“Pip, you know this guy?” Jack asked, setting the boy and his kitten down.

  “Sure, Jack!” Pip replied. “He’s one of the good ones, I swear. Been feeding kids like me on the street for as long as I’ve been alive.” Pip sniffed and rubbed at his nose. “Probably more, but I’d have to ask around. We do a little bit of work for him—cutting firewood, fetching water, stuff like that. And, in exchange, he’ll give us whatever food he’s got and sometimes coin if he’s got a project he needs help with. Oh, and one time, it was super cold, and he walked around, handing out blankets to the people on Dunting Street. That’s where… You know… my mom works.”

  “I do what I can,” the Blacksmith said, smiling sadly. “If I can bring a little light to the darkness, I will not hesitate to do so. We’re better when we’re all on the same side anyway. Don’t you agree, Jack?”

  I swear I’ve heard this guy’s voice before, Jack thought idly, but he nodded his agreement at the question.

  The man’s eyes shone with mirth.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Now, I really must insist on inspecting your hands. It won’t take but a moment.”

  Hesitantly, held out his hands. The Blacksmith took them, and Jack was surprised to feel just how coarse and warm his were. But despite their size and undeniable strength, he tended to Jack gently.

  “Son, this is going to hurt just a tad,” the Blacksmith warned.

  “What–” Jack started.

  Fire flashed across his hands. Jack felt half a dozen spots on his palms and fingers flash with heat and smoke. A moment later, the scent of burning sap wafted into the air. The Blacksmith gave him a quick nod and a smile, dropping Jack’s hands.

  “There we go! Much better,” he said, his voice low and rumbling with humor. “I’d imagine that Sathem fellow is going to find hunting you a good deal harder now that his trackers are burnt to a crisp. Now, Pip, could you set out a few bowls? I have a stew that I’m quite proud of, and it has yours and Turnip’s name on it!”

  “Thank you, Blacksmith,” Pip said between sniffles, moving lethargically over to pull out the wooden dishes from a cupboard.

  “Pip?” Blacksmith said, his voice brimming with concern. “What’s wrong?”

  Pip looked ready to break down in tears again. But, to Jack’s surprise, he stood up straighter and met the crafter’s gaze. His eyes glimmered, but he spoke clearly.

  “I need help finding my mom, Blacksmith, sir.”

  The weathered man nodded seriously. “Aye, I can see that. How about you fill Turnips belly with stew, and Jack and I here will see what we can do for your mother, hmm?”

  “O-okay. Thank you. Turnip is super hungry, so I’m sure she’d appreciate the food,” Pip said smiling while he rubbed at his eyes.

  The young boy moved with practiced ease, collecting bowls and setting them out. There was even a small bowl with an intricately carved turnip on its side that he placed beside his own.

  He clearly knows his way around, Jack thought. Just how long has this old man been helping out people like Pip?

  The Blacksmith rose to his feet. His wide frame was a paradox of strength and gentleness. Yet, no matter where Jack looked, he couldn’t see anything that betrayed this man’s true intentions. Was he swindling the kids of the street into child labor? Was he simply naive? Or was something else brewing down here in the slums that Jack didn’t know about?

  As Jack took in the old man, he heard footsteps creaking down the wooden staircase on the far left side of the room.

  CREAK

  THWACK

  CREAK

  THWACK

  Hobbling down the stairs came a young girl with a crutch, followed quickly by an elderly woman and two young boys no older than Pip.

  “Hi, Stella! Hi, Toad! Hi, Strawberry! Hi, Jon!” Pip greeted each of the newcomers with a familiar ease.

  “Hiya, Pip!” Toad, the elderly woman replied warmly. “Back at Smith’s are ya? Oh, and is that Turnip I see? Bring ‘er here! Now, that’s a sight for my sore eyes!”

  Without prompting, Pip and the other boys skidded some extra chairs from around the room to the long table. They helped the girl named Stella into a chair with a back, and Jack noticed that her right leg was missing from the knee. Their conversation was so light and joyful that he could almost forget what was happening outside.

  “You’re wary, Jack,” the man said, wiping some soot off the edges of his long, gray beard. “You’ve had to be. This world doesn’t take kindly to strangers. But know this. I swore an oath to protect anyone who enters those doors. That includes you, and that includes them. I will die before I let anyone harm those who have sought shelter here. No one will steal them away. That, I promise you.”

  He stepped up to Jack and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But while you are always welcome here, you have an important mission, now don’t you? Two, I’d imagine.”

