Joah approached the three-story house, his gaze sweeping over its weathered facade. Each step was measured, his body tense with a coiled energy. He ran his gloved hand along the rough stone, feeling the cold seep through the fabric. He reached the window, finding it slightly ajar. A sliver of opportunity. With a practiced movement, he slid his hand inside, fingers searching for the latch.

  A hushed murmur drifted from within, followed by the soft rustle of fabric. Joah froze, every muscle taut. He was faster. In one fluid motion, he pulled back, pressing his body against the wall as he ascended, seeking the refuge of the rooftop. From his new vantage point, Joah surveyed the alchemy shop below. Two large, ground-floor windows showcased a chaotic array of pills, potions, and miraculous promises. Each item was meticulously arranged to catch the eye, the bright lights casting a warm, inviting glow on the bold lettering of the shop's sign.

  A narrow staircase, tucked to the side of the building, led to the main entrance of the shop. Above it, two small windows on the second floor offered a tantalizing glimpse into the alchemy room. From his perch, Joah could see various items suspended from the walls, dangling like strange, preserved specimens.

  Joah paused at the edge of the rooftop, his body a silhouette against the night sky. He inhaled deeply, the crisp air filling his lungs, and exhaled slowly, calming the rapid beat of his heart. With a final surge of resolve, he launched himself forward, arms outstretched.

  His fingers grazed the rough stone of the shop's ledge, his body momentarily suspended in mid-air. Then, with a controlled shift of weight, he landed on the window ledge, muscles tense, balancing with the practiced ease of a seasoned climber. He eased himself inside, the soft thud of his boots muffled by the room's thick rugs. Taking a moment to adjust his mask, he surveyed his surroundings.

  The alchemy room was a symphony of organized chaos, a proof of the alchemists's peculiar brand of order. Jars filled with dried herbs, gnarled roots, and unidentifiable creature parts lined the shelves. An ominous, preserved head of a creature resembling a cow stared blankly ahead, its glassy eyes seeming to follow Joah's every move.

  He shook his head, a slight shiver tracing his spine. Tools of the trade — scales, beakers, and graduated cylinders — gleamed under the dim, flickering lamplight. The air was thick with a mixture of pungent and sweet scents, creating a heady, almost overwhelming atmosphere. Joah's senses were on high alert, each creak of the floorboards causing him to pause, his body poised, listening intently.

  'I should take a batch of herbs for the lungs to make tea for Grandma,' Joah thought, his fingers tracing lightly over the spines of leather-bound books and dusty scrolls. He attempted to decipher the faded script, but the words seemed to blur before his eyes, a searing sensation burning away any memory of their meaning. A wry, helpless smile touched his lips. It was as he had heard: dreamers didn't have the eyes for the awakened world.

  "Alright, it went like this," Joah murmured.

  He navigated the room with a practiced precision: five steps forward, a deliberate left turn, then seven more steps before shifting to the right. This well-rehearsed path led him to his objective: a collection of pale blue pills, renowned for their warming and enhancing effects. Cheap and mass-produced, their absence would hardly be noticed. He also reached for what he believed to be a painkiller, his fingers closing around the small vial.

  But tonight was different, a subtle shift in the familiar rhythm of his actions. Usually, Joah limited his thefts to twice a week, and only when the alchemist was away. However, the relentless demands of his landlord had forced his hand, pushing him to act out of turn. The unusual timing gnawed at him, disrupting his customary precision. Lost in thought, he stumbled over an unseen, soft object on the floor. Startled, he reached out to steady himself, his hand striking a precarious stack of glass containers on a nearby table. The delicate clink of glass echoed through the room, sharp and jarring.

  "Shit!" The word escaped his lips, a strangled whisper. His blood ran cold.

  Just as he was about to pocket more pills, a soft, guttural groan stopped him. The sound morphed into a low murmur of whispers, freezing him in place. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his breath hitched in his throat. He spun around, eyes wide with alarm, scanning the room frantically.

  Each shadow seemed to lengthen, to twist into menacing shapes. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden, suffocating silence. Joah's gaze finally landed on a middle-aged man, struggling to rise from the floor, his hand reaching blindly for the table. Moonlight streamed through the window, reflecting off a shard of fallen glass, casting Joah's face in a pale, ghostly light.

  Upon seeing him, the man croaked, "Thief!"

  The man lurched forward, intending to shout again, but the room plunged into an icy, spectral fog. Joah's breath caught, his muscles locking, trapped as if by unseen bonds. From the swirling white mist, a small, translucent figure coalesced, its edges shimmering like a guttering flame.

  It was a ghostly child, dressed in ragged clothes, clutching a broken knife. Its eyes were hollow pits of despair. Joah felt his blood turn to ice, every primal instinct screaming for escape, yet his body remained paralyzed. The man on the floor gurgled a final, unintelligible word, then collapsed, a dark crimson pool spreading around his still form.

  Joah remained frozen, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his body shaking uncontrollably. The sheer horror of the scene held him captive, disbelief clouding his mind. The distant clang of heavy boots and shrill whistles pierced the fog of his shock, jolting him back to reality. "The guards are coming!"

