Isaac, turning toward Artist, took this opportunity to drive home a point he needed to make, lest he risk himself exploding later down the line.

  He looked at Artist with a steady gaze.

  “You questioned why I don’t seek to forge alliances with the existing head houses and instead intend to build my own. This... this is why.” Isaac’s voice was low but sharp. “A rotten foundation can’t support the rise of a bigger house, can it?”

  Artist glanced at him in silence, his expression unreadable, but there was clear understanding in his eyes.

  “So if-” Isaac pressed on, but before he could finish, Artist interrupted him by placing his hands in his pockets and beginning to walk toward the city, his steps casual but purposeful.

  ”I told you already, I like it louder than most, so you’re stuck with me, So there are no ‘If’s’ ” Artist called over his shoulder. “I’ll help the rise of the Phoenix House because I can’t stand watching sheep bow down to goats.”

  Isaac felt a flicker of something, recognition, maybe, at the words, but he didn’t respond immediately. He was too caught off guard by the weird way Artist speaks when he’s serious.

  As Artist gave a sparring glance back at him, his eyes met Isaac’s with a beaming look of excitement.

  “So, when I’m presented with someone like you, what else is there for me to do but tag along,” Artist continued, his tone dead serious before switching to one much more showing of his childish nature. “Plus, this is supposed to be a world of mythical beasts and horrors! Our father’s generation turned it into nothing but a hunter’s wet dream for all these losers to enjoy and I for one am tired of it."

  Isaac couldn’t help but laugh at his words. It was an oddly reassuraning, but one that carried its own kind of truth.

  As he stood there, watching Artist walk further into the distance, Isaac’s thoughts drifted to his father and the letter he’d left to him, the one that’d set him free, the one he knew he was foolishly never going to read.

  Without thinking, Isaac’s hand moved to the pocket where the letter had always been. He touched the fabric, feeling the empty space where it used to rest.

  His father’s words resonating in the depths of his soul, and appearing like words written in the air around Artist: "There’s no telling how many things you’ve been told throughout your life, so I won’t add to the advice or curses... Save whatever you like, and change whatever you don’t, and to do that you'll have to become strong…"

  There was freedom in the truth of those words, a freedom he had never truly understood until now. Isaac sigh through his sigh as a strange sense of finality settled over him as he let the moment pass.

  Though, he couldn’t help but ponder over it, as he questioned himself, “I wonder If Artist had been told something similar.”

  Isaac's thoughtful silence lingered until Spunk, perched on his shoulder, broke it with a trembling voice.

  “W-w-why are you two fighting?” the Spunk asked, their big eyes swelling with tears.

  Isaac's gaze softened as he glanced at his tiny companion, feeling a pang of guilt.

  “We're not fighting, Spunk,” he assured gently, reaching up to pat Spunk's head. “Just... talking things out. So, no need to cry buddy.”

  Spunk sniffled, blinking rapidly to hold back their tears. “O-okay… just no scary stuff, alright?”

  Isaac absent mindly began to mouth the words, ‘i promse’ but feel silent in terror of making one with Spunk. Especially one he couldn’t keep.

  “No scary stuff,” Isaac called out to Artist hoping to calm Spunk’s nerves leason the chance they make him promise.

  Artist, turned around confused at the comment until he saw Spunk at which point he held a thumbs up, though his expression hinted at something he left unsaid. “You mean when we cause it?”

  “Not if we can help it,” Isaac corrected with a sharp look and a low roar escaping his throat, causing Spunk to whimper softly but smile all the same.

  Isaac sighed but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. Their strange little trio was, for better or worse, bound for chaos—but at least they were in it together.

  Isaac, having caught up with Artist directly underneath the massive gateway into the city, glanced sideways at Artist as they walked side by side, shaking his head with a wry smile.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "You’ve got some nerve, you know that?" He said.

  Artist glanced back with a smirk, the same unbothered look in his eyes.

  "What, because I told that hunter exactly what she needed to hear?" He shrugged, clearly unfazed by the interaction. "She was acting like she couldn’t have at least taken me to dinner first. Someone had to put her in her place. To bad for her it was me."

  Isaac let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, but you nearly caused her to bust a blood vessle back there, man. You can’t just insult someone like that and expect things to stay calm."

  Artist’s smile widened.

  "I think you’re overreacting. If they can’t handle a little rejection, then they’re probably not cut out for the dungeon anyway." Turning his head to while struggling and failing to hold back a laugh like a shy hyena, Artist continued. "And, if you think that was rough, you won’t believe half the shit I’ve been though for just rejecting them, half the time I don’t even call them bitches and they still wanna beat my ass."

  Isaac couldn't help but burst into soft laughter alongside him, their amusement echoing through the air as they crossed the threshold into Aureus Rome proper.

