They left the inn late in the morning. Khareen looked ordinary in the daylight. Too ordinary. The streets were busy with carts and vendors. Children ran between adults. Music drifted from somewhere deeper in the city. For a moment, it almost felt like Aseran again.

  That was until Rylan showed up.

  The air in Khareen felt heavy, warm in a way that clung to the skin instead of pressing down on it. The city was loud, but not carefree. Noise carried here in strange ways. Laughter stopped too quickly. Conversations cut off when they passed.

  Raizō noticed it first.

  People were avoiding them. Not obvious at first. A stall closing its shutters a little early. A merchant suddenly busy with something behind a counter. A group of men stepping aside when they had plenty of room to pass. It wasn’t fear. It was distance.

  Rylan walked beside them like nothing was wrong. Hands in his pockets. Easy grin. Head turning left and right like he was sightseeing. He didn’t care that none of them spoke to him. He didn’t care that Taren’s jaw stayed tight or that Seris kept her eyes forward. Shizume felt it too. Eyes on her back. Too many. The kind that didn’t blink. Rylan laughed at something no one said.

  “Relax,” he muttered. “This place just likes to stare.”

  Taren shot him a look. “Funny. Because everyone else looks like they’re trying not to breathe around you.”

  Rylan grinned wider. They passed a shop selling dried meat and grain. The owner looked up, saw Rylan, and froze. His face went pale. Without a word, he turned around and closed the door from the inside.

  Seris slowed. “That wasn’t normal.”

  “Nope,” Rylan said cheerfully. “But it was polite.”

  They kept walking. A pair of guards stood near a corner. They noticed Rylan immediately. One of them spat onto the stone and turned away. The other pretended to adjust his armor, eyes locked anywhere but on them.

  Shizume lowered her voice. “He’s guiding us.”

  Rylan heard her anyway.

  “Strong word,” he said. “I prefer accompanying.”

  Raizō didn’t respond, but his gaze sharpened. They moved deeper into the city. The streets grew more crowded, then strangely open again. People cleared paths they hadn’t asked for. Whispers followed. Some carried Rylan’s name. Others carried nothing but warning. A drunken man leaned against a wall ahead of them, laughing to himself. When he saw Rylan, his smile twisted.

  “Back already?” the man called. “What is this, Rylan? New blood?”

  Rylan waved. “You wound me. I’m just walking.”

  No one laughed with him. The word blood lingered. They stopped. Taren had had enough.

  He turned sharply, grabbing Rylan by the collar. “Alright. That’s it. You’ve been dragging us through this city like bait. Say why.”

  The street went still. Rylan didn’t resist. He raised his hands slowly and stepped back, voice calm, loud enough to carry.

  “Whoa, calm down.”

  Heads turned. Windows cracked open.

  “I’m just saying,” Rylan continued casually, “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to keep that medallion on you.”

  Raizō felt the shift before the words finished. Rylan glanced around, smiling like he’d just told a joke.

  “I mean… that is the Black Tithe’s leader’s medallion, after all.”

  The street emptied. Not slowly. Immediately.

  People backed away as if the ground itself had turned hostile. Someone dropped a crate and didn’t bother picking it up. A woman dragged her child behind her without looking back. Raizō’s heart sank. He finally understood. Rylan hadn’t dragged them here.

  He’d walked them into the Black Tithe’s territory.

  From somewhere deeper in the streets, movement stirred. Not rushing. Not loud. Aware. Listening. Shizume’s blood ran cold.

  Seris whispered, “We were set up.”

  Rylan smiled faintly, already stepping away. “Hey, just wanted to let you know. Don’t blame me for something you chose to keep.”

  From the shadows, eyes watched. And the Black Tithe had heard everything.

  Boots moved before voices did.

  They came from the edges of the street, not all at once. Three at first. Then two more. Men who hadn’t been there moments ago, or maybe had been there the whole time. Their clothes were plain, but deliberate. Dark layers. Hands never far from blades. The air changed. Rylan noticed immediately. He sighed, like someone interrupted mid-thought.

