Chapter.. 3 central.
827 Words
Lysar's pov
Some days later, I stood at City Central.
It was nothing like the other government agencies I'd seen. Towers speared the sky, walls gleamed without cracks or stains, and even the air carried discipline, it felt measured, refined, as though trained to obey.
The people were no different. Officials strode with purpose, their gazes fixed forward, every motion clipped and exact. Central wasn't simply an institution. It was a city that had convinced itself it was a blade.
"Come on, man...that's all I got!"
The voice cut through my thoughts.
A plebian was cornered. Aristocrats treating him with cruelty like sport, something predictable, tedious.
"You've got to be kidding me."
I shifted my bag on my shoulder and walked toward the noise. Not what I usually bothered with. But today, I felt like sharpening my edge.
"I need to talk to—"
"Hey, hey." One of the three boys cut me off, his tone dripping with bravado. "We're busy here. Talk to someone else, or you're next."
I studied him. A rooster puffing its chest, convinced it was a hawk.
I let the silence stretch, my stare resting on him like a weight. Finally, I tilted my head.
"Busy? That's what you call three dogs snapping at one bone?"
His smirk faltered. The other two shifted, unsure whether to laugh or take offense.
"Watch your mouth," he spat, brows frowning. "You don't know who we are."
I smiled, thin and precise. "Correction. I don't care who you are. But I do know what you are."
"And what's that?"
"Background noise."
The plebian blinked at me, wide-eyed, unsure if I was his savior or his executioner. I could tell, he felt I was adding fuel to the already raging flames.
The lead thug stepped closer, trying to loom. But ending up looking pathetic.
"You think you're better than us?"
"Think?" My bag slipped from my shoulder and hit the pavement with a hard c***k. "No. I know I am."
The air thickened. Their bravado fractured under the pressure, but false pride glued them together. I could almost taste their desperation to prove themselves, to drag me down to their level.
It was too perfect. The attention, their weakness. It was a perfect play for my debut.
"Careful," one muttered as a warning. "People have… accidents here. Even in Central."
I leaned in, voice low, cold enough to frost glass.
"Then pray it's not you who trips first."
For a heartbeat, no one moved. The plebian slipped away, forgotten, dissolving into the crowd. Now it was only me and them, their pride bleeding into fear, mine sharpening into steel.
The tallest clenched his fists and stepped forward. I didn't move. Why would I? His threat already crawled beneath my notice.
"You should walk away," he growled.
I tilted my head, smiling faintly. "If walking away made you strong, you'd already be gods. But you're not."
That drew laughter from the small crowd gathering at the square's edge. The bullies' faces pinched, caught between rage and humiliation. I let the silence linger, heavy, until the shorter one snapped.
"You're asking for it."
I stepped closer, my shadow swallowing his shoes. My voice slid to a blade's edge.
"I don't ask. I take."
The boy's throat bobbed with a swallow he thought no one saw. Pride buckled before Pride.
Then he charged.
I pivoted, effortless. My leg clipped his balance, and he crashed face-first onto the marble. Blood spattered the flawless stone.
"Enough."
The single word cracked the air. An official strode forward, black-and-white uniform immaculate, gloves spotless, her eyes keener than the Arkstone's glow. The bullies recoiled instantly, wilted by her presence.
Her gaze, however, never left me.
"Candidate Lysar Vayne," she said, calm and deliberate. "Do you intend to begin your training here by dismantling half your peers before dawn?"
I met her stare, unflinching. "If half of them mistake themselves for equals, then yes.I will."
Something flickered in her eyes. Was it Amusement? Or Calculation? It was hard to tell.
"The Agency doesn't need another fire in its halls," she said. "Next time, save your pride for the trials. Or someone will be ordered to break it for you."
I let her warning hang, then inclined my head slight and deliberate. Not a bow. Never a bow. More like the gesture one gives a storm: acknowledgment, not submission.
"As you wish," I murmured.
The bullies scattered, their courage in tatters. The crowd dispersed, whispers rippling like smoke.
The official lingered, studying me as though she could peel something hidden from my bones. Finding nothing or perhaps too much...she turned sharply, cloak brushing the marble as she left.
I picked up and adjusted my bag. I kept walking, each step louder than theirs.
Let them whisper. Let them envy. Let them fear.
Central was not a place to be conquered.
It was a place to be claimed.
And I had just claimed a piece of it.
- Writer
