The maze of Undergleam throbbed under Lucien's boots, alive with grit and noise that crawled into your skin and refused to leave. Neon signs sputtered and groaned, their flickering light bouncing off cracked concrete walls streaked with grime and layers of graffiti that looked like they'd been scratched in decades ago, never cleaned. The air hung thick and sharp, full of burnt metal tang, old sweat, and something darker—something like fear or maybe the stink of deals gone sideways and bleeding out. Every alley reeked like an open wound, raw and twitching in the dark.
The city felt like it was rotting from the inside out—and somewhere deep, Lucien knew he'd handed the scalpel to the infection.
The Ledger pulsed beneath his coat, a rhythm that throbbed slow and cold through his ribs. It spoke in glyphs only he could see, symbols flashing across his vision like burned-in truths.SYSTEM: Soul-Tether Register [Valthara-Undergleam Nexus]
Market Instability Index: HIGHCause: Unauthorized extra-planar cipher traced to Proxy ID: CASSIAN-46Note: You built this ruin.
Lucien didn't flinch. He'd been hearing the Ledger's voice in his head for too long to argue with it. But the words hit, heavier than usual. Maybe because they were true. Maybe because the ghosts in his blood were louder tonight.
Lucien Blackmoore cut through the crowd with that crooked grin slashing across his face, boots tapping the stained pavement with steady, light beats. This city's underbelly was a snarling mess, ragged and violent. But tonight, he wasn't here to scrape scraps. He moved through the crush easy, like someone who'd danced on the edge of knives so many times it didn't even scare him anymore. His coat flared behind like a dark flag caught in a dirty wind, the weight of the Ledger thumping against his ribs with a stubborn pulse he could feel down to his gut.
He passed by a rusted shrine half-buried under neon flyers and rotting offerings—one of the old gods, faceless and cracked. Forgotten. Like the rules that used to hold this world together. Lucien didn't stop. He didn't believe in saints, not anymore. Just contracts and leverage and the sharp end of ambition.
SYSTEM: Active Tracking – Informant ID: LENA-TR1Task: Intercept cipher fragment from Cassian network. Estimated threat radius: 600 meters.Collections Due: 3 [Delayed: 2 days, 4 hours, 17 minutes]Note: Pattern anomaly detected.
Stalls jammed shoulder to shoulder, a noisy jumble of color, sound, and rough bargains shouted over each other. Vendors barked with voices raw and threadbare from years of haggling and hard living. They hawked everything—from rusted tech shards mostly worthless to anyone but a few desperate types, to black-market soul tokens, each deal a gamble wrapped in blood and thin hope. The scent of oil, scorched wires, and faint whiffs of incense tangled in the thick air, settling heavy in lungs that had long stopped asking for mercy.
Lucien's eyes snagged on Lena first. She was a sharp cut of green-eyed ice, hair pulled back tight, all business and edge. No nonsense in her stance, no wasted motion. She stood behind a cluttered stall piled with broken machines and faded sigils, watching the crowd like a hawk waiting for its moment. When her eyes locked on his, there was a quick flicker—cautious, calculating, maybe even grudging respect hiding in the shadows.
"Lena, lovely," Lucien called out, voice thick with charm, that smirk playing just beneath the surface. "This market's a brawl, but I'm the champ. Slip me that intel, and I owe you a drink."
She lifted an eyebrow sharp as a knife, arms crossing, scars marking them like medals earned in silent battles. "Lucien Blackmoore," she said low and steady, a touch sharp. "Always in the thick of it. What kind of intel you hunting?"
He dropped his voice close, leaning in so it felt like a secret shared over a grave. "Rumors, you know. Syndicate moves gone sideways—botched, sloppy, loud enough to leave footprints in the dirt. You know the type. Speaking of footprints..." His gaze flicked toward a grimy, crumpled scrap stuck under a loose board near her stall. The edges were ragged, a smudged cipher barely visible under dust and sweat.
"Another cipher?" Lucien muttered, squinting at the faded marks. "This guy's a damn amateur."