  In the heat of the moment, Joah scrambled toward the window, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. His hand brushed against a precariously stacked shelf, sending glass containers tumbling to the floor. They shattered with a deafening crash, releasing a fine, blue powder that billowed into the air.

  As he inhaled the strange substance, a chilling sensation gripped his throat, both wet and dry, as if a spectral hand had closed around it. His eyes watered, stinging. He lunged for the window, aiming to leap to the adjacent building, but his balance faltered. He teetered precariously on the edge, nearly plummeting to the street below. With a desperate surge of effort, he regained his footing, but his movements were sluggish and unsteady. A bystander, drawn by the commotion, pointed a trembling finger. "There he is!"

  His mind reeled, a chaotic storm of thoughts crashing against each other. He knew what was coming, and it wasn't the usual guards, mere men, albeit older, that he feared. It was the Awakened. Tonight, everything had deviated from his carefully constructed routine, and Joah detested this disruption. He raced across the rooftops, his body still trembling, unsure if it was from the inhaled powder, the sight of the dying man, or the ghostly child. The uncertainty fueled his ill-judged decisions, culminating in a bone-jarring fall from a one-story building to the street below.

  It took him longer than he dared to admit to regain his footing. Panic clawed at him as he saw soldiers approaching from both directions. "Dammit! Dammit!" he muttered, the words a desperate mantra.

  He took a sharp turn, his eyes darting, barely registering the soldier who suddenly blocked his path. The soldier's fist slammed into him with the force of a battering ram, sending a searing jolt of pain through his collarbone. He reeled backward, his body instinctively recoiling.

  Before he could recover, a swift kick connected with his ribs, doubling him over with a gasp. The soldier's baton lashed out, a brutal arc of polished metal. Joah felt the sharp sting as it struck flesh, followed by a sickening crack. He tasted blood, metallic and bitter. Each breath was a ragged, agonizing effort, his vision swimming with black spots.

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  Reacting on pure instinct, Joah whipped out his pocket knife, his hand trembling. He slashed wildly, a desperate, flailing counterattack. The blade whistled through the air, a silver flash, narrowly missing the soldier's face.

  Seizing the momentary advantage, Joah pivoted, fueled by a surge of adrenaline. He ducked another swing of the baton and sprinted, putting distance between himself and his attacker. With a powerful leap, he scaled a wall, his fingers scraping against the rough stone.

  He vaulted onto the rooftop, a fleeting moment of reprieve. Despite his injuries, Joah managed to cross five rooftops before descending back to the streets. His weakened state betrayed him, and he collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving sidewalk. The frigid night air bit into his open wounds, sending shivers through his battered body.

  "Please, not tonight. I can't get caught," he whispered, his voice a raspy plea. He clutched at his chest, his fingers digging into his flesh, his knuckles white. His breath hitched in ragged gasps, and his eyes darted around, searching for any sign of pursuit.

  A distant cry shattered the tense quiet, jerking him back to full alert. The sound of approaching boots spurred him into action. He limped, favoring his injured leg, and turned sharply into an alley, hoping to lose his pursuers in the labyrinthine network of narrow passages. Despite his clumsy, faltering steps, Joah tried to move quietly, pressing himself against the grimy brick walls. He dove into a dark intersection, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain, and dragged himself behind a stack of weathered barrels, seeking a semblance of cover.

  "He went that way!" Joah heard a man shout, his voice echoing off the alley walls. He held his breath, praying the soldiers would be misled.

  Joah suppressed a whimper of pain, a surge of relief washing over him as he remained hidden. Blood seeped through his torn pants, staining the fabric a dark, ominous crimson. A violent cough wracked his body, his breath coming in labored, rattling gasps.

  His eyelashes fluttered, his vision blurring at the edges. Through the haze, he made out a group of children in the distance, their figures indistinct, accompanied by the faint barking of dogs and the slurred speech of drunkards.

  Suddenly, rough hands seized Joah, yanking him from his daze. He was thrown bodily over a wooden barrel, the impact driving the air from his lungs, the rough wood scraping against his skin, leaving a trail of fresh wounds. His vision swam, a disorienting kaleidoscope of red and white flashes.

  "What are you doing here, kid? Lost?" A man's voice boomed, cutting through the fog in Joah's mind.

  For a fleeting moment, the man's features swam into focus – old, bald, a missing tooth, his frame thick with excess weight – just before Joah's left wrist was pinned beneath the man's heavy boot, a searing pain shooting up his arm.

  A primal scream tore from Joah's throat, startling the man into a momentary retreat. Fueled by a surge of pure, animalistic adrenaline, Joah lunged forward, his movements wild and uncontrolled. He drove his knife, with all his remaining strength, into the man's chest, aiming for the heart.

  The man swatted Joah away like an irritating insect, staggering backward, a crimson stain blossoming on his shirt. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide with a dawning, horrified realization. He had been celebrating his promotion, dreaming of the prestige and power of becoming a vice-captain. Now, as his lifeblood flowed out of him, those dreams dissolved into bitter dust. Regret, sharp and acrid, washed over him, mingling with the agonizing pain in his chest.

