The sun was beginning its descent beyond the forest that surrounded the Ashfeilds, setting for the Taelaris cities and their residents. It was gracing them with its colourful last light, a sight that could only be seen by those who lived in the cities of the Third Wall.

  There were murmurs and whispers filling a single street in the noble quarter of the city of Srok, mummers from the crowd, the watching audience, children who called the abandoned alleyways and spaces beneath bridges their homes, half bloods who spent their days begging, scavenging and pickpocketing. And drunks who had nothing better to do but watch.

  “I don’t like it,” a voice said.

  “they should have run,” a slightly older girl with light brown eyes and an angular face said.

  “Run? Run where. Thornan is a Veystrix,” a lean-faced tall boy said.

  “That bastard’s enjoying this.” This was said by A thin girl with hazel eyes, small ears and rosy cheeks she covered with rags.

  “What of the guards. are they going to stop this?”

  “I doubt it. the guards probably want Clara and her band out of the noble quarter.”

  “Yah, they probably thought to let Thornan do their job for them, the bastards.”

  And so the rumours went, some sympathetic, others not so much. But if you listened close enough to these murmurs, you would find out that no matter what they thought, it did not matter in the end.

  And as cruel as this looked, What the lords and Ladies of the mountains didn’t know was Many of the rats guild– filthings and Veystrix grew up surrounded by violence. Whether it was a thief losing a hand Or a fellow orphan being beaten to within an inch of their lives, this brutality was part of these children’s world.

  It was an inevitable spectacle, and some even watched in grim fascination as Zek, Nel, and Linus tried to fight back against the Veystrix.

  Then he started toying with them, breaking bones and making them bleed. Each one of the watchers knew a Veystrix like Thornan, who had killed a lot of people, had a lot of power and more spells and could have easily put the group down without a lot of effort.

  “There is nothing we can do,” a red-skinned girl with a short neck said.

  Even when the Scar giver came to save her friends it meant nothing and they could see it, even when she looked pleadingly at them, all they could do was turn their heads away.

  When Thornan was done with her, the Scar giver, they all thought it would come to an end-- at least she would be alive. No one would intervene, no one would help, and why would they? It was the unspoken rule:’ Today it was them, tomorrow it could be me.’ They were too scared.

  And yet, one still stood out from the crowd. The figure pushed those standing in his way to the side and made to stop the large Goliath.

  “What’s he doing? He’s gonna get himself killed.”

  “He’s laughing. This is a game to him.” a figure pointed at Thornan.

  Marcus had been curious at first, but then his curiosity turned to panic as he pushed his way forward among the scrawny, unkempt bodies of teenagers covered in rags. Before he knew it, he was at the front, and it was the bodies of his friends lying beaten, bloody, broken, and after all that, it was the sight of Thornan holding Clara in her hand as she kicked and clawed.

  “It’s almost cute how hard you’re trying.” Thornan mocked, his eyes never leaving the girl.

  Marcus felt his body tense, his limbs growing heavy as he forced himself forward as quickly as his body could let him. he tried to understand the situation. He felt like thick mud covered his legs, making every movement feel impossibly slow. Why had he taken so long to get back at the manor? The space between him and Thornan, although a mere few feet, felt like a wide gap, and the time he took to cross it felt like an eternity.

  His breaths came in heavy gasps, his heart beating rapidly with fear and adrenaline. He reached the giant goliath, and his fingers wrapped around the dagger at Thornan’s waist. In one swift motion, hoping he was moving fast enough. Marcus slid the blade free from the sheath, and in the same sudden motion, he plunged it into the unsuspecting back of the half-Goliath.

  Then, like a dam breaking, time crashed back into motion.

  Thornan released Clara instantly, the half-conscious girl crumpling to the ground. Without hesitation, he spun faster than any boy that size had a right to move. A thick arm lashed out, catching Marcus cleanly in the chest. The impact sent Marcus staggering backwards as his breath was ripped away in a wheezing gasp.

  ————

  Marcus had never seen cruelty like this before, and his face went from horror to fear, which turned to blind anger.

  Looking around something in his heart twisted, he didn’t know when it happened, but after seeing Clara—weak, struggling—nothing else had mattered. All he had thought about was doing something, anything, to make Thornan let go.

  To protect his friends.

  He rushed forward with a blind focus. Had Ivor been there, he would have admonished him for such recklessness.

  But there was no time to think of what Ivor would say.

  Marcus steadied himself and took a step forward, whizzing and gasping as he stopped his stumble.

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  Thornan felt around his lower back and lifted his bloody fingers, he sneered, his lips curling back over his teeth.

  “You twat, I’m gonna kill you for that.”

  Marcus barely heard him. He had already moved, bracing himself, ready to take a blow from the half-Goliath. If only to return one and stab the Veystrix with his own dagger. He surged forward, aiming for the large boy’s gut, knowing he had to strike before Thornan got his footing.

  The dagger connected.

  And it did nothing, bouncing off the thick leather.

  Thornan barely reacted, only taking half a step back before driving a meaty fist into Marcus’s side. The air left his lungs in an agonized gasp, but he clenched his teeth, forcing himself to stay standing. He swung again cutting through the air with the borrowed dagger, aiming higher, trying to cut Thornan’s face and eyes, but the half-Goliath knocked his arm aside like swatting a fly.

  Another punch landed, this time squarely against Marcus’s chest. His ribs groaned under the impact. He stumbled, trying to get his footing, but Thornan’s massive hand shot out, grabbing Marcus’s wrist—the one still holding the dagger.

  Marcus’s breath hitched.

  Then Thornan squeezed.

  Agony lanced through Marcus’s arm. The dagger slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground, and before he could react, Thornan shoved him back with enough force to send him sprawling.

  “No one’s ever stopped him before,” someone muttered from the crowd. “Why do you think this is different?”

