of the afternoon sun radiating onto them. Physically, there was nothing wrong with them; she hadn’t been able to fly for as long as she could remember. Several times as a child had tried to fly, feebly flapping her wings. Like reaching out to an unloving mother who had abandoned their child. The sorrow in her childhood is something Tennebris tried not to reflect on.

  “I probably have enough time to track her down and talk to her, but that’s about it.” Tennebris said to herself.

  Collapsing her wings against her back, she made her way to slums. There, a long-since dried up well sat. If you knew the right words to say to the right person, it would lead to the underbelly of the criminal syndicate.

  The city, once a sign of refuge, now felt vulnerable, threatened by the unseen terror lurking beyond the walls. Gazing at the guard station as she passed, she noticed a line forming. Harried, the guards were seen barking orders, dispatching what few people they had, to the many emergencies they now faced. Tennebris felt a small pang of remorse for her earlier inquiries.

  Tennebris wanted to do the right thing and help. Which, only now, left her with a resounding question:

  Why? Why is any of this MY problem?!

  While confronting her inner turmoil she continued her approach to the Fringe District, which would eventually lead to the Lower District. Operating as the heart of slums, it was an unseen beehive, hiding under the foundation of the city.

  But a sudden internal conflict had arisen within her: She had spent her whole life focused on survival.

  But what does it mean to survive?

  She had only ever been concerned with getting enough coin for her next meal, or the occasional replacement of clothing. Barely more than a burlap sack, her clothes didn’t do much to show her figure and didn’t do much to protect her from the elements.

  She had a bedroll, a backpack, a waterskin, and a change of clothes. After a lifetime of saving her money, she had only recently been able to afford two sets of clothes. The only reason she had this much was due to a job where the ‘score’ had some possessions that weren’t included in the loot list.

  Is that really survival? A lifetime of saving. For what? Two sets of clothes and some camping gear?

  This thought stopped her dead in her tracks. It wasn’t the realization that she didn’t have much in the way of worldly possessions that bothered her. She’d always been keenly aware of this. It was the feeling of regret, remorse, and rebuke.

  Faced with a lifetime of wasted potential, she felt the weight of a life unlived, like a candle that had never been lit. A sadness she rarely knew greeted her mind as an old friend.

  She was in no way a hero.

  But why? Why not?

  Certainly, she was capable and realistically there was no reason she couldn’t make an impactful difference in the world. So why had she waited? Why did she let life and the harsh realities that come with it keep her down. She was better than this, stronger than this.

  Since the incident, she had found herself following this investigation on a whim. Now, however, she was determined to make her destiny her own. She was tired of things happening to her. Tired of being a victim. She yearned to be the smith, forging her own destiny.

  With burning determination, she forged ahead. Hammer in hand, she marched to her anvil. The Slums, the underbelly, and Mheris awaited. She didn’t know how, but this unseen force would be quenched by her hands.

  Entering the square of the slums, the shadows grew long, casting their eyes upon her. Ignoring the weight that was pressing down, she tossed a single coin into the well, uttering her proclamation.

  “A coin for a crumb, a crumb for the ghost.”

  Letting her statement fall into place, she entered the familiar din of the tavern. Filled with cutthroats and turnkeys, she could feel the intimidating glare that the crowd attempted to lend itself. Newcomers would often be scared off by this, but that was the point.