  “Well,” he said lightly, “that didn’t take long.”

  One of the men stepped forward. His eyes went straight to Rylan.

  “You,” he said. Calm. Flat. “You’ve been busy again.”

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  Rylan pressed a hand to his chest. “Busy is such a strong word.”

  The man didn’t smile.

  “You told half a street something you shouldn’t have.”

  Rylan lifted both hands again. “I didn’t say I had it.”

  That made the man pause. His gaze shifted. Slowly, deliberately, it moved past Rylan. And landed on Raizō. The street felt smaller. Like the walls had leaned in.

  “You,” the man said. “Show us what he’s talking about.”

  Seris tensed. Shizume’s fingers curled, then stilled. Taren took half a step forward, then stopped himself. Raizō didn’t move right away. He felt the weight in his pocket like a stone. Then he reached in.

  When the medallion caught the light, everything around them froze.It wasn’t flashy. Just dark metal, worn smooth by years of use. The symbol carved into it wasn’t large, but everyone there knew it. The man exhaled slowly. Rylan leaned to the side, peering around him, eyes widening in mock surprise.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” he said. Then he laughed softly. “See? I told you I was innocent.”

  He pointed, casual as ever.

  “You caught the culprit red handed.”

  No one laughed. The men exchanged looks. Short. Sharp. They knew. Every one of them knew Rylan had touched it. Had carried it. Had probably stolen it. But knowing wasn’t proof. The lead man looked back at Raizō.

  “You made us look foolish,” he said. Not angry. Worse. Disappointed. “Whether you meant to or not.”

  Raizō met his eyes. Said nothing. The man nodded once.

  “Then you’ll answer for it.”

  He turned slightly, gesturing down the street.

  “The Pits.”

  Taren swore under his breath. Shizume’s breath caught. Seris went still, eyes dark. Rylan whistled, low.

  “Harsh,” he said. “But rules are rules, right?”

  The man finally looked at him again.

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  Rylan smiled, stepping back into the crowd like he belonged there. Raizō closed his fingers around the medallion once more. And understood, very clearly, that this wasn’t about guilt. It was about spectacle.

  Raizō didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just looked at Rylan. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t surprise. Just a steady look that said this is your doing.

  Seris followed his gaze. Then Shizume did. Taren didn’t bother hiding it. Rylan noticed. Of course he did. He blinked once, then smiled wide, offended in the most unserious way possible.

  “Wow,” he said. “That’s a heavy look. You guys always blame strangers for your problems?”

  Taren turned on him.

  “Why does he have to go for something you did?” he snapped, jerking his chin toward Raizō. “You’re the one who caused all of this.”

  One of the Black Tithe men answered before Rylan could.

  “The proof is in his hand.”

  Taren froze.

  “And you,” the man continued, eyes sliding to Taren, “were with him. You don’t walk away from this.”

  Taren stared at him. “You’re joking.”

  “No.”

  The word landed flat. Rylan laughed. Actually laughed.

  “Oh, that’s brutal,” he said, shaking his head. “Guess you’re not spectators after all.”

  Taren took a step forward, fists clenched. Raizō caught his arm without looking. The lead man tilted his head slightly.

  “You’ll come with us,” he said. “Quietly.”

  His gaze hardened.

  “Or we drag you to the Pits.”

  No one moved for a moment. Then Raizō nodded once.

  “We’ll walk.”

  That seemed to satisfy them.

  Rylan clapped his hands together lightly. “Well,” he said, already turning away, “ladies. Looks like you’re with me.”

  Seris shot him a glare sharp enough to cut. Shizume didn’t say anything. Her eyes never left Raizō. Rylan noticed that too.

  “Don’t worry,” he said easily. “I’ll make sure you get a good view.”

