Draken’s grip tightened around the mortal’s throat as the weak street filth clawed at his robe’s sleeve. The mortal’s eyes were wide and watery as he gasped for breath, but if it was mercy he wanted, Draken couldn’t give him that—but he could give him something just as desirable.

  The appendage on his back flexed, and the air cracked as the tentacle whipped into the side of the man’s head, caving in his skull and snapping his neck. The mortal died in an instant. Draken then released his grip, and the corpse slumped to the barn floor, puffing up hay.

  Around Draken, two other bodies lay cold. These mortals—members of the Collar Gang, going off their tattoos, had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Draken turned his head to the man standing off to the side.

  Artemis. The man wore a heavy black cloak, its hood pulled up, shrouding his face. The hood was so large it completely covered his hands and feet, with the only visible piece of skin being the bottom of his mouth, which was steeped in shadow. It was a wonder the man could see.

  But he was a powerhouse of the Night’s Raven, with his cultivation having reached Core Formation-Six. He could flatten Draken with a breath. It was an honour for an inner core member of the Night’s Raven, like Draken, to be Artemis’ guide.

  “My Lord,” Draken said. “Let me deal with these distractions. You shouldn’t waste your mana on these mortals.” His tentacle writhed as it flowed back into his back. It wouldn’t bode well for him once they returned to the sanctum if he forced Artemis to act—never mind the fact that he should be more than capable of handling a few rats.

  Artemis grunted and stepped next to the basement entrance. The barn door creaked as a powerful gust of wind blew through. Artemis raised a hand and beckoned Draken forward. Draken nodded and stepped over. A moment later, Artemis’ cloak twitched, and a waterfall of tentacles seeped out of the bottom of his cloak.

  Draken wobbled a bit, like a boat on choppy waters; he, along with Artemis, rose off his feet as the mass of tentacles moved them down the hole. This should be fine—after all, he couldn’t expect a Core Formation master to wait for him to climb down.

  That or jump down and break a few bones, but the regeneration would probably slow them down too much.

  Once they reached the bottom, they walked through the dimly lit tunnel—more Collar gang men were probably deeper in. The Farmhands had given them far too much freedom if the gang even dared to come this deep.

  “It seems it was a waste to give those children the young one,” Artemis said, his voice hollow and scratchy.

  Draken held his tongue; while the man had spoken, he wasn’t addressing him. Some would see answering unprompted as disrespectful. But Artemis was right. Those children did not deserve the egg.

  They stopped and then turned into the room, the sweet but rotting scent of the void washing over him.

  Draken glanced back at Artemis as he stepped past a row of cells to the door at the end of the room. When these poor children of the void died, it was always a shame. The Hilda festival had been tough to watch, so many had perished.

  But life was merciless, and from the lack of reaction from Artemis, this result was to be expected.

  With a light sigh, Draken pressed his hand against the door, pushing as the hinges squeaked. They stepped into a cavernous room with a slab in the middle, and behind that slab were the remains of a young one—its egg resting on a pedestal with its body hanging over the side. Though it wasn’t the only thing.

  Four Collar gang men stood around it. One of them—a cultivator by his aura—poked at the child’s flaking flesh. “This thing bloody stinks. What the hell is it? And why’s its head crushed like that?”

  Draken sneered—these weak fools didn’t kill this child. In the corner of the room, a dried corpse lay crumpled. The child had fed before its death, yet someone still had the strength to kill it. Phoenix company? No. They’d be swarming this place if they had.

  “Kill them,” Artemis said. “I will extract the child’s core. If it matured a gift, feeding it to one of the other children should at least make its death worthwhile.”

  “It shall be done.” The stone beneath Draken cracked as he darted forward. Chitin erupted across his fist before it sailed clean through the first mortal’s head. He skidded to a stop as a tentacle on his back cracked out, shattering the chest of another and sending him splatting into the cavern’s wall.

  The cultivator turned, his eyes wide and his hand trembling as it moved to the knife at his side. “Who are you?”

  Draken glanced at the egg and sighed—that was a pointless question from a dead man.

  A scream and a wet crunch tore through the air.

  ---- ---- ----

  Hector held Jodie’s gaze as the girl bit her bottom lip and clenched her hands at her side. His gaze flickered to his hand, then back to his face.

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  “Are you a Demonic cultivator, Hector?” She asked.

  Frowning, Hector resisted the urge to scoff. A Demonic cultivator, hardly. He was nothing like those disgusting Farmhands who disregarded human life and just saw them as a way to get stronger. But as he opened his mouth to speak, he paused.

  While I don’t kill people, I have been taking their Talents, perhaps cutting off a future route to power for some. Even if they were the ones who attacked me, I still did it. Though it wasn’t even clear if they could use the Talents they had—but still.

  “Well, Hector,” Jodie demanded, “Are you?” Tension ran through his body—if his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, Hector could practically see her hair standing on end.

  “No, I’m not,” Hector said, shaking his head. “I can’t tell you much without the pact, but just know I would never stoop to the level of those freaks.”

  A bird flapped down to the dirt nearby, pecking at the grass that grew through the floor of the abandoned brewery. Jodie let out a sigh, a lot of the tension leaving her. Had she just wanted him to say it?

