Chapter 8 â Ashes Beneath Iron, Part V: The Price of Freedom
Day 230 of the Twelvefold Cycle
Era of Concordance, Year 812 | Deep Duskhorn | PRE DAWN
----------------------------------------
Descent into the Whining Moon
Rain slicked the alley stones, turning Black Fangâs backstreets into narrow veins of murky runoff and rotting waste. The scent of piss and soot thickened with each sharp corner. Willow ran ahead with the grace of a born rogue, half-goblin, half-human, her boots barely kissed the puddles beneath her as she twisted between crates and broken barrels. A leather-strapped cloak billowed behind her, revealing tight-wrapped gear tailored for speed, patched thigh holsters, worn daggers tucked beneath a sash, and a low-cut crimson tunic hardened with travel grime. Even in the darkness, she moved like she belonged here.
Ruki trailed behind, half-hunched and gasping. Her steps were heavy, her vision hazed. The air stung her eyes, her cheeks, her lungs, each one pulsing with exhaustion. Her muscles had long since stopped listening. They carried her despite it alone.
âThat warningâ¦â she muttered aloud, half to herself, half into the rain. âMar⦠Mar, did you see it too? Or⦠am I already slipping?â
There was a moment of silence. Then a voice answered not from beside her, but inside her.
> âIf youâre referring to the absolute lack of mana⦠and the fact that youâre not in a mana-locked coma, then yes. I saw it. And you can thank me.â
The voice of Marzhaâren of the Whiteveil echoed within her soul, laced with ancient calm and subdued frustration. In his Soulbound form, he shared her thoughts and burdens. He didnât just hear her, he felt the burn in her lungs, the tremble in her legs, the firestorm in her veins.
> âI used what I could from my reserves. But understand this, Ruki, I cannot do that again. Not like this. Push any further, and your body will shut down. You need to rest. If youâre truly set on killing yourself⦠donât make me watch.âHis voice, though mythical and grand, held a fraying thread of concern.
Ruki didnât answer at first. The alleys were tightening, the buildings leaning in. Shouts echoed somewhere far behind them, Syndicate patrols, maybe. Or worse.
âI was weak once,â she said under her breath, her voice shaking. âI let others decide what I was worth. Room 406⦠that was my cage. My bed, my prison. And now⦠if I survive this worldâ¦â
She stopped speaking. Rain stung her lips as tears joined it, mixing with the filth of the city. Her knees buckled briefly before she caught herself against the stone wall, trembling.
âIâm going to become the huntress. No more prey.â
The alley narrowed again into a jagged corridor of shadow and firelight. Somewhere to the left, a low growl broke the stillness, not from a guard beast, but from a chained creature huddled beneath a canvas tarp, its body lean and scarred, fur matted with blood and rain. A merchant beat its crate with the blunt end of a torch, snarling curses in a language Ruki didnât recognize.
A few paces ahead, a child, ears clipped, tail docked, scurried past a stall and threw a crust of stale bread into the pen before vanishing into the gutters. The creature didnât growl again. It whimpered.
Rukiâs gaze lingered on the beast, her steps faltering. Something about the way it crouched, not out of fear, but restraint, made her chest tighten.
It wasnât wild.
It was waiting.
Just like she had.
A pause.
> âThen that is your resolve.â Marzhaârenâs voice deepened, almost ceremonial. âI will honor it. I am Marzhaâren of the Whiteveil, heir of the forgotten pact, last of the Colorbreak kin. And I will lend you my strength, but know this.â
>
> âThe power you seek⦠the one sealed inside me⦠it is chained for a reason. Like the others of my kind, I was bound. Not killed. Not tamed. Bound. And some of them⦠are still alive. Still sealed.â
Rukiâs eyes widened slightly.
âThe Holy Empire,â she murmured. âThey already have some⦠donât they?â
Marzhaâren didnât answer. But the silence spoke volumes.
This wasnât a theory. It was true.
âI wonder if this is what Liia meant,â Ruki whispered. âIâve been walking blind⦠damn it. Thatâs not me. Thatâs never been me.â
Willow turned suddenly, dropping from a broken rooftop onto the alley path below. Her boots hit stone without a sound. Unlike Ruki, she was breathing easily, as if this was her morning stroll.
âYou good back there?â she asked, cocking a brow. Her mismatched eyes gleamed in the dark, one brown, one pale jade. âTry not to die before the wine hits the table.â
Ruki grunted and forced herself upright.
They made one last turn, the narrow alleys opened slightly into a crooked street filled with uneven stalls and flickering lanterns. A rusted sign overhead groaned in the breeze, barely legible:
THE WHINING MOON
Nestled between two weather-worn bathhouses and what mightâve once been a tailor shop turned smuggler den, the Whining Moon was more compound than tavern, part saloon, part stable, part underground rest-stop for outlaws and wanderers. The scent of sweetbread and wet beast fur drifted out from the half-open door, a stark contrast to the mildew-drenched alley theyâd come from.
