Ascension of the Abyss*

Alex stepped out of The Rusty Pike, the evening air wrapping around him in a biting chill. The scent of stale ale and sweat clung to his clothes, but it was the sharp, unsettling hum beneath his skin that truly lingered. He had walked into the tavern with nothing but questions, but now, he had something far more dangerous—knowledge.

Duke Varian. The Blackfangs. The Free Cities.

Riverend was on the brink of collapse, a city tangled in the threads of corruption, warring factions, and a noble barely holding his rule together. Power shifted like sand here, and those who weren't careful got buried beneath it.

And then there was Roderic—a warrior in every sense of the word, a man who had survived by wit and blade, who had fought through battles that left their scars in more than just flesh. He didn't deal in debts or shadows; he dealt in truth, in strength, and in the tactics required to survive in a world like this.

When Alex had asked him where he could earn coin, Roderic hadn't hesitated.

"If you want to survive, you need work. Go to the Whispering Den. Find Mira. If she doesn't kill you, she might hire you."

And so, Alex had come here.

The streets grew quieter as he made his way deeper into Riverend, the broad avenues narrowing into tight alleys, where secrets lived in the shadows. The scent of damp stone and rot hung in the air, the echoes of distant conversations muffled by crumbling brick walls.

This was a part of the city where things were arranged in whispers, not declarations.

A faded wooden sign hung over a narrow doorway, its letters worn by time but still legible.

The Whispering Den.

Unlike the Rusty Pike, there were no raucous voices spilling into the street, no clinking of mugs or rowdy laughter. This was a place for careful words and unseen deals.

Inside, the air was thick with wax, ale, and something metallic. Conversations were hushed, private. No one looked at Alex, but he felt their attention—a quiet acknowledgment of his presence.

A bartender with graying hair glanced at him before giving a subtle nod toward a corner table.

"Talk to Mira."

Mira was not what he expected.

She was young, perhaps only a few years older than him, but there was nothing soft about her. She carried herself with the stillness of someone who had never known safety, her dark hair cropped short, her posture too controlled. The dagger resting against the table was more than a weapon; it was an extension of her hand, never far from reach.

Her gaze met his, steady and patient.

Alex sat.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, she leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the table.

"You're either desperate or stupid."

Alex smirked, though his shoulders remained tense. "Can't it be both?"

She let out a short, dry chuckle, but her fingers never strayed far from her blade.

"You want work?" she asked. "I don't hire strays."

Alex tilted his head slightly. "Then why let me sit down?"

Her gaze flickered with a hint of amusement, though it never fully softened.

"Because I'm curious."

Her fingers tapped against the hilt of her dagger.

"You don't look like a noble. You don't sound like a mercenary. But you're asking the right questions."

She picked up a small, sealed letter from the table and slid it toward him.

"Take this to Varen. He's a merchant by the docks. He'll pay me for the message."

Alex knew a test when he saw one.

And he knew a trap when he felt it.

But he didn't hesitate.

He picked up the letter and walked away.

The docks were alive with motion, even at this hour.

Ships groaned as they rocked in their moorings, ropes straining against wooden posts. The scent of salt, tar, and fish was thick in the air, mixing with the acrid bite of burning oil from lanterns that swung on their hooks. Workers moved quickly, hauling crates and shouting across the harbor.

There were **others here, too—**men who weren't dockworkers, men who lingered just outside the pools of flickering light.

Varen was easy to spot.

Thin, wiry, his fingers twitching as if eager to snatch something unseen. His eyes flicked to Alex the moment he approached.

"You don't look like one of Mira's," he muttered, voice sharp, clipped.

Alex held out the letter. "Just a messenger."

Varen hesitated. Then, with a quick motion, he took the letter and broke the seal. His eyes flicked over the message, his expression shifting instantly.

His entire body tensed.

Alex's instincts screamed.

Varen wasn't looking at him.

He was looking behind him.

Alex turned—

A shadow moved.

Steel flashed in the lantern light.

The knife was already coming for his throat.

The world sharpened.

Alex barely twisted away in time, the blade slicing past his neck so close he felt the air shift. He staggered, pulse hammering.

The man didn't hesitate.

Another lunge. Another flash of steel.

Alex threw himself backward, but he wasn't fast enough.

The knife bit into his shoulder, sharp and burning. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but his body was already moving before he thought.

The abyss stirred.

He didn't will it.

He didn't control it.

But it moved through him.

His hand shot out.

Fingers closed around the attacker's wrist.

A pulse.

Black mist coiled around his skin, twisting through the air like living smoke.

The man froze.

His eyes widened.

Then—

He was gone.

Not dead.

Gone.

Alex staggered back, breath ragged, his entire body shaking. His fingers tingled, the power still humming beneath his skin, alive, waiting.

His stomach churned violently.

He had felt it. The abyss had moved through him, had taken something—someone—without his permission.

He hadn't decided to use it.

His body had moved on its own.

He clenched his fists, anger and fear twisting together in a sickening knot inside his chest.

"What the hell did I just do?"

Varen's face was pale, his hands trembling. He swallowed, forcing out a stiff nod.

"Tell Mira… I got it."

Alex turned.

He didn't answer.

He walked away, his thoughts a storm.

Mira was waiting when he returned.

She was at the same table, fingers drumming idly against the wood, her dagger resting beside her drink. Her expression remained unreadable, but her gaze was sharper than before.

Alex sat across from her, still feeling the abyss under his skin.

She studied him for a long moment before speaking.

"Looks like you passed."

Alex exhaled, the tension in his shoulders never fully leaving.

He had survived his first job.

But he hadn't won.

Because for the first time, he wasn't afraid of the world.

He was afraid of himself.