  Hector glanced at the others, and they all had varying looks of confusion as they glanced from Jodie to him. They were probably wondering why she’d said that. But she’d been looking at his hand, and when he’d extracted the Talent from the Void Singer, subtlety hadn’t exactly been his main focus.

  To his side, Lincoln cleared his throat, throwing a glance at Jodie before turning to Hector. “I don’t know what that’s about. But I’m sure you will tell us if we join this pact of yours. But I gotta ask. Why do we even need it—don’t you trust us?”

  Hector let out a heavy sigh, bringing his hand up and massaging his forehead. This wasn’t about trust; he had that in spades for them—though Lincoln was becoming a slow question mark. But the boy had his reasons.

  No. This was about safety. They didn’t know when the wrong person was listening, and if they let something slip, even accidentally, that would implicate him and his family. “I trust you all—even you, Delworth.” The boy smiled a little, and Hector continued. “But we are all human, and we all make mistakes. But I can’t risk those mistakes with something like this.”

  Wood creaked, groaning as it bent under the weight of shifting bodies. Feet scuffled across the cracked stone and damp soil as Emela spoke up. “If it’s worth anything, I also trust you, Hector. And I’m willing to form this pact.”

  “As am I,” Marcus said, throwing a reassuring glance at Delworth, who also nodded.

  Jodie huffed, taking back her seat on the crate and letting out a sigh. “You better not be lying to me,” she said, then slowly nodded. “I’ll form the pact too.”

  Hector turned to Lincoln, who shrugged. “We’ve been friends since we could walk. It goes without saying. I was just making sure, that’s all.”

  Hector nodded and released his grip on his trousers. When had he even started gripping them? He sighed. “Thanks, all of you, and I will not abuse your trust on this.”

  He pulled on the energy that lingered at the back of his mind, which let off a subtle pulse as he mentally gripped it. The [Shared Secrets] Talent then clicked, and information on what to do flooded his mind.

  “Alright, when I finish speaking, I need you all to say your name and then say I swear. Got it?”

  They all nodded. Hector then cleared his throat as Mirae’s grip on his sleeve relaxed. He smiled. “Any information shared between us on the knowledge of Talents and their functions is ours and ours alone. Our names shall not be discussed, and our identities shall not be exposed. We are a pact who will follow the pact of the Talent.”

  He then turned to them one by one. Each swearing on their name, and as Nyx finished her sentence, a pressure settled onto Hector’s mind like a chain had just been tied to it, connecting off to something intangible.

  “Well, that feels strange,” Jodie said, combing a finger through her ginger hair and rubbing her scalp. “Did anyone else feel that?”

  They all nodded, and Hector cleared his throat, causing them all to turn to him. “That means that the pact was successful. Now, I can get down to the main point of the pact. Talents and what they are. But first, several of us already have Talents.”

  Hector turned to Emela, and the girl’s lips quirked, and she tilted her head. That was fair. It was likely she didn’t even know she had a Talent—after all, no one he’d encountered so far aside from the Void singer had been aware.

  “You, me, and Mirae have all got these gifts?” He said, rubbing his hand through his sister’s white hair. She sighed, but didn’t slap him away.

  “How do you know that?” She asked, her voice cracking a little. Hector frowned slightly. Did she know already?”

  “That’s simple, the Talent I have lets me see yours,” He said with a light smile.

  Emela’s face dropped, shock spreading across her features.

  ---- ---- ----

  As the sun set on the horizon and darkness gradually took hold, Hector pushed the front gate open for Mirae. The girl stepped past, shaking a little in the chilly wind. He rubbed her shoulder as he replayed the talk he’d just had with his friends in his mind.

  He’d briefed them on what Talents were—at least his basic understanding of them, anyway. Spending a few hours to do so, by the time he was finished, the sky had already turned orange.

  Mirae paused and fiddled with the kitchen door before pausing and looking back at him with a hint of confusion. Which made sense. He’d told the group how he used his Talents and hinted at the possibility of being able to awaken some in them. When he last talked to Mirae, he had even alluded to being able to do such things.

  “What?” He asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m glad you told everyone in the end, but… It’s crazy to think even Emela had one—how come you didn’t tell me that?”

  Hector frowned. It had been a surprise when Emela had said she’d been aware of her Talent.

  But apparently, she’d thought she was special and that no one else was like her. Which made sense to Hector. Finding someone with a Talent was rare enough, let alone someone who could use it.

  He scratched at his nose and turned to the side. Marigold sat there on the fence watching him, its yellow eyes practically empty. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he said, turning back to Mirae. “I thought it was for the best.”

  “Uh hun…” Mirae turned back and pushed open the kitchen door, holding it open for him as he stepped inside. “I’m just happy that it all worked out in the end.”

  Hector nodded, glancing at the hallway door on the other side of the kitchen. In the end, all of his friends had agreed to ‘invest’ in him, and increased the size of his share, securing the chance for him to pay off his dad’s debt to the Collar gang.

  With the loot split, they separated and agreed to meet in the usual spot tomorrow. The door closed with a light slap as Mirae stepped past and moved over to the kitchen table. A moment later, shuffling came from the other side of the hallway door.

  His dad was home. It was about time to face the music. The door creaked open as his dad walked in; the floorboards groaning with each step. “Mirae, could you give me and your brother a moment, my dear?”