Willow slowed her steps as they neared the crooked sign of the Whining Moon, its paint weather-worn but still glowing faintly under the moonlight. She stopped just shy of the entrance, glancing back at Ruki with a half-smirk, half-sigh. Her face was damp with rain, but her sharp eyes didnât miss a thing.
âThe Whining Moonâs ahead. Donât let the name fool you, it ainât just some piss-soaked tavern,â she muttered, wiping a strand of hair from her face. âThe place is run by a Beastkin named Ethel. Real tough bastard, but fair. Heâs got rules, even if the rest of this city doesnât. Just donât break âem. Weâll get a room, rest our feet, and breathe for once.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
She paused, exhaling like sheâd been holding the weight of the night in her chest. âVictor chasing our hinds like we stole his girl, meet here in four days, he says. What a load of direwolf shit. Donât let it get to you. You dropped Malfur. That bastard was stronger than him in battle, so thatâs something.â
Willow threw her hands up, doing an exaggerated imitation of Victorâs stiff posture and fake-hero voice. âIâll see you in four days, little girlâ¦â
Ruki couldnât help but laugh, even if it hurt. Her ribs ached. Her feet felt like stone, but that moment of levity pierced through the exhaustion clouding her mind.âYeah⦠four days,â she managed through gritted teeth, her voice half-giggle, half-growl. âMy body feels like itâs gonna tear in half, but whatever. Victor doesnât scare me. Not after tonight.â
Willow nodded toward the tavern. âCome on. Iâve got the room covered, at least I can do, after dragging you into all this crap. You nearly became rotisserie chicken, saving my ass, so I owe you more than just a bed.â
That last line wasnât laced with sarcasm. It was honest. Willowâs smirk faltered just a little, revealing a flicker of something rare, gratitude.
----------------------------------------
THE WHINING MOON
Day 230 of the Twelvefold Cycle
Era of Concordance, Year 812 | Deep Duskhorn | PRE DAWN
The door to the Whining Moon creaked open with a weathered groan, spilling golden light into the muddy street behind them. For just a moment, it cut through the veil of swamp mist like a beacon. The contrast was jarring from the filth and rot of Black Fangâs alleyways into something almost⦠warm.
Ruki hesitated just past the threshold, her boots sinking into the softened wood planks. Her breath caught not from exhaustion this time, but awe.
Inside, the tavernâs first floor stretched wide, far bigger than she expected. The tavern hall opened into a circular layout, centered around a rune-etched firepit glowing with orange flame. Curved stone benches surrounded the hearth, and thick walls wrapped with deep-set booths, each padded with worn furs and stitched leathers.
A long bar arced along the right side of the room, carved from darkroot wood and etched with fang-pattern runes. Behind it, shelves shimmered faintly, stacked with vials, bottles, and brews of unlabeled origin. On the left, a kitchen hatch swung open, the clang of iron and the hiss of meat on a pan drifting through the air.
Near the rear, a raised half-stage waited dormant, instruments cradled and lanterns above flickering with pale-blue magical flame.
Narrow stairs curled upward near the far wall, but what caught Rukiâs eye wasnât the layout. It was the feeling.
The trapdoor beneath the main stair pulsed faintly with mana, subtle, hidden behind a false wall, detectable only to those attuned.
This wasnât built for celebration.
It was built for survival.
This isnât just a tavern, Ruki thought. Itâs a checkpoint. A crossroads for people like me.
> âRuki,â Mar-Marâs voice echoed from within her, calm but low, âremember your resolve. Amongst them, youâre not just a traveler, youâre the one theyâve been waiting to rally behind. But in the end⦠the path is still yours.â
âNo worries,â Ruki replied inwardly. âIâm not here to play anyoneâs pawn.â
They continued forward.
The usual bustle was gone. A few patrons lingered in back booths, speaking low or nursing chipped mugs. But the center was left open, deliberately cleared. Like they were expected.
Rukiâs gaze swept the room.
To the right stood Selene, near the hearth in a tailored indigo jacket lined in silver trim, the insignia of the Tachi Trade Company stitched cleanly at her sleeve. Her dark skin shimmered in the firelight, her black hair pulled into a coiled twist at one shoulder. Her stare was sharp, calculating, like a merchant who already knew the weight of every coin in your purse.
Two beastkin maids moved behind her, calm, silent, and practiced. One lit a brazier of incense near the stage. The other poured water into a shallow tea basin with quiet grace.
Near a center pillar sat Juizo, legs kicked over the edge of the bench, posture cocky, lazy. A half-drained bottle rested in his elbow as he spun a hooked dagger between his fingers. The metal in his jaw caught the light as he smirked beneath a worn hood, watching the girls like a wolf watching a wounded hare.
