The streets of Grelmire buzzed with conflicting energies—power, fear, wealth, and submission all wrapped in the same cloak. Smoke coiled from incense braziers and butcher stalls alike. Merchants barked prices over chained humans forced to carry goods, while cloaked cultivators strolled past like minor gods, eyes burning with pride or disdain.
Derick moved through it all, his mind heavy with what he'd seen at the gate—the letter from Cael Dren had indeed opened the door, but not the world he hoped for. What awaited them beyond the gates was not salvation, but a city twisted by power.
Behind him, the remaining nine children followed closely. Tired. Quiet. Just boys and girls of eleven and twelve, each carrying scars visible and unseen.
Derick stopped to ask a passing baker for directions.
"We're looking for the Skysunder Clan territory," he said.
The man glanced at the group, then at the scars and rags they wore. "Keep heading north past the third square. Look for the silver banners and the obsidian lion gate. But don't linger too long—your kind don't last on these streets."
The Skysunder Domain
It was impossible to miss.
High towers of black stone twisted skyward like spears piercing the clouds. The Skysunder Palace stood at the heart of a walled compound, vast and dominating. Silver banners with jagged lightning sigils fluttered in the wind, and engraved guardian statues lined the steps like silent watchers.
But the streets near the palace told their own tale.
Cellars were cut into the earth between tower streets, their grates visible from above. Peering down, the children saw humans caged like livestock—men, women, and children packed into cramped spaces. Some lay still, too broken to move. Others were shouted at, whipped, or forced to eat slop from iron bowls while demon overseers chuckled from above.
And yet… not all humans were bound.
A few walked freely in robes—cultivators. Their Qi pulsed lightly, and their eyes were not filled with fear. They held scrolls, wore weapons, and even shared passing words with demon guards. These were humans who had earned respect—those strong enough to stand above the chains.
Lina whispered, "So it's true… power means everything here."
Derick's fists clenched. "Then we'll become powerful."
They reached the front of the Skysunder gates—two towering iron doors guarded by four armored demons in steel-blue cloaks. Their faces were covered by helms shaped like lion skulls.
Derick stepped forward and bowed. "I was given a letter by Master Cael Dren. I'm here to answer his summons."
One of the guards stepped forward and took the letter.
He read it, eyes scanning carefully.
Then he looked back. "The master is not present. He has traveled to the Floating Peaks for clan affairs. Return in five days. No one without rank may enter the palace while he's gone."
Derick nodded reluctantly. "Is there a place we can stay?"
The demon snorted. "This is Grelmire. Find a hole to crawl into—unless you're strong enough to claim space. Or rich enough to rent one."
The guards turned their backs.
With the sun beginning to set and the temperature falling, the group walked along narrow side roads away from the palace. The crowd thinned. The noise became sharp echoes. Stone alleys grew tighter and darker, where shadows lingered even after dusk.
They passed an abandoned courtyard and Derick paused. "We should find shelter soon. Maybe an inn."
But before they could move on, a chuckle echoed from the far end of the alley.
A group of six young demons stepped out from the shadows, all dressed in scavenged leather, piercings glittering in their ears and brows. Their Qi was faint—but more than enough to overpower children with no formal training.
At the head of the gang was a demon with dark silver skin and three scars running across his chest. He held a curved blade lazily in one hand.
"Look what we have here," he said. "Stray humans. Fresh out the gate, aren't you?"
Derick tensed. "We're not looking for trouble."
Another demon, shorter and more twisted in the face, pointed at Lina and the other two girls. "Those three will make a fine gift for the brothels. They pay double for humans this young."
Derick stepped forward. "Stay away from them."
The lead demon raised an eyebrow. "Or what?"
Derick didn't answer.
He struck.
He aimed for speed, for desperation. He drove his fist toward the silver-skinned demon's stomach—but the blow was blocked easily, and a punch came back with crushing force. It slammed Derick into the stone wall.
Lina screamed.
The other demons surged forward. Derick got to his feet again, blood pouring from his mouth.
"I SAID STAY AWAY FROM THEM!"
He fought with everything he had. He used the basic movement technique Master Shen had taught him—darting, redirecting, evading. But they were stronger. Faster. Their Qi was real.
They beat him mercilessly.
A knee to his ribs. A fist to the jaw. His vision swam.
He felt the pain of failure more than fists. The sharp edge of helplessness. The reminder that this world only respected strength.
The Fall
As Derick collapsed into the alley, barely breathing, he heard the others being dragged away.
Aro and Fen shouted, but were silenced quickly.
Lina tried to fight back. A dull smack echoed, followed by her scream.
Then silence.
The demons walked off, dragging the children into the deeper maze of Grelmire's criminal underbelly.
Derick remained behind, half-buried in a pile of waste and broken wood, his blood trailing from his lips into the cracks of the alley stones.
Above him, the sky darkened.
"I was too weak," he whispered.
Tears mixed with blood.
"I promised to protect them… I failed again…"
Then—nothing.