  Marcus and Clara had thought they would be fighting together to overwhelm Thornan with numbers but no plan survives enemy contact. Clara was barely breathing, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. Nel and Linus, the duo always so quick to leap into fights, were down. One was unconscious, the other sat slumped against the manor wall, his leg twisted unnaturally. Gabe and Zek had already been beaten within an inch of their lives. And Geneve and Ethne, the larger girl had clearly done everything she could to try and keep the youngest among them safe.

  There was no one left to help.

  A Veystrix perched on the rooftop shook his head. “It’s over,” he murmured.

  “He wanted us to see this,” another voice whispered.

  Marcus barely had time to brace before Thornan was on him again. A massive hand grabbed him by the tunic, lifting him off his feet as if he weighed nothing. He struggled, twisting, trying to break free, but Thornan was a Goliath, and Marcus was not.

  Had Ivor been here, he would have winced. He had warned Marcus time and time again, never to let a Goliath get their hands on you.

  Now, it was too late.

  The crowd watching winced in unison. They all knew what came next.

  Thornan’s fist slammed into Marcus’s face. His head snapped back, stars bursting in his vision. Before he could recover, another blow drove into his stomach. Then another. The force of it sent him crashing into the wall behind him, his back slamming hard against the stone. He tried to move, tried to lift his arms to defend himself, but Thornan grabbed him again, hoisting him up like a rag doll.

  Then the ground rushed toward him.

  Marcus barely registered the impact as his body slammed into the dirt and cobblestone, pain lancing through every part of him. Thornan didn’t let go. He hauled Marcus up again—only to throw him down once more.

  And again.

  And again.

  Marcus’s world blurred between flashes of impact and suffocating pain.

  “He won’t stop,” someone muttered, their voice barely audible over the sound of fists meeting flesh and stone meeting bone. “Not until he can’t move anymore.”

  Marcus tried to fight back. He threw a weak punch, but Thornan caught his wrist with ease. His grip was like iron, crushing down on the already bruised flesh.

  Marcus yelled out.

  “Look at you,” Thornan taunted, stepping closer, looming over him. “You’re shaking. Is it fear? Or are you just weak?”

  Marcus forced himself to his feet, even as his body screamed in protest. His chest ached, his ribs felt splintered, and every breath was a struggle. Still, he raised his fists, adopting a boxer’s stance.

  It was pointless.

  Thornan barely acknowledged the gesture before driving another punch into Marcus’s ribs. His entire torso felt like it might cave in. He staggered, nearly collapsing, but Thornan wasn’t finished.

  A hand caught his face, gripping it tightly.

  Marcus’s feet barely touched the ground as Thornan lifted him.

  “I could end this now…” the half-Goliath murmured, his voice almost thoughtful. Then his lips twisted into a cruel grin. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  Marcus coughed, blood and bile spilling past his lips. His vision was swimming, and His body was screaming at him to stop, to give in, to fall and never get up again.

  Thornan shook his head. “You should’ve run when you had the chance.” He sighed, almost disappointed. “Not that it would’ve helped.”

  Marcus tried to lift his arm, to strike, to do something—but Thornan only laughed. Then he swung.

  Marcus felt the world tilt, and then—

  Darkness.

  ———

  Darkness.

  The nothingness of being.

  Marcus was dying, and his life was flashing before his eyes. Memories trickled back in, slowly at first. Why had he forgotten all of this?

  Every moment of his life.

  It started with his high school graduation. He had been happy then — playing on nearly every sports team: soccer, volleyball, football, rugby. You name it, and he had tried it and done it all. He was good too. Good enough to dream. He remembered arguing with his parents when they pestered him to go to college. He had other plans — dreams of being a boxer. But when that dream came crashing down.

  what was left?

  Nothing.

  He gave up, went along with their wishes. College wasn’t what they said it would be. A lot of math, coding, assignments that took hours — days sometimes. He pushed through it, hoping it would lead somewhere.

  And when he thought he was done…

  Nothing.

  He couldn’t even remember the day it happened. One moment he was opening the door to his apartment — the next, he was waking up. Dried blood caking his eyes. Sharp pain pinching his leg.

  Oh, how he missed Earth. He never thought he’d say such a thing, but here he was. In another world. And despite all its curiosities, it was a dying world — or at least it felt that way to him. A world that was changing him.

  Yet there were so many things here.

  So many ways he could find purpose.

  He had been given the body of a half-blood, despised by all. And yet, after just a few months with Clara, Gabe, and the rest — his life was beginning to mean something. If only he had more time.

  There were so many ways to improve the lives of those around him. Yet first, he had to survive. He had to get out of the slums, out from under the control of those who wanted to keep him there.

  Then he could learn more — about the world, the magic.

  But he was dying. The group was no help to him now. He had begged for coin, scoured war graves of the dead, eaten rats — all to survive.

  When he discovered his ability to see magic, they had finally made more money. But then Thornan had come. He wanted to take it all. Everything they had built.

  Marcus wasn’t ready to die. If he had been brought to this world just to end up like this, then what was the point?

  No.

  He refused to accept it.

  There was more he could do.

  More he could teach — knowledge even the scholars of the high walls would envy.

  He had been given a chance.

  A choice.

  A purpose.

  And if he was ever going to understand what was happening to him, he had to survive.

  Survive.

  Marcus’s heart skipped a beat.

  He remembered the lessons Ivor had taught him. He remembered what he had been warned never to do. He remembered, and if he could feel shame, he would.

  His breathing grew steady.

  And then a voice.

  A whisper, gentle but urgent.

  Wake up.

  Warmth spread through his hand, his body beginning to heal.

  Wake up.

  The voice grew louder.

  Wake up. Wake up.

  He wasn’t done.

  Not yet.