Ascension of the Abyss*

The streets of Riverend were a living entity—loud, unpredictable, constantly shifting. Each alleyway pulsed with motion, the city breathing in the ebb and flow of its people. The scent of sweat, damp stone, and roasted meat lingered in the air, blending with the acrid bite of smoke rising from open hearths and forge fires.

Alex moved through the crowd, absorbing everything—the sounds, the scents, the sheer presence of the city. He had no destination, no guide, only the growing realization that this world was far more complex than he had imagined. He had escaped the abyss, but survival alone wasn't enough anymore. He needed something more. Information.

The world outside the cavern had already proved itself dangerous, and Riverend was no exception. If he was going to navigate it, he had to understand it—the people, the rules, the dangers lurking beneath the surface. Riverend wasn't just a city; it was his first true step into a world he didn't yet belong to.

And he had no idea how much time he had before the abyss called for him again.

The streets widened as he reached what seemed to be the heart of the city. A large plaza unfolded before him, paved with uneven cobblestones smoothed by countless footsteps over the years. At its center, a weathered stone fountain stood, its basin filled with clear water that shimmered beneath the midday sun. Around it, merchants had set up wooden stalls, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of trade.

Alex slowed his pace, watching.

People moved with purpose—traders shouting over prices, workers hauling crates, street children darting between carts with practiced ease. The city had a rhythm, an order hidden within its chaos. But beneath that order, Alex sensed something else. Desperation.

Merchants bartered not just for profit, but for survival. The laborers wore exhaustion in their eyes, their clothes patched and threadbare. Even the guards, standing watch with dull iron spears, looked underfed, their armor scuffed and barely maintained.

This wasn't a prosperous city.

It was a city on the brink of something.

And Alex needed to understand what.

His gaze landed on a nearby stall where a woman was selling roasted skewers of meat. His stomach clenched painfully—he hadn't eaten since awakening in the abyss. Hunger gnawed at him now, sharp and insistent, but he had nothing to trade. Food could wait. Information couldn't.

He turned his attention to the conversations happening near the fountain. A group of men huddled close, their voices low but urgent.

"…heard the Free Cities are preparing for war. The king's too busy fighting his own nobles to care."

"We're taxed enough already! If another war starts, Riverend won't survive."

"You think the Duke will help? He can't even keep the Blackfangs under control."

War. Nobles. The Blackfangs.

Pieces of a world he didn't yet understand. But now, he had names to follow.

There was one place where people talked more than anywhere else.

A tavern.

Alex slipped away from the plaza, letting instinct guide him. The streets narrowed as he moved deeper into the city, the press of people thickening, buildings looming overhead. The scent of alcohol and woodsmoke grew stronger.

He found what he was looking for soon enough.

A weathered wooden sign hung above the entrance, faded paint depicting a mug spilling over with ale.

The Rusty Pike.

Alex pushed open the door.

The tavern was dimly lit, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and the bitter tang of cheap liquor. The wooden floor was uneven and scarred from years of drunken brawls. A handful of patrons sat at mismatched tables, some speaking in hushed tones, others drowning their thoughts in ale.

Behind the bar, a burly man with a scarred jaw was polishing a mug with a cloth that looked dirtier than the glass itself.

Alex approached.

The bartender barely glanced at him before speaking. "You got coin?"

Alex hesitated. Then, he shook his head. "Just looking for information."

The bartender snorted, setting the mug down with a dull thunk. "Then you best be buyin' a drink. We don't serve charity here."

Alex clenched his jaw. He needed a different approach.

He turned, scanning the room.

Near the fireplace, a man sat alone. He was broad-shouldered, his presence calm but commanding, a warrior who had seen battle but did not flaunt it. His cloak was thin, yet he wore it with an ease that suggested he was accustomed to the cold. His hands, scarred and calloused, rested on the table, steady and deliberate—hands that had wielded weapons, but never recklessly.

But it was his eyes that caught Alex's attention.

Sharp. Controlled. The gaze of a man who saw everything but revealed nothing.

A fighter, but not a brawler. A thinker, but not a schemer. A man who knew when to strike and when to wait.

A predator in a room full of prey.

Alex moved toward the table.

The man looked up as he approached, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. "You look lost."

"I need information," Alex said.

Roderic leaned back in his chair. "That so? And what makes you think I got any?"

Alex met his gaze evenly. "Because you've been watching me since I walked in. You know who's worth talking to and who isn't."

The smirk widened into a grin. "Not bad, kid." He gestured to the empty seat across from him. "Name's Roderic. Let's talk."

Alex sat.

Roderic took a slow sip from his drink before speaking. "You want information? Information costs. And judging by your clothes, you don't got coin."

Alex leaned forward. "What if I have something better?"

Roderic raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Questions no one else is asking."

The amusement in Roderic's expression didn't fade, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "Go on."

Alex chose his words carefully. He needed to learn as much as he could without revealing too much.

"What's happening with the Free Cities?"

Roderic exhaled through his nose. "War, probably. The Free Cities don't like being under the king's rule. They've been independent for decades, but lately, the king's been trying to pull them back in. A lot of mercenaries are getting hired right now. Could get ugly."

"And the Blackfangs?"

Roderic's expression darkened. "They're not just mercenaries. Smugglers, killers, enforcers—they work for whoever pays the most. Used to be just bandits, but now they've got power. They run the underbelly of Riverend."

"And the Duke?"

Roderic smirked. "Now that's a real question." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Duke Varian rules this region, but he's losing his grip. His enemies are circling, and he doesn't have the troops to keep Riverend safe. If something happens here, he won't send help."

Alex absorbed the information.

A kingdom in turmoil. A noble losing control. Mercenaries thriving in the chaos.

This wasn't just a city.

It was a powder keg.

And he had just walked straight into it.

Roderic studied him for a moment. "Now my turn. You're asking all the right things, but you don't look like a noble. You don't sound like a scholar. So who are you?"

Alex met his gaze. "No one."

Roderic chuckled. "Smart answer."

Information had a price.

And now, he owed Roderic.

But that was fine.

He had come to Riverend for a reason.

And now, he had taken his first step into its