Chapter 1.1: Between Coin and Smoke

The morning sun struggled to reach the slums.

Its light filtered through clouds of dust and smoke, striking crooked rooftops patched with wood and rusted metal. Narrow alleys wound like veins through the outskirts of the Golden City. Each filled with the sound of clattering pots, crying children. The distant roar of merchants inside the walls. Here, the ground was dirt and stones, not marble. The air reeked of sweat, cheap ale, and the smoke of burning scrap wood.

He led with a feint; the answer came fast — steel met, they reset along the wall.

Selene’s touch hovered, never resting. “Hold. ” The knot tied, snug, a little too deliberate.

Selene kept to a dark coat and gloves — edges clean as her words.

And yet, for Itsuki, this was home.

Itsuki wore an ash-stained jacket and plain traveler’s boots — nothing that asked for notice.

He pushed his shoulder against a wooden crate, grunting as it scraped across the ground. His arms flexed beneath the strain, sweat beading across his tanned skin. Though sixteen, his body was already hardened — broad shoulders. Strong hands, muscles earned not from training halls. From carrying barrels, chopping wood. Hauling supplies day after day.

He turned — Aoi bumped into him, palms landing on his chest. “S-sorry! ” Their faces were a breath apart. Her thumb worried the nick in her scabbard when doubt crept in; her feet kept the tempo honest.

She misread a feint, hit the dust, and came up laughing through grit. “Again, ” Aoi said, shifting her stance to stop reaching.

Silence gathered where breath would have been.

Aoi had a linen blouse, sleeves rolled, and boots that had learned every alley.

“Careful, you’ll break your back before you turn twenty. ”

Sayaka’s voice carried across the yard. She stood by the tavern’s entrance, wiping her hands on her apron. Her brown hair was tied loosely, falling across her cheek. The faint outline of pointed ears peeked through — a reminder of her mixed blood. Her eyes, gentle yet sharp, lingered on her adopted son with a mixture of pride and worry.

Steam curled from the bath. Aoi startled; Elira looked away first.

Elira’s coat was tailored, a slim silver brooch closing it at the throat.

Itsuki straightened, wiping his brow. “If I stop, who’ll move it? Kaito? ”

As if on cue, a boy a year older leaned lazily against the tavern’s wall, arms crossed. His ears twitched slightly — longer than Sayaka’s, sharper, a clearer mark of his half, beast heritage. Kaito grinned, baring sharp canines.

“You’re built like an ox, little brother. Might as well put it to use. ”

Itsuki scowled, though a smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. “I’m younger by a year, you know. ”

“And in brains by at least five. ” Kaito ducked as Itsuki flung a rag at his head. The two laughed, the sound bright against the grim noise of the slums.

Sayaka shook her head, though her lips softened into a smile. For all their bickering, the boys were close. The close those who had survived hunger and scorn together could be.

By midday, the tavern was alive with voices. Merchants from the outer districts, drunks spending their last coin, laborers seeking warmth — it was always crowded. Itsuki weaved through the tables with practiced ease, carrying trays laden with bowls of stew and mugs of ale.

“Boy! More ale here! ”

“Careful with that tray, you’ll spill it! ”

Itsuki bore the shouts with a calm expression. He was used to being barked at, mocked for his plain clothes and the scar on his shoulder. He didn’t care. The coins he earned went straight to Sayaka, no matter how often she tried to refuse them.

“You needn’t do this, ” she would tell him at night, sitting by the fire. “You’re young. Save some for yourself. ”

But Itsuki always pressed the coins into her hand with stubborn eyes. “We’re family. That’s what matters. ”

Later that evening, when the rush had slowed, he stepped outside to catch a breath. The slums stretched before him, a maze of crooked houses, smoke rising from countless hearths.

Beyond them, far above, the walls of the Golden City gleamed in the fading light — tall, golden, untouchable. Within those walls, nobles feasted, bathed in marble halls, and walked streets where the dirt was polished.

The lamp flickered, then steadied — as if it shared their doubt.

Itsuki clenched his fists. The image of the City both angered and fascinated him.

“With you. ”

“Brother, ” Kaito said, coming up beside him. “Don’t glare too hard. You’ll burn a hole through the wall. ”

Itsuki snorted. “Wouldn’t that be something. ”

They stood together in silence. From here, the contrast was undeniable: the slums reeking of smoke and poverty. The city above glowing like a beacon. Two worlds, side by side, yet separated by a wall higher than hope.

Sayaka’s voice called them in for supper. Itsuki lingered a moment longer, eyes locked on the distant towers. He didn’t know why. Sometimes, when he stared at that city, his chest ached — like something inside him remembered it. Long before he was born.

He pushed the thought aside and followed his family inside.

That night, the slums were restless. Dogs barked, drunks sang, the wind howled through broken shutters. Itsuki lay on his straw mattress, staring at the ceiling, listening to Kaito snore beside him. Sayaka’s soft humming drifted from the next room.

And yet, despite the familiar sounds, sleep refused to come easily. For weeks now, dreams had haunted him. Dreams of fire that roared louder than the sky, of shadows clashing against light. Of voices calling his name — though not the name Sayaka had given him.

When at last he drifted into slumber, the dream came again.

A battlefield. Flames consuming the heavens. A figure wreathed in fire, standing against gods themselves. His own hands stretched forward — and they were not hands, but claws of molten iron, runes etched into glowing skin.

Burn… fight… protect… destroy…

He jolted awake with a gasp, chest heaving. Sweat soaked his shirt, his skin fever — hot. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw light flicker across his arm, like faint markings glowing red. But when he looked, his skin was bare.

A quiet knock sounded. The door creaked open, and Sayaka peeked in, her eyes soft. “Another dream? ”

Itsuki nodded silently.

She crossed the room and sat beside him, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “Dreams can’t hurt you. They’re shadows. ”

“They feel real, ” he whispered. “Like memories. ”

Sayaka’s hand paused, then resumed its gentle touch. Her gaze flickered, shadowed by something unspoken, but she smiled all the same. “Then remember this instead: no matter what the dream shows you, you are my son. And that is real. ”

Itsuki swallowed hard, tension easing under her voice. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her presence chase away the lingering fire.

In the corner, Kaito stirred, muttering in his sleep. “Don’t let him scare you, Itsuki. I’ll always be the better fighter. ”

He nodded.

Itsuki laughed softly, despite himself. Sayaka chuckled too, shaking her head.

For a moment, the slums didn’t feel so heavy.