Gears of the Bleeding Requiem

The gears in the restaurant ticked softly as the last of their food sat half-eaten on the plates. The air smelled of oil, cheese, and faintly burning sugar. But the conversation at the booth had shifted from food to fear.

"I'm telling you," Jack said, lowering his voice. "The guy who tried to kill me—he had the same phoenix mark carved into his chest. Same as the ones on the bodies."

"Then he's definitely one of them," Rae muttered, her expression serious.

"Ashblood Wings..." Christopher repeated, still testing the name on his tongue. "If they're the ones behind Copperpoint, then they're dangerous. Organized. Deadly."

"I still don't understand why," Steven added, rubbing his temple. "Why would they attack a village? What's the point?"

"They didn't just attack," Rae said. "They eradicated. They made it a message."

Eva hugged her knees to her chest, her voice small. "Do you think they're coming for us next…?"

Jack gave her a small reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Not with Hugo around."

Just then, Vince returned, wiping his hands on a cloth napkin as he approached their table.

He looked around at the five children, each sitting unusually straight and very clearly not talking.

"Well," he said casually, pulling his chair back into place. "You all went quiet."

"We were just talking," Jack said a bit too quickly.

"Yeah," Rae added, "just... kid stuff."

"Totally normal," Steven nodded.

"Like toys. Or candy," Christopher offered stiffly.

"Or… books," Eva whispered.

Vince's eyes flicked from one kid to the next. "Mmhmm."

There was a long pause as the table faked casual sips, chews, and fork taps.

Finally, Vince gave a small grin. "Good. Hate to see you kids talking about anything serious in a city like this."

The tension bled slightly from the table. But the kids weren't sure whether Vince bought the lie—or just let it slide.

He leaned back. "Finish up. We'll be heading back soon."

As he tilted his head toward the kitchen to wave down the check, his expression didn't change.

But in his mind?

He knew.

The kids had spoken the name.

Ashblood Wings.

And once that name was in their heads, there was no going back.

The heavy doors of the Obsidian Fang stronghold hissed shut behind Hugo Arc as he stepped into the Gloomfang streets.

He had told Charlie Luciano everything: the massacre at Copperpoint, the phoenix marks, the surviving children. Charlie took it all in with a grim face and a clenched jaw, his expression more sorrowful than angry. And when Hugo mentioned the Ashblood Wings, the mafia boss's brow had furrowed ever so slightly—but he said nothing Hugo didn't already suspect.

As Hugo moved toward the gate, Charlie had stopped him with a gruff voice.

"Where are you headed now?"

Hugo turned halfway. "The Noir Emporium. I'm hoping Vex can dig up something useful. Ashblood Wings, phantom runes—anything that connects the dots."

Charlie grunted. "Then leave the children here. Let Vince handle them."

"They'll argue."

"They're kids. Let 'em." He smirked faintly. "Besides, Vince has a way with kids—whether they know it or not. I'll make sure he gets them home to Flywheel before sundown."

Hugo hesitated a moment, then gave a slight nod. "Thanks."

He turned and walked away, his coat fluttering like a whisper behind him, gears ticking faintly with every step.

The Noir Emporium wasn't just a black market—it was a kingdom built on secrets. Nestled beneath Gloomfang's rust-choked streets, its gates opened only to those who knew which gears to turn and which palms to grease.

As Hugo descended the long, spiral staircase beneath a rusted clocktower, the air shifted. From the smell of steam and iron to something heavier—the weight of unspoken deals and danger.

At the bottom, glowing rune-lamps lined the arched hallway leading into the main bazaar. Just ahead, the Checkpoint Gearsmen, mercenary guards hired by the Emporium, stood posted in front of a massive iron door. As Hugo approached, one of them—a tall, scarred man with a chrome eye—narrowed his gaze.

"Well, well," he said with a crooked smile. "Look what the smog dragged in."

Hugo didn't break stride. "Step aside."

"Don't remember you having clearance," the man said, stepping forward to block him. "Name's Kraven. You arrested me in Flywheel four years ago."

Hugo stopped now, eyeing the man coolly. "You had a stolen phantom rune and six counts of illegal rune trade."

"And now," Kraven said, voice low and bitter, "I'm security."

"Ironic."

Kraven's smirk faltered. "Think I forgot what you did? You broke my wrist."

"You were trying to kill a kid with a melted rune cannon," Hugo said flatly.

Kraven's eyes narrowed, and the atmosphere thickened.

"Tell you what," he growled, hand twitching toward the gear-knife at his hip. "Why don't you turn around before I drag you back up these stairs and—"

"That won't be necessary."

A smooth, dry voice cut through the tension.

From behind the inner gate, Vex emerged in his usual patchwork coat of stitched fabrics and flickering lenses. His boots clicked softly on the floor, but his presence hit like a hammer.

Hugo and Kraven both turned toward him.

"Kraven," Vex said without looking at him, "I don't recall putting you in charge of who enters my domain."

Kraven flinched slightly. "He's a detective—"

"He's my guest." Vex's voice didn't rise, but it didn't need to. "Do you want to go back to unloading rune slag in the back tunnels?"

Kraven backed off immediately, jaw clenched. "No, sir."

"Then open the gate."

Kraven stepped aside and cranked the brass lever. The great gear doors groaned and hissed open.