  Jack’s gaze focused on the large man. “How did you–”

  “I can see it in your eyes, son. Determination wars with desperation there. Plain as day, it is. At least, for someone who can see such things.” The Blacksmith squared his shoulders and smiled down at Jack. “Now, how can I help?”

  Jack scoffed, feeling the weight of Olric’s life descend back onto his chest. He was running out of time, and every delay brought his one real ally in this world closer to death.

  “Do you have any healing potions?” Jack asked, not expecting the weathered smith to chuckle knowingly.

  “Oh, I have a few bobs and bobbles, but we’ll save those for later,” the Blacksmith said. “No, who you need right now is Gerome. He’s an alchemist who runs an apothecary down here in the slums. He’s the oily sort. You will need to be strong with him. Don’t take no for an answer, but don’t kill him either. While he is dishonorable, he does help by providing medicine to some. His time of reckoning has not yet come. If you need, tell him the potion is for Olric. He owes the farmer much, and so he will help, then.”

  “Thank you,” Jack answered, feeling just a fraction of that weight dispel from his shoulders. “Where do I find him?”

  “Take this street up and to the right for three blocks, then turn left on Feathermore. His shop will be the only one aglow with green flames. Oh, and be sure to use his back entrance. It has fewer booby traps,” the Blacksmith instructed. “It’s time you left. You will need to hurry, Jack. I will take care of Pip until you are able to help search for his mother.”

  Jack was gently shooed toward the front door. He didn’t fight it, but once he was on the threshold, the old man called after him.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  When he turned, he saw a strange sadness overcome the man’s face. But when he spoke, it was with unmistakable intensity, like every syllable was a mountain.

  “Come back here when you need a hand. You are always welcome here. Always. There is light. I promise. Keep searching for it. Darkness always flees the light.”

  Jack was unsure of how to respond, but the crafter gave him a knowing nod, then closed the door, leaving Jack out in the cold night.

  What was all that about? He wondered.

  The smell of ash and scorched flesh slammed into him, and he finally remembered where he was. He was not safe here. He needed to go.

  Jack flung into action. He sped down the curving street, careful to follow the old smith’s directions. He made it to the third intersection without an issue, then rushed left down Feathermore. It was practically crawling with dreamers. They lay, languid and comatose, across the street. Their eyes were milky pits, and several of them moaned. Pink smoke blanketed this street. It was laced with an acridly sweet scent, and clung to their clothes and to the walls.

  Dreamsnatcher! Jack realized too late.

  He exhaled all of the air in his lungs and forced his body to keep moving. Even with that, he could feel something encroaching on the edges of his mind, sanding down his resolve until everything was dull. Numb.

  He didn’t need to rush. Olric was going to be fine. He was going to be fine. People just needed to chill out, and let him fix their problems. They were all just so blind! The hatred, the discrimination, the classism—all of it. If they would just listen to him, he could fix it all, and then get off this miserable planet!

  He could see it now. A world united against the real enemy. Together, they could lop off Emberbone’s head, kill the shroud, and save the day. He would be accepted. Celebrated. All of his hard work would be recognized, and he could finally, finally, rest.

  He could—

  You are being poisoned. Escape, Jack. Escape!

  The words cut into his spiraling thoughts, and he opened his eyes.

  When had he closed them? He was on the ground, wallowing between two women in various states of undress. Both of them were impossibly beautiful. They were onyx and porcelain statues carved by some Greek sculptor who understood the exact proportions to make the world stare.

  He met their gazes. Their eyes were bloodshot, and their irises were tinged with a deep pink hue. One tried to bite his ear, while the other clung to his tunic, unraveling the lace that kept his tattoo from being exposed.

  Jack shoved them away and stood up. Across the street was a black stone building with sconces illuminating the night. Their flames were green.

  I… I need to get in there, he thought, though his mind felt like it was moving through mud.

  “Come back, baby. Show me what you’re hiding,” one of the women said. Her voice was husky and warm, like honey-soaked brandy.

  Fuchsia veins throbbed over his vision, and he fought the urge to obey her command.

  I… I need to go!

  Jack tried to move his leg, but his muscles were rebelling.

  You. Belong. To me!

  He shuffled his left boot forward. It scuffed loudly against the ground. Around him, the pink smoke writhed and shifted toward him, snaking around his legs, arms, and chest.

  MOVE, DAMMIT! Jack shouted in his own mind.

  His right boot scraped forward.

  “Don’t go, baby,” the woman behind him moaned. “We are just getting to the good part! Come back. I’ll be anything you want me to be. Just come back here.”

