I awake with a start, my latest nightmare fading as I rejoin the wonderful world of wakefulness. Anything is better than those awful dreams. I groggily take note of the omnipresent darkness and biting chill that still encompasses the world around me.

  It must still be nighttime. Etheri take me, can’t I get a single night of rest without it being interrupted by horrible visions of darkness? This is starting to become a problem. Well, not really ‘starting’ it’s already been an issue for a very long time.

  I sigh, about to attempt to return to the facsimile of sleep that I hadn’t been enjoying, when I notice the sound of shuffling feet outside of our hidey-hole.

  What the hell?! Have the scoundrels found us?

  I try to remain as quiet as I possibly can, hoping whoever is outside doesn’t notice Brick’s soft snoring. I’m tempted to warn him, but decide against it.

  Should I? He might make more noise if I wake him without warning. Is that a risk I’m willing to take?

  That turns out to be a futile thought, as the footsteps stop right outside of our little lean-to. This is soon followed by three distinct hushed voices that are barely audible, even with the everpresent sound amplifier that people call night.

  I catch a few phrases, though not very many. The three that stand out the most, however, are “not him,” “too young,” and finally… “kill him.” Chills traverse my body from top to toes, as I register the reality of this serious situation.

  Now wide awake, I go to sit up, as fast as I can, only belatedly remembering that I have no room to do so. My head smacks against the rubble above me. The impact is hard enough to rattle my brain.

  “Ow! Fuck!”

  The exclamation escapes my mouth, announcing to all that I’m awake. I’m pretty sure I give myself a concussion from the force of stupidly slamming my noggin against the debris overhead.

  “Brick!”

  Head spinning, I try to awaken my only friend, my only family in this horrible hellhole, fully aware of the meaning of the three thugs’ words. I’m too late, however, as he’s forcefully pulled out of the makeshift bunker we’re lying in.

  “Our target is awake! Hurry up!” One of the men I hear outside has a nasally voice as he commands the others.

  “Yes, sir!” The two other voices speak up simultaneously, clearly deferring to the first man.

  I try to scramble out after Brick, moving sluggishly due to the painfully pounding headache permeating my bruised brain. When my head pokes through the opening, a horrifying scene awaits me.

  Brick is being held by two humungous thugs, one on each arm. A third, smaller man stands behind him, holding a knife that he drags deeply through Brick’s throat. The poor boy is still blinking sleep from his eyes as he drops to the ground, a wet gurgle escaping his mouth as he tries to breathe.

  Blood gushes from his throat for what feels like an eternity, though in reality it wasn’t more than two or three minutes. At the end of those few moments, his ragged, labored struggle comes to a morbid end as his eyes sink in, his lifeless stare imprinted permanently into my memory.

  I look at him, eyes wide and mouth agape, disbelief dragging through my muddled mind. I fail to notice the burly brutes approaching me as I continue to watch my only friend in the whole world lying there limply, a large, unmoving lump. The three monsters that perpetrated the attack stand there grinning as all hope drains from my face like the color from Brick’s.

  I don’t even acknowledge the horrid smell that emanates from his lifeless corpse as Brick’s bowels betray him, releasing their putrid contents. There is no struggle left in me as they roughly pull me out of the bivouac of crumbled stone and wood. They place a burlap sack over my head, cinching the drawstring tightly around my throat. It’s not enough to choke me, but it’s very close.

  “Resistance is useless.” The smaller man’s nasally voice speaks snidely, clearly unimpressed by my reactions thus far.

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  Size is the only feature I’ve registered about the three assailants aside from their malicious smiles. My eyes are fully fixed on Brick, unable to avert my gaze due to the shock of the experience.

  Fuck… just… fuck… Brick…

  I can’t even comprehend the totality of my grief, still in the stage of disbelief. I stumble along as the scoundrels, as they must be, considering this is their territory, pull me forward. There’s one on each of my arms, the third prodding my back with the point of his blade. I briefly consider that they might dislocate one of my shoulders, or pierce through my back, but the thought is fleeting, quickly replaced by the only thing that remains, repeating itself unendingly.

  Brick… this… this is all my fault… It's all my fault!

  As I walk, my mind is catatonic, my legs jelly. I’m pretty sure they take a circuitous route to reach our destination, despite their efforts being completely unnecessary. I can’t process even the most basic directions, considering my concussion, grief, and the fact that I’ve never been in this area before.

  Why would we— I… even bother? Maybe if I had done differently… I should have told him we were in scoundrel territory… I should have given up long before we got that far in the first place… if only I’d thought about my actions and their possible consequences… This is all my fault…

  We finally reach our destination, and I hear a rusted door screech open. We walk a dozen or so steps before I’m roughly shoved onto the pebble-strewn floor, being pushed onto my side so forcefully that my head smacks once again against the solid stone.

