The smoke was still thick when Killian led them out through a back alley behind the arena. The big man carried the red-haired girl over his shoulder while Lucian limped behind, trying to keep up.
"Too bad. I also wanted a piece of Varro," Killian muttered. "But my work here is done."
Lucian kept his legs moving. Keeping pace took everything he had.
"Do you know him?" he asked.
"Nah. Just an arrogant fool who didn't even use his class potential," Killian said, annoyed. "Move faster, kid."
"You're kidding," Lucian replied.
"That's nothing. A few patches and you're good as new. The girl over there has it worse, so shut up and move."
They came out into a wider road. A wooden wagon sat waiting, hitched to a large flightless bird Lucian had seen before. But this one looked healthier, better fed. Its few feathers were groomed.
A few other figures were already sitting inside. Kids. Six of them, the oldest maybe twelve. Bags of supplies were stacked between them. When Lucian climbed in, most of them pulled their knees closer and looked away.
A young coachman greeted Killian from the front.
"Boss, we're good to go."
Killian checked the wagon and climbed onto the front.
"That's all you could get?" he asked.
"Yes, boss. Bought three with the money you gave me and stole three more."
He said it like he was talking about groceries.
"Hmm. Good deal. Tell the rest we're leaving this filthy port," Killian said, satisfied.
Lucian had settled into the back, still catching his breath from the climb. He waited for it to steady.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"That's not for you to know."
"Can I at least know what the group is called?"
Killian grinned. "Mudrats."
"Mudrats," Lucian repeated.
"What, are you expecting a fancy name?"
Lucian looked at the six children more closely. They kept avoiding his eyes, and none of them had stopped shaking.
"What are you going to do with them?" He paused. "With us?"
"Relax. We're not going to kill you. We rescued you, so you should be grateful, brat."
Lucian didn't trust a word of it, but he didn't press.
"What's the bird called?" Lucian asked the big man, anything to distract himself from the pain and gather information at the same time.
Killian answered from the front. "That's Ghoul. Don't expect much conversation. Part of his brain is gone." He tapped his own forehead. "See that scar on his head? Some crazy doctor carved it out."
Lucian looked at Ghoul. The scar across his forehead was thick and jagged, like something had been dug out with a blade.
"And the bird?" Lucian asked again.
"You sure ask a lot for a brat," Killian said. "That's a wildrunner. From the Eastern Continent. Only beast that's ever been tamed out here. You won't find horses on this island. The terrain is too rough, and the air makes most animals from the west sick."
For a while they rode in silence, the wagon weaving through the crowded streets.
Even under the dark clouds, Lucian could see what this district was. Lanterns hung from crooked buildings. Screams drifted from open doors. People stumbled in and out of establishments, drunk and loud. The smell of perfume and rot mixed together.
The wagon rolled north. After a while, a ruined wall came into view.
"This is the central district," Killian continued. "Where the groups and organizations set up. Guilds, gangs, mercenaries. Everyone who wants to escape from the west ends up on this island. It's better than the southern port we came from."
They passed through a broken gate without stopping. Armed men at the corners watched the wagon but didn't approach. A few nodded at each other as Killian passed.
"What was that?" Lucian asked.
"Them? Just lowlifes playing guard."
The streets changed. The buildings grew taller, more solid, though still scarred and patched. Groups of armed men stood at corners, watching the road. Banners and crude symbols marked territories on walls and doors.
They continued until the road narrowed as they left the central district behind. The buildings thinned out and disappeared. The ground turned soft and uneven. A smell hit Lucian. Rot. Decay. Something chemical and sour underneath it.
"Welcome to the north," Killian said. "Waste forest. This is where the island dumps its trash. Dead bodies, broken stuff, and mutated creatures. Nobody comes here on purpose."
The forest was dead. Black sludge covered the ground. In the dark, eyes glowed between the twisted trunks, watching them pass.
"Aren't those dangerous?" Lucian asked.
"The mutants? Small ones are just scavengers. The big ones don't come this close." Killian paused. "Usually."
"That's reassuring."
"Wasn't meant to be. That's why it's the safest place for us."