  The streets thrummed with life. Merchants hollered their prices over the clanging of hammers from nearby workshops. Steam hissed from iron pipes lining the streets, mixing with the chatter of bustling citizens who navigated the crowded thoroughfares with practiced efficiency.

  Above it all, the low bellow of steamship horns echoed from the distant harbor, where ships docked and departed in an endless rhythm. The scent of brine, smoking metal, and a ting of magic, giving the city air a weight that settled on their senses.

  Looking around with their fair share of awe, Isaac and Artist slowed their march, each lost in contemplation over how exactly they were supposed to blend in with such a chaotic and vibrant crowd. Sure they both looked to part but slipping into such a well mainted social mechine proved harder then they’d imagined.

  Merchants shouted loudly over stalls filled with exotic wares, the occasional item catching even Spunk’s attenion who leaned far over Isaac’s shoulder, nearly tumbling to the ground if it weren’t for Isaac’s reflexes.

  Isaac’s hand shot out instinctively, catching Spunk before they tumbled to the ground. “Be careful,” Isaac hissed.

  Spunk, for the most part, ignored the warning, giving a dismissive nod. “Yeah, yeah...”

  Isaac sighed. “Alright, when you get separated from us, don’t come running back.”

  Still oblivious to the caution, Spunk’s eyes lit up as they pointed toward something further down the street. “Look! Isn’t it cool? Those thing’s look so much better when you aren’t afriad of getting ran over crossing the street!”

  Isaac and Artist followed Spunk’s gaze to see an automaton-driven cart rattling past on steel tracks embedded into the cobblestone. The cart gleamed with brass fittings and intricate gears, its pistons hissing steam as it moved gracefully through the crowd.

  “There just shitty cars-,” Isaac started, though he couldn’t finish his thought as something caught his eye and brought a mischievous grin to his face.

  Patting Artist on his chest as he himself began to question Spunk on their familiarity with the city, Isaac held up a finger and guided Artist's attention toward the spectacle unfolding just ahead.

  “Hey,” Isaac said, amusement flickering in his voice, “at least you’ll be right at home.”

  Artist glanced around, confused at first—until he caught sight of the chaos surrounding them. His expression flattened. "What are you... oh, you piece of shit," he muttered.

  Street performers dazzled with daring acrobatics—flipping and twisting effortlessly through the air. One juggled knives as flames licked dangerously close to his clothes, while another balanced precariously atop a tower of barrels.

  Letting Isaac’s smartass comment roll off him, Artist crossed his arms and asked, “More importantly, that last requirement—how the hell are we going to get 10,000 gold pieces for the entrance fee?”

  Isaac sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah… That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”

  Isaac was no stranger to making sure their was money in his pocket no matter what, and with the city they were in, bustling with life, meant there was plenty of opportunity, almost too much.

  Clearing his head, Isaac focused on the only thing that mattered. Finding a way to secure that kind of money and fast.

  Isaac, feeling almost excited to be doing something he knew he was good at, spoke up fast. “Best thing to do is split up, cover enough ground, and gather enough information to make things a lot easier for us down the line.”

  He shot a glance at Artist, his confidence rising with the familiar sense of purpose that came with planning. The chaos of the streets, though overwhelming to some, was just the perfect backdrop for Isaac to thrive in.

  Artist raised an eyebrow, clearly less enthused by the idea but unwilling to argue. "You sure about this? That hunter, Chalos, mentioned they were on high alert with the ‘Phonenix’ around.”

  Isaac’s smile didn’t falter. “Exactly why we need to move fast. People like Chalos love to talk, but that doesn’t mean the city knows anything for sure. We cover enough ground, we’ll know more than they do in an hour.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And he didn’t recognize me. Spunk was right about the change of style beign enough and that’s the key. No one knows who I really am here.”

  Artist studied him for a second, not quite fully on board.

  “Alright, I get it," Artist said, still eyeing Isaac warily. "But I’m telling you now, these kinds of cities have a way of pulling people into things they didn’t sign up for. So be careful.”

  Isaac raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “How do you think I survived before? I’m the reason these cities can be so dangerous—well, at least on the other side of Atheria.”

  Artist shrugged, not particularly moved by Isaac’s confidence. “Yeah, well, maybe you forget that I don’t know anything about you outside of what I’ve seen myself.”

  Isaac simply tossed up his hands in mock surrender.

  “Well, Spunk’s in for a fun ride. I’m sure they’ll catch you up to speed.” He turned on his heel, his tone shifting. “Anyway, meet at the docks tomorrow morning.”

  Without waiting for a response, Isaac disappeared into the crowd, his steps purposeful. Artist watched him go for a moment, a thought lingering on his mind. He didn’t know much about Isaac, but there was something about the man’s confidence that made him feel… unsettled and he couldn’t help but smile.

  As the streets swallowed Isaac whole, Artist let out a deep breath, then turned and walked in the opposite direction, ready to see what this city had in store.