Shadow Heros

Sharp Edges and Broken Glass

The pouch held twenty copper coins, three silver, and what I assumed was a single gold piece. I had no idea if that was a fortune for pocket change this world. The Northern district sprawled before me like a maze designed by someone who hated straight lines. Buildings leaned against each other for support, their wooden frames weathered grey. Laundry how between windows, dripping onto the cobblestones below. The crowd here move differently than near the castle-faster, with sharper edges, eyes that assessed and dismissed you in a heartbeat.

I pulled my rough tunic closer, suddenly aware of how clean it looked. How new. A group of children ran past, one of them clipping my shoulder hard enough to spin me around. By the time I'd caught my balance, they'd vanished into an alley. I checked the pouch . Still there, but the knot had been loosened. Testing me.

I needed information. Somewhere to stay. Food. In that order. The smell hit me first-stale beer, sweat, and something that might have been vomit a few days ago. The Tavern crouched at the end of a side street, it's sign so faded I couldn't make out what it had once advertised.

"Perfect"

Inside, the late afternoon crowd consisted of maybe two dozen people, all those who looked like they'd eaten optimism for breakfast and found it disagreed with them. A bald man with scars crossing his scalp glared at me from a corner table. Two women arm-wrestled near the hearth, a small crowd placing bets. The bartender was a mountain of a woman with arms like tree trunks and an expression that suggested she'd heard every excuse ever invented. I approached the bar, very aware that conversation had dropped to a murmur.

"Need A room," I said trying to sound more confident than I felt. "And information about work in the area." The bartender looked me up and down with eyes like chips of Flint.

"Four copper at night, Two meals included if you can stomach them. No fighting inside unless you're prepared to pay for damages. No stealing from other patrons unless you want to lose a hand."

"That's... reasonable." I placed four coppers on the bar. She swept them into her apron without counting.

"You're not from around here." It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.

"Just arrived. Looking for honest work." someone laughed behind me sharp and cruel.

"Honest work in the Northern District. That's adorable." I turned the scarred man had stood up, and he was bigger than he looked sitting down. His friends-three of them, all wearing variations of predatory grins- flanked him.

"Let me guess," Scarface said, moving closer. "Fresh off a farm somewhere? Come to the big city to make your fortune?"

"Something like that." I kept my voice level, even as my heart started hammering. The testing stones words echoed in my head.

Basic. Basic. Basic

"Well, farm boy, this is how it works. You're new. New people pay a... welcome tax. Call it insurance against unfortunate accidents." He cracked his knuckles. "Two silver should cover it." The bartender had gone back to wiping his glasses, pointedly not looking in our direction. No help there. I had three silver to my name. Two would leave me with almost nothing.

"no" I said. The word dropped into silence. Scarfaces grin widened.

"No?"

"I'm not paying you anything." my hands were shaking. so I crossed my arms to hide it. "Find someone else to shake down."

He moved fast, but some instinct I didn't know I possessed moved faster. I ducked under his swing, felt the air whistle over my head. My body remembered every playground fight, every time I stood up to someone bigger. It wasn't magic. It wasn't power. It was just stubbornness wrapped in desperation. I drove my shoulder into his gut, heard the whoosh of air leaving his lungs. Then someone grabbed me from behind, arms like steel bands pinning mine to my sides. A fist caught me in the ribs, once. twice. Pain exploded through my chest.

"Enough!"

The voice cracked like a whip. Everyone froze. A man stood in the doorway, back lit by the fading sunlight. He was older, maybe fifty, with iron-grey hair and the kind of scars that told stories. But it was his eyes that made Scarface step back-cold, measuring, the eyes of someone who'd killed and wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

"He's under my protection now." the man said quietly. "Leave."

Scarface muttered something obscene, but he left, his friends trailing behind him like whipped dogs. The arms holding me released. I stumbled forward, clutching my ribs.

The grey haired man studied me.

"You're the one they threw out of the castle today." The news traveled fast, apparently.

"yeah."

"Heard you tested low. Basic skills. Worthless compared to the real heroes." He pulled out a chair, sat down, gestured for me to do the same. "Heard the other three are already being paraded around the noble district. Fed fancy food. Given magic weapons, told how special they are." I sat, wincing.

"good for them."

"Is it?" his smile was thin. "I'm Garrick, I run security for the Northern District, such as it is. You've got spine. Standing up to those thugs. Stupid, but spine matters here."

"Kai," I said, "and I didn't have much choice."

"There's always a choice," Garrick headed toward the door, and left. I sat alone in the rough Tavern, ribs aching, my few coins feeling heavier than they should.

Basic skills, basic magic potential. Maybe I'd never match the other heroes, but I'd save that kid on the street. I just stood up to Scarface even knowing I'd probably lose. Maybe basic was enough to start with.