  Warnings he had foolishly ignored, arrogant choices he had made – they all came rushing back, a brutal, unforgiving tide. His thoughts grew hazy, his vision narrowing. Joah, a shadowy silhouette of desperation and fear, stood before him, the embodiment of the consequences of his actions. The man slumped against the wall, leaving a smear of blood, his eyes locked onto Joah's figure.

  In his final moments, his gaze drifted to the rough texture of the wall, a dawning understanding, a deep regret etched on his face. The bitter taste of his past mistakes filled his mind, a heavy, suffocating weight. The man wondered if he had indulged too much, his judgment clouded by the night's revelry. Too late, he recognized the folly of his arrogance, his condescending attitude toward someone he deemed beneath him.

  Memories of his ex-wife's final, cutting words about his alcohol abuse echoed in his fading consciousness, her warnings now ringing with a terrible, undeniable truth. In these last, agonizing breaths, a clarity emerged from the fog of his misdeeds. Maybe she was right all along, he conceded silently, the thought a whisper in the encroaching darkness. With a final, shuddering exhale, he surrendered to the weight of his choices, his life slipping away like sand through open fingers.

  "I—time," Joah tried to murmur, his voice choked and weak.

  He was overwhelmed, his body convulsing. He vomited a thick, white substance, his lungs burning, gasping for air. In agony, he scrabbled for the painkiller, his fingers fumbling with the vial.

  With no time to lose, he plunged the needle directly into his chest, aiming for his heart. For a heartbeat, time seemed to suspend itself, a frozen tableau. Then, as the drug flooded his system, the searing pain receded, replaced by a surge of artificial strength. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm.

  Joah pushed himself to his feet, a surge of desperate energy coursing through him. He sprinted down the street, his ragged breaths echoing in the narrow passage, the rhythmic thud of the approaching soldiers' boots spurring him on. ‘I need to hurry,’ the thought hammered in his mind.

  His right foot slammed against one wall, then his left against the other, propelling him upward in a series of desperate, scrambling movements. Despite his exhaustion, he didn't dare look back, his instincts screaming at him to keep moving. He gained momentum, launching himself onto a nearby rooftop, his body screaming in protest.

  He struggled to maintain his balance on the precarious, sloping roof, moving in a half-crouch, his arms outstretched for stability, his fingers scrabbling for purchase. The metallic clang of iron striking stone below signaled the soldiers's relentless pursuit. Joah quickly scanned the cityscape, his mind racing, plotting his escape route. Time was a precious, dwindling commodity, each second an eternity as he navigated the treacherous rooftops.

  "That place!" He gasped, the words a breathless whisper.

  He hit the ground, his body instinctively absorbing the impact, angling his heels and rolling to minimize the shock. He quickly darted to the left, his destination a familiar, dilapidated two-story building — his favored sanctuary. It was his haven, a place where he could collapse, rest, and momentarily escape the relentless dangers of his life. He was confident the soldiers wouldn't think to look for him there, wouldn't risk venturing into such a crumbling, forgotten structure.

  "Maybe she..." he murmured, his thoughts drifting to the other occasional occupant of his hideout.

  Initially, their shared presence had been a source of irritation, a violation of his solitude. But over time, a grudging, unspoken respect had developed between them. Their interactions were limited to brief, casual exchanges, a silent acknowledgment of their shared need for refuge, their personal lives remaining unexplored, shrouded in a protective veil of anonymity.

  Joah squeezed through a narrow gap between two buildings, his body scraping against the rough brick. He crawled until he reached an elliptical pathway, a ladder beckoning him upward. The clatter of metal and muffled breaths nearby made him freeze, pressing his aching body against a pile of loose stones, seeking concealment.

  "Where did that vermin go?" A voice growled, the sound echoing off the surrounding walls.

  "That way, sir," a soldier responded, his voice slightly breathless. "He probably headed that direction; the left corner leads to the underground tunnel, sir."

  Joah lay still, his muscles screaming in protest, holding his breath until the footsteps and voices receded into the distance. Breathing a sigh of relief, he cautiously climbed, his hands gripping the rungs of the ladder, pulling himself upward. He reached a space where a window had once been, a gaping hole in the crumbling wall.

  Careful to distribute his weight evenly, he tiptoed across an ancient iron beam, each step measured and deliberate. After ten agonizingly slow steps, he descended into a secluded area, a hidden pocket enclosed by weathered stone walls. This secret nook offered a breathtaking view of the city and the star-studded sky while simultaneously keeping him concealed — a perfect, improbable blind spot. He removed his mask, revealing his blood-smeared face, his features contorted in a grimace of pain and exhaustion.

  "One minute or two? I'm scared," he chuckled weakly, the sound a mixture of relief and lingering fear. He lay down, stretching his arms and legs out in a wide V shape, his body trembling with exhaustion and the lingering effects of the painkiller.

  Suddenly, a violent spasm seized him. He began to choke, his body writhing in an excruciating agony that seemed to crush him from the inside out. The pain intensified, a relentless, suffocating wave, stealing his breath and blurring his vision. The last thing he saw, before the darkness finally claimed him, was a pair of eyes watching him intently, their expression unreadable in the dim, flickering light.