  Gritting his teeth through the overwhelming numbness, he took another step. Then another. But when his hand shot out for the iron railing that framed the apothecary’s front steps, the woman behind spoke again, this time with unmistakable power.

  “Stop.”

  Jack stopped.

  “Breathe in my love.”

  Jack breathed in.

  Why had he been so worried? He was safe here. He was wanted here.

  His grip on the railing slipped, and he slumped to the side. He felt cold fingers brush against his neck, wandering up to his ear.

  “Show me what you’re hiding, Jack.”

  His hands drifted toward the knot at the top of his tunic. He started to undo the lacing, but something in his mind was off. Why was someone screaming? What were they saying?

  WAKE! UP!

  [Relentless Spirit: Level 3?7. Rank: Novice]

  Jack gasped, and the world around him twisted back into focus.

  He whirled, seeing the woman who’d followed him as if for the first time. Her eyes were entirely pink, like twin rubies set into the gaunt expression of a woman two steps from death. Her skin was coated in sweat and sores, and her skeletal frame was covered with nothing but a large burlap sack.

  Most of her hair was missing, and the sections that weren’t were oily brown clumps. She smiled seductively, and Jack saw that the majority of her teeth were missing. Worst of all was the hunger that yawned from behind her cold eyes.

  Her friend wasn’t some demigoddess. She was a corpse. Jack had laid next to a corpse, and this one wasn’t much better.

  Jack shoved her away and rushed up the stairs. The ghoulish woman hissed and bit at Jack, but now that enough of his faculties were restored, he easily slipped past her. Jack dove into the apothecary without hesitation, slamming the door behind and sliding down its surface. He panted, trying to clear the lingering fog in his mind.

  How… How long? How long was I affected? he wondered.

  Jack could tell that time had passed, but wasn’t sure whether it could be measured in minutes or hours. His eyes refocused in the dim light. Verdant green fire flickered in large wax candles affixed to a variety of black shelves, dressers, and tables along the hallway. Beyond, Jack could spot rows of tightly packed shelves between a barrier of threaded beads.

  “Get up. Olric needs you. Get up,” Jack whispered to his shaking limbs. After what felt like an eternity, he managed to reclaim control over his nervous system.

  Relentless Spirit went up four levels by resisting that stuff? Just how powerful is that dreamsnatcher drug? He wondered, shaking his head clear of the final vestiges of fog. But if it was a poison, why did that skill level up, and not my Phoenix Blood? Maybe it had something to do with the type of poison? No, there’s gotta be something I’m missing.

  Jack stumbled forward but gained a bit more strength with each step. The beads clattered together as he pushed them aside and into the shop. A dozen different aromas bombarded his already weary senses, but he grimaced and pushed forward.

  Behind the counter in the back stood a weasel of a man. He had on a ratty suit, and hunched his back enough to concern even the most ambitious of chiropractors. He nervously combed slender fingers through his patchy beard.

  “Welcome to Gerome’s Apothecary!” the figure said in a raspy voice that might’ve been nasally in a previous decade. “What brew do you seek? You have the look of a dreamer. Would you like a fresh hit, or perhaps a concoction to break its vice grip? We have it all, should you have the coin to cough up.”

  Jack’s breath caught. “Wait… Are you the reason that… stuff is outside? Are you their supplier?!”

  Gerome smiled, exposing yellowed teeth. He shrugged nonchalantly, a move that made his uneven hunch all the more pronounced. “They’re my promoters. In exchange for a world of their making, they help make sure only the right customers come calling. I’d pay them coin, but they simply insist on getting my freshest batches.”

  Jack was speechless. This man—this foul creature—was the reason he’d nearly fallen asleep against a corpse, and been assaulted by a drug-addled woman. He was likely the reason so many others he’d passed were in comas, overdosed on this already dangerous toxin.

  Here, lurking behind his own counter, was a demon in human clothes.

  [Gerome The Alchemist - Level 32]

  [Description: He is a talented alchemist who is employed by the red knights and gangs alike to brew everything from healing potions and contraceptives to the much-sought dreamsnatcher drug.]

  Jack knew most of that, but was annoyed once again that his Inspect skill was getting blocked somehow. He’d have to look into that later. But what he did discover was quite troubling. This man was no pushover. He might not be a combat class user, but Jack had no doubt he had an arsenal up his sleeve.

  He tried. He really did. He tried to care. He tried to think strategically.

  But right then, while his vision might not be swimming in the pink fumes, all he could see was red.