He didnât speak at first. Just watched.
Then came Ethel, a wall of muscle and fur leaning against a main beam. One thick arm crossed the other, a dull scar cutting jaggedly across his bicep like a lightning bolt etched into flesh. Beside him, a massive white wolfhound lay coiled, one golden eye cracked open as it assessed Ruki with calm intelligence.
And then - Kaelira.
She stepped from the stairwell behind the bar, her silver-trimmed cloak brushing the floor with no sound. No welcome. No smile. Her gaze locked on Rukiâs, unreadable.
Willow tensed beside her. Her hand drifted instinctively toward her hip, not a threat, just reflex.
âWell⦠shit,â she muttered. âYou guys normally make entrances like this? Damn intense.â Her smirk was thin, but her voice betrayed the nerves beneath.
Ruki didnât respond. Her pulse was still hammering. Every eye in the room weighed her. Not all of them kindly.
So this is who Kaelira ran toâ¦
Selene was the first to speak. Calm. Direct.
âYouâre late.â Her words struck like a gavel.
She turned slightly, narrowing her gaze on Ruki. Her eyes flicked once from boot to brow, then lingered.
So this is the girl who dropped Malfurâ¦? she thought. The queenâs heir? Doesnât look like much.
Juizo gave a sharp smirk from his bench.
âTheyâre alive. Thatâs ahead of schedule.â He tilted his head, eyes scanning Ruki lazily. Short⦠but fierce-looking. That aura, though. Wonder if sheâd spar me.
Willow rolled her eyes. âTavern of lunatics,â she grumbled, then elbowed Ruki gently. âPerfect. From Victorâs hell to this â maybe youâre the bad luck.â
She looked up toward the group. âWeâre not here to stir trouble. Just getting a room. She needs rest.â
Ethel finally stepped forward, his bulk dominating the stairwell.
He didnât puff his chest. Didnât growl. He just stared at Ruki, her stance, her eyes, the bloodstained edge of her sleeve.
âYouâre in one piece,â he said flatly. His voice was like gravel wrapped in warmth. âAfter the chaos at the South Gate, figured weâd be hauling a corpse.â
He took a breath, voice low and even.
âIâll introduce myself later. There are things weâll need to talk about.â
His stare lingered just a heartbeat too long.
Kaeliraâs bet everything on you⦠Didnât she?
Ruki opened her mouth, but Ethel raised a hand.
âSave it. Youâre soaked. Limping. Barely conscious. You did your part.â
He turned toward Selene.
âGet the upstairs room ready. They eat, they rest. You know the drill. Please and thank you.â
Then to Willow: âNo worries, rogue. Rooms â on us.â
Selene gave a clipped nod. âAlready prepped. And I donât take orders, remember?â
Kaelira stayed silent. Arms crossed. Eyes watching.
Ruki⦠I know youâre not Lurie. But I had to test youâ¦
She didnât say the words. But Ruki understood.
Willow blinked. âNo tab? No threats? Alright then.â She gave Ruki a sidelong glance. These people⦠they know her? Do they respect her? Then maybe just maybe sheâs the one who can help me, too.
âIâll take it,â Willow said.
Ethel gave a faint shrug. âYou dragged her here in one piece. That counts.â
From the shadows, Juizo raised his glass. âOr maybe heâs just soft on green-haired girls.â
Both girls turned sharply.
âSay that again,â Ethel growled without turning, âand Iâll knock your jaw off.â
Selene didnât even flinch. âIf he doesnât, I will.â Juizo laughed all bark, no bite.
Kaeliraâs eyes finally met Rukiâs. A flicker of warmth. The faintest mouthing of words.
âIâm glad youâre safe.â
Ruki nodded faintly. She didnât have the strength to respond.
If I had followed her⦠Willow wouldâve died. This way was right.
âWhereâs the closest room?â she rasped. Her legs trembled. âI need rest. Then⦠we talk.â A sharp chime echoed in her skull.
> [WARNING]
>
> Fatigue: CRITICAL
>
> Status Effects: Mana Lock (Partial) / Stamina Burn / Neural Drain
>
> Recommend: Immediate Sleep
Her vision tunneled.
She dropped to one knee, breath hitching, arms limp at her sides. The room swam. The firelight blurred.
âHEY!!â Willow lunged, catching Ruki just before she fell.
âGet her upstairs. Now,â Selene ordered, voice cutting through the chaos. The two maids rushed forward, swift but gentle.
Willow held her ground. âIâll go with her,â she said firmly. âNo one touches her until sheâs back on her feet.â
No one argued.
Ethel gave a nod. âSheâs yours, then. Guard her well.â
END OF CHAPTER 8
----------------------------------------