The wagon turned off the path and squeezed between two giant rocks. Black vines hung from above, brushing the top of the wagon as they passed through. The trail wound through the dead trees and down a slope, the ground getting rockier with each step. The smell of the sea cut through the rot. Salt and cold air.
Then the narrow path opened and Lucian saw it.
A bay, surrounded on three sides by cliffs. Below, the rock walls were natural formations that had been carved into and patched together with whatever they could find. Wood planks, scrap metal, stone blocks, all stacked and nailed and tied into something that looked like shelter.
The shore curved inward, letting the water lap against a makeshift dock. Tied to it was one large sailboat and a few smaller boats, all rocking gently in the dark water.
"Welcome back, boss," a voice called from the end of the narrow path.
"Grab the bags and take the kids," Killian said.
"Yes, boss."
"This is it," Killian said, hopping off the wagon. "The base of the Mudrats."
The children climbed down from the wagon. A few older kids came up the path to meet them, taking their hands and leading them toward the shelters without a word.
Lucian watched them go. Then he looked at the rest of it. A hideout built from scrap, hidden between a waste forest and the sea. And from what he could tell, the whole thing was run by a kid.
He wondered if he had made the wrong choice after all.
…
They carried the red-haired girl inside first. Through a low doorway patched with driftwood, down a narrow corridor carved from the rock. Inside was clean, cleaner than anything Lucian had seen since the ship.
A woman was waiting there.
She sat in a wheelchair. It was a seat mounted on wheels, fitted with mechanical arms that folded and unfolded at her sides like insect limbs. Her hair was violet, long and tied back loosely. She looked young, maybe late teens.
"Put her here," she said, guiding Ghoul with a gesture. One of the mechanical arms extended and pulled the blanket back on the bed.
Ghoul laid the girl down gently. The woman leaned forward, her fingers pressing against her neck, then her wrist. A small floating ball drifted from behind the wheelchair and hovered over her body, emitting a faint hum.
"Multiple fractures. Internal bleeding. Muscle tears across both arms and legs." She listed it off calmly, like reading a recipe. "How is she still alive?"
"That's what I want to know," Lucian said from the doorway, waiting his turn.
She glanced at him. "You must be Lucy."
"Yeah."
"I'm Selena. Second head of the Mudrats." She looked him over. "You're next. Wait outside."
They took the girl into the other room. Lucian sat on a wooden crate in the corridor and listened to the sound of mechanical arms moving behind the wall.
A while later, Selena called him in.
The room smelled like herbs and metal. Selena sat in her wheelchair, one mechanical arm holding a needle and thread, another holding a small knife. The floating ball hovered near her shoulder, its light focused on a tray of tools.
"Sit," she said.
Lucian sat on the bed. She rolled closer and began examining his face. Her real hands were gentle. The mechanical arm was not.
"Your arm is dislocated, and your body is full of bruises and cuts," she said.
"I know."
"Hold still." The arm moved to his swollen cheek. He felt pressure, then blood, as it cleaned the cut and stitched it closed.
"How do you control that?" he asked, watching the arm move on its own while her hands checked his ribs.
"Mental energy," she said. "It's a Professor Class ability. I can control my inventions within a certain range using thought alone."
The floating ball drifted to his left arm and hummed.
She gripped his forearm with both hands. The mechanical arm braced his shoulder.
Pop.
He bit down hard. Pain shot up through his arm and into his head.
She worked through the rest of him after that. Stitching the deeper cuts, spreading ointment over the bruises, wrapping what was left in bandages.
"Done," she said, tying off the splint. "The bone is back in place. Don't use it for at least two weeks."
He sat there breathing through it, too weak to move, sweat dripping down his neck.
"Killian told me about you," she said. "He said you're Blessed."
She smiled faintly. "Seems like he likes you."
Lucian didn't answer.
"He even went out of his way and changed his plan to get you out of there," Selena continued. "You're a lucky kid."
She wheeled back and the mechanical arms folded neatly at her sides.
"Oh. The girl is alive. Barely. But something in her keeps going. I've never seen anything like it."
"Thanks," he said weakly, fighting to stay awake.
"I know you're tired, but you need to move to the other room. I have other kids to check on."
Lucian moved at a crawl. He got as far as the corridor, dropped onto the wooden crate, and was asleep before he could think about going any further.