Lena's lips twitched with a dry, humorless kind of smile, like she knew exactly how bad it was. "Cassian's proxies. Running circles but tripping over their own feet. Guess finesse ain't on the syllabus in their dark little school."
Lucien's hand hovered over the paper, but he didn't touch it yet. The glyphs burned faint against his peripheral vision.SYSTEM WARNING: Cipher Identified. Glyph structure: Unstable. Linked to prior anomalies in Emberthread, Coilmarket, and Shatterhall.Ledger Status: Compromised Trace DetectedNote: He hunts me.
That last phrase wasn't part of the system code. It had a voice. A thought. The Ledger wasn't just a tool anymore—it was an observer. Maybe even a judge.
Lucien was about to press for more when the whole air shifted—the crowd parting just enough for two broad-shouldered men from the Iron Crows to push through. Their heavy steps hit like a slow hammer, faces carved from stone, set hard with angry patience that meant violence was coming, sooner or later. Their eyes sliced through the crowd, hunting for the broken wing they knew was here.
One of the goons spotted Lucien and grunted, thick and guttural. "There he is. The broker making noise in our turf."
Lucien's grin sharpened like a blade. "Looks like the party's just getting started," he said, voice low and dangerous.
The goons advanced, slow but sure. Lucien melted into motion, darting through the crowd with elbows snapping, feet sliding, a slick shadow slipping between bodies. Noise crashed all around—vendors shouting, curses spat, metal clattered somewhere out of tune. A bell rang harsh and wrong.
He caught Lena's eyes as he passed. She gave a quick nod, quiet support in a loud, broken world.
"I owe you that drink," Lucien called over his shoulder, voice rough but playful, "and maybe a favor too."
Behind him, one of the Iron Crows cursed low and swept a fist through a stall, sending rusted metal and cracked glass skittering across the ground like broken bones. Lucien's pulse sped—not from fear, but raw thrill. Cassian's shadow was crawling everywhere, messy and clumsy but dangerous as hell. Lucien knew this was just one tangled thread in a bigger, uglier weave.
He slipped into a narrower alley, pressing his back flat against the cold, pocked wall. Breath came quick but steady, chest thumping like a war drum beneath his coat. The ledger pulsed heavy beneath fabric—a constant reminder that every step here was a gamble with lives and debts heavier than any credits.
Lucien pulled the smudged cipher from his pocket, holding it close. The blurred marks stared back like a bad joke scribbled in haste—Cassian's signature again, less artful than last time, but every bit as threatening. He let out a low chuckle, dark and dry.
"No finesse at all," he muttered, "but I've always liked a challenge."
SYSTEM: Anomaly Pattern Recognized. Cross-referencing with historical deals.Display: Three overlapping zones of instability—originated from your own soulbound negotiations.Analysis: 72% likelihood of recursive decay pattern seeded by CASSIAN.Note: My bonds crack your city.
The Ledger didn't accuse, not directly. But the glyphs held weight. Truths that cut.
Lucien looked out toward the edge of the alley, where the night yawned wider and colder. He remembered a time—years ago now, but it burned fresh—when he'd sat across from Cassian at a broken table inside a vault stripped of names. Their first deal. A little soul exchange. Minor at the time. But the way Cassian looked at him—like he wasn't just sealing a deal but claiming something deeper—had never left.
That deal had cracked something in him. Maybe in the city too.
Lucien ground his heel into the street. Guilt flared. Brief. Bitter. Then gone.
The Ledger pulsed again.Task: Containment advised. Sabotage cluster may trigger wider collapse.Note: Fix your flaws.
Lucien turned, eyes narrowing. His hand drifted to the inner pocket of his coat. A single slip of parchment. A decoy contract—rigged to bait Cassian's next move. He wasn't just surviving this time. He was setting the next stage.
"I'll counter you, Cassian," he muttered. "You play loud, but I'm the one who makes the terms."
He stepped back into the market's pulse, boots striking rhythm against the stone, heart heavy with war drums that hadn't stopped since the first name signed under his hand.
As he moved, the Ledger murmured one final pulse, more intimate now, almost warm in its scorn:You're bound to me.
Lucien didn't argue. He just kept walking, pondering his next con.