  They started moving. They didn’t announce the Mirage District. They didn’t need to. The city simply changed. The streets narrowed first, stone walls leaning closer together as if they were listening. The air grew warmer, thicker, carrying the smell of sweat, smoke, and something rotten that never fully went away. Lantern light gave way to open flames, torches mounted too low, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted across the ground.

  People stopped pretending not to see them. Eyes followed from doorways. From rooftops. From alleys too dark to see into. Some curious. Some hungry. Some calculating. A few faces vanished the moment they were noticed. This wasn’t a place where crowds gathered. This was where crowds waited. Raizō felt it immediately, awareness. Every step mattered here. Every pause invited attention. Seris noticed how quiet it was. Not silent. Just… controlled. Like noise only existed when it was allowed to.

  Shizume walked differently now. Her shoulders were relaxed, but her eyes never stopped moving. She knew this place. Or places like it. The kind where you didn’t disappear because someone was faster than you, but because someone decided you were worth taking. Chains rattled somewhere above them. A man laughed from a balcony, too sharp and too sudden to be natural. A woman argued with someone they couldn’t see. A door slammed. Another opened just enough for a blade to catch the firelight before vanishing again. The Black Tithe didn’t need uniforms here. This was their ground.

  Taren swallowed. “So this is the Mirage District.”

  Rylan glanced back at him, still smiling. “Bit different from the postcards.”

  No one stopped to check. Raizō’s jaw tightened. This place didn’t kill you quickly. It used you. He could feel eyes weighing him now. Measuring his height. His build. His hands. They were led through a narrow stone corridor hidden behind a rusted iron door, one that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. Once inside, the noise of the city dulled, replaced by the echo of footsteps and the slow drip of water somewhere deep below. The air changed again. Cooler. Damp. Heavy with old blood and iron.

  Torches burned low along the walls, their flames uneven, starved. The further they descended, the tighter the passage became. Stone pressed close on all sides, scarred with gouges, claw marks, and words scratched by hands that had shaken too much to carve straight.

  Some names were crossed out. Some weren’t. Raizō felt it then. Not fear. Not anger. A quiet understanding. No one came down here expecting to leave. The corridor opened suddenly into a vast underground chamber, and the sound hit them all at once.

  Roars. Shouts. Laughter.

  The Pits.

  They were carved directly into the stone, uneven and jagged, forming a series of circular fighting grounds at different depths. Iron bars separated spectators from the arenas, but they leaned close anyway, masked figures above tossing coins, shouting bets, calling out injuries like they were scores.

  Below them, people were already fighting. Not warriors. Not champions. Some moved with experience, scars layered over scars, bodies hardened by repetition. Their eyes were empty, focused only on survival.

  Others… weren’t.

  A man stumbled backward, panic written across his face, swinging wildly as another fighter closed in with brutal efficiency. He didn’t last long. When he fell, no one rushed to help. Two men dragged him out by the arms, leaving a dark smear behind. A woman knelt in one pit, hands raised, sobbing as the crowd screamed for blood. Someone threw a bottle. It shattered against the stone. Shizume went still. Seris clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached.

  Taren’s hands curled into fists. “These aren’t fighters,” he muttered. “They’re debtors.”

  Rylan leaned closer to the railing, unfazed. “Some of them. Others are repeat customers. Turns out people will do a lot when coin runs out.”

  Raizō watched a boy barely old enough to shave get shoved into a pit, a blade tossed after him like an afterthought. The gate slammed shut behind him. The crowd cheered. This wasn’t combat. This was consumption.

  A Black Tithe enforcer gestured downward. “That’s where you’ll fight.”

  Raizō looked at the pits again. At the blood. The fear. The faces that already knew how this ended. Rylan spread his arms slightly, as if presenting a stage.

  “Welcome,” he said, cheerful as ever, “to the part of Khareen where people stop pretending choices are fair.”

  Raizō didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Everyone there could feel it. Once you entered the Pits, you weren’t a person anymore. You were entertainment.

  And if you survived long enough, you became a warning for the next one dragged down.