  My concussion worsens, but I don’t have the time nor the faculties to process this as it’s immediately followed by thick, coarse cord tightly binding my wrists and ankles together behind my back. If I had any cognisance of my state of being, it would be extremely uncomfortable, but instead I allow my awareness to fade to a cold, dark unconsciousness.

  …

  It feels as if both an eternity and a mere instant have passed before a bucket of frigid water is dumped over me. The first thing that runs through my head is an all-consuming headache. The second thing is that I no longer have a sack on said head, and that I’m now in a kneeling position. If I thought the ropes were uncomfortable before, the magnitude of discomfort is bumped up a notch from being on my knees.

  In front of me is seated a man in a shirt the same color as the sky. It looks like it’s worth more rings than I could spend in a lifetime. The chair is simple, of wooden build with no design or pattern to be seen. The man is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped before him.

  “Good morning, sunshine. How did you sleep?” He speaks with a voice so deep and rich that it makes— would have made Brick’s voice sound like a child.

  Brick…

  The thought of him makes my heart clench, but I don’t let it show in front of this man, who is clearly rich and powerful, most likely in more than one way.

  Fuck… Brick… I’m so sorry… After following this flow of thoughts for a few futile seconds, I find it harder and harder to hide my escalating anguish.

  “I… um…”

  I try to formulate a thought, but it’s difficult to do so with my pounding headache and the piercing gaze of this terrifying presence. I glance up at his face for the first time, noticing his white gold, slicked back hair and striking green eyes… eye. His left eye is green, but his right is a deep blue. He has a strong jawline, clean-shaven. His face seems cut from stone so perfectly that I can’t find a single fault.

  A… loxin? He’s handsome as hell! I feel my cheeks redden a bit after that thought crosses my mind.

  He catches me staring and raises his left eyebrow, a slight curve to the same side of his mouth. With an amused tone, he speaks again.

  “No matter, I don’t imagine you had any comfort. Enough small talk, though. Let’s cut to the crux of the issue here. One of my men claims that not only did you sneak into our territory uninvited and steal his favorite boot, you snuck in a second time to return it. Now, I’m a smart man. I know that almost nobody would be foolish enough to do something so ridiculous. Would you describe yourself as foolish?”

  He pauses, clearly expecting some form of response to his question, so I shake my head.

  “I thought not. My theory is that one of my men took it to spite old Smitty. He’s not well liked. He might have even misplaced it himself, but that’s neither here nor there. You most likely found it, somehow getting the idea in your head that you should return it. What I can’t seem to figure out is how you knew whose boot it was, and more importantly, how you found our emergency exit. Would you care to explain?” The gravity of his tone is not missed, even through the pain in my brain.

  “I… um… I just got my skill yesterday… I used that…”

  I don’t feel the need to elaborate, and my head is still besieged by a mighty migraine, so I try the simplest answer that I can think of at this moment. The attempt is useless and unnecessary, but it’s all I can think of through the physical pain and mental anguish.

  “Yes… your skill. I heard that you summoned a strange box, from which you pulled an assortment of things. I’ll have you show me that in a moment. However, your response does nothing to answer my question, does it?”

  He pauses, allowing the silence to drag on for longer than necessary, in my opinion. His glare sends needles down my spine. I may not know this man, but I get the feeling that I really, really don’t want to piss him off. I attempt to answer him, but the question must have been rhetorical. As soon as my mouth opens to respond, he speaks once more.

  “How would a box grant you knowledge that you have no right, nor reasonable way to know?”

  Now, I’m really not a fool, so I know that telling this man about the details of my skill would be a foolish thing to do. Even still, I can’t lie to him, so I hedge my bets and go with a half-truth.

  “I honestly have no idea… um… sir?”

  The confidence in my tone must not have been convincing, as he dons a knowing smirk, again letting the silence seem as if it has a weight of its own. I’m briefly terrified that he’ll kill me for my insolence, but that’s immediately alleviated with his next statement.

  He must really like pausing for dramatic effect…

  “Sir is fine, for now, and you may keep your secrets.”

  His look gives the distinct impression that there is supposed to be another ‘for now’ after the second statement.

  “That does prove you were at least somewhat honest about how competent you are, so I have a proposition for you. I could use a skill like yours in the Society. There are various reasons for this, but suffice it to say, I have deliveries I need you to make. You will get paid one copper ring per two days of successfully completing your delivery quota, with opportunities for advancement. How does that sound?”

  “Do I really have a choice?”

  My question must have amused him, because he chuckles sardonically before responding, a blood curdling grin gracing his visage.

  “No, I suppose you don’t. Welcome to the crew, Luck.”