Vex turned to Hugo with a faint grin. "I do love a dramatic entrance. Come. Let's talk secrets."

The moment Hugo stepped inside the Noir Emporium, it was like crossing into another world.

Stalls lined the cavernous bazaar, their brass counters glowing under rune-lanterns. Steam hissed from floor grates as vendors hawked illegal rune stones, black market gears, phantom-enhancing elixirs, and weapons outlawed in every known city. Overhead, a tangle of suspended walkways and cog-fueled carts zipped back and forth with contraband cargo.

It smelled of copper, oil, and ambition.

Hugo followed Vex through the chaos, ignoring the eyes that trailed him.

They passed through an arch etched with glowing glyphs into a dimly lit parlor behind the Emporium's front. Velvet seats and cogwheel chandeliers gave the room an unsettlingly elegant charm. On a central table sat a silver tray with a pot of dark brew and two teacups—untouched.

"Sit," Vex said smoothly. "Let's talk business."

Hugo remained standing. "Talk fast."

Vex grinned. "You always were no fun."

He pulled a file from under the table and placed it on the tray. "This... is what you want. Details about phantom rune smuggling, sightings of men with phoenix marks, whispers of secret buyers with too much money and too few morals."

Hugo crossed his arms. "What's the price?"

Vex tapped the file. "Ah, good. Now we're speaking the same language." He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Ten thousand Bolt Coins."

Hugo arched an eyebrow. "You think I carry that much on me?"

"No," Vex said, "but I enjoy seeing your face when I say big numbers."

He chuckled, then dropped the grin.

"Actually… there is something else. A job. Quick, dirty, quiet."

Hugo said nothing.

"There's a buyer—dead. In one of the lower stalls. Stabbed this morning. Took a rune deal gone wrong, supposedly. Only problem?" Vex tossed a silver token onto the tray.

It had a faint phoenix insignia etched into one side.

"That was found on his corpse."

Hugo narrowed his eyes.

"No witnesses," Vex continued. "No guards saw anything. The rune he was buying—missing. And here's the kicker: rumor says it was a phantom rune."

That made Hugo tense. "So you want me to find the killer."

"I want you to find the rune," Vex corrected. "You solve the murder, you get the file."

Hugo paused, then reached down and picked up the phoenix-etched coin.

It was cold. Too cold.

"Alright," Hugo said at last, slipping the coin into his coat. "You've got yourself a detective."

The corpse lay slumped against the corner of the stall, half-covered by a frayed canvas. His throat was slit cleanly—no blood spatter, no signs of a struggle. Just precision. Professional. The body was already stiff.

Hugo crouched beside the man and examined his fingers—burn marks near the tips.

"Tried to touch a rune he didn't understand," Hugo muttered to himself.

His eyes moved to the table where the transaction had likely happened. Nothing there now… except for a small charred rune slot embedded in the wood.

"Recent burn," he whispered, brushing the ash. "Just enough to mark… but not enough to scar."

Then, etched faintly underneath the tabletop in red chalk—almost missed—two words:

Second Flame.

His red eyes flickered.

Keyword located.

It clicked. Something shifted in his mind. A jigsaw puzzle flipped into place, unlocking the first layer of the case.

Before he could process more, a stall vendor nearby suddenly grabbed a satchel and bolted.

"Stop!" Hugo snapped, standing quickly.

The man didn't hesitate—he sprinted down the tight aisle between the stalls, pushing people aside as he went.

Hugo reached into his coat, pulled out Spiral Wonder, and with one swift motion, popped open the rune chamber.

"Strength out," he murmured, pulling the Strength Rune and Wind Rune, and swiftly slotting in a Speed Rune and a Lightning Rune.

The runes locked in with a mechanical hiss.

He took a single breath.

Then—lightning surged through the blade and into his limbs. His eyes narrowed.

In a flash, Hugo vanished from his spot, streaking down the path like a bolt of electricity.

The crowd blurred past. Sparks danced at his feet.

The vendor scrambled up a stairwell to the upper balconies of the Emporium—but Hugo was already there.

Steel clashed as Hugo kicked off a pipe, flipped over a handrail, and landed in front of the man with his blade extended sideways.

"Don't run," Hugo said coldly.

The vendor turned to bolt the other way—but Hugo twisted his wrist, sending a lightning arc from Spiral Wonder that cracked against the wall in front of him, cutting him off.

The man froze.

"Talk," Hugo said. "You were watching the stall. You saw the buyer die. What was he buying?"

"I—I don't know the name," the man stammered, backing against a crate. "Some kind of… rare rune. Buyer said it glowed blue and gold. I swear that's all I know!"

"Who sold it to him?"

"A woman. Long coat. Goggles. She—she had a mark on her glove… a phoenix."

There it was.

Another keyword.

Hugo's mind pulsed—Second Flame. Phoenix Seller. Phantom Rune.

It all clicked.

But before he could ask more, a whisper of air cut through the silence—and a clean slice embedded through the vendor's neck. His eyes rolled back as blood drip from the neck.

Dead.

Hugo spun around, but the rooftops were already empty.

Whoever it was had silenced the witness—perfectly.

Too perfectly.

He sheathed Spiral Wonder slowly.

"Looks like I'm not the only one watching this case."