Chapter 85 : A Step or a Fall

I knelt to Ian’s level. “You seem upset. Tell me, what’s bothering you?”


He looked away. Silent.


“Your parents said it’s nothing,” I said quietly. “But lies don’t hide weight. They only make it heavier.”


His hands trembled. “I… can’t say.”


“Can’t, or won’t?”


He shook his head again, refusing to meet my eyes.


I pulled a dagger from my coat — a slender blade with a silver sheen, its edge glinting even in the weak sunlight. I let him see it, not threateningly, but with quiet fascination — like showing a secret.


His breath caught, his body freezing. “W-what are you doing?”


I tilted the blade, letting it catch the light. “Do you know what this is?”


“A… dagger.”


“Correct.” I smiled faintly. “But it’s more than that. It’s a story of choice.”


He blinked, confusion mixing with fear.


“This,” I continued, letting the steel reflect the sunlight into his eyes, “is a simple piece of metal. Harmless until someone decides to give it purpose. It can cut ropes, defend lives… or end them. It bends fate according to will. Tell me, Ian, have you ever wanted to change something but couldn’t?”


He hesitated. “…Yes.”


“Then this is what gives you the right to try.”


His lips parted, uncertain. “A dagger… gives me that?"




I pressed the hilt into his trembling hand. “Hold it tight. Think carefully — what can you do with this?”


He stared at the blade, breathing unevenly.






“No. Courage does. The dagger is only a reminder — that nothing changes without blood or resolve.”


His fingers twitched. His eyes, which moments ago were filled with confusion, now held a faint, trembling spark. “But… I’m just a kid.”


“So was I, once.” My voice lowered, steady as a whisper. “When monsters surrounded my home, I didn’t cry. I picked up a blade smaller than this. It didn’t matter if my hands shook — I learned that fear is a leash. You either break it, or wear it forever.”


His pupils widened. The hook caught.


“With this dagger,” I continued, handing it to him hilt-first, “I’ve saved who I wanted… and destroyed what I didn’t. You’ll do the same one day. Protect what’s yours, Ian. Don’t wait for someone else to act.”


He looked at the blade as though it were magic itself. “Will it really… make me strong?”


I smiled thinly. “Strength doesn’t come from the blade. It comes from deciding who deserves its edge.”


I said — “Power isn’t a reward; it’s a conquest. The world doesn’t hand it over—you take it, or you’re crushed beneath it. We decide . So, Ian… what do you want to decide?”


His lips trembled. Then, in a voice barely audible, he whispered, “My friend’s father… they said he’ll be taken away. The guards came and said… he has to go with them. My friend was crying, but they said not to tell anyone…”


I watched his small hands tighten around the dagger.


“They said he made a deal. He has to… to go somewhere across the river. I don’t understand it, but everyone’s scared.”


“Across the river, huh…” I murmured, more to myself than to him. “And you want to help?”


He nodded desperately. “But I can’t do anything…”


I rested my hand on his shoulder. “You can. Sometimes all it takes is a single step forward. You’ll know when to take it.”




A chill ran through him — that brief hesitation between fascination and fear. But children are easy to shape. They long for control, for meaning. They mistake the taste of power for purpose.


Then I stood, turning away. “Next time we meet, return the dagger to me.”


Ian looked up, uncertain. “Will I see you again?”


“You will,” I said, my voice light. “And I’ll expect my blade back.”


He nodded — too quickly, too eagerly. But in his eyes, I saw it. That subtle distortion. Innocence cracking under the pressure of will.


Good.


The parents returned, thanking me awkwardly for “cheering him up.” They didn’t notice the dagger tucked discreetly under Ian’s coat. They never do.


As they walked away, Narissa approached. Her gaze lingered on Ian’s retreating figure. “He looks… different.”


“People change when they remember they’re alive,” I said.


She frowned. “What did you tell him?”


“Just a story.”


Narissa studied me, suspicion flickering behind her eyes. “It didn’t look like just a story.”


“Maybe it wasn’t a good one, then.”


She sighed, frustrated but unsure how to press further. “You really don’t make it easy to trust you.”


Slyvie tugged at Narissa’s sleeve. “Should we follow Ian? He looked sad…”


After a while, Narissa said quietly, “Something’s off about that boy.”


“Everything’s off about this town,” I said. “You’ll see soon enough.”


Slyvie puffed her cheeks. “I wanna see too!”


Narissa smiled faintly. “You’re too little for dark things, Sylvie."


“I’m not little!”


“Then prove it,” Narissa teased. “Detective Slyvie — we’re following Ian from now on.”


Slyvie gasped dramatically, saluting. “Detective Slyvie reporting for duty!”


I exhaled. “Really?”


Narissa smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious.”


I glanced upward — and caught a flicker of motion across the rooftops. Two shadows darted across the tiles — familiar presences.


Neon. Radon.


“I’m not,” I said flatly. “But if you insist, play your little detective game. I’ll find my own amusement.”


I watched them walk away. Shadows of righteousness chasing illusions of comfort.


The crowd swallowed me whole, and for a moment, I felt the weight of silence again — heavy, perfect.




---


They say devils whisper promises. But the truth is, devils simply offer what humans already desire. The promise of control. The illusion that their pain can mean something if they act upon it.


Ian will act.
He will break the leash.
And in doing so, he’ll stain his hands.


I wanted to see it — the moment his innocence collapsed under the weight of choice. That’s the only truth worth witnessing: the point where purity dies and will is born.


That boy will soon learn the cost of courage.


And I will watch, smiling, as the world teaches him everything I already know — that morality is nothing but the dream of the powerless.


-------------


The sun had long begun to sink behind Arkwyn’s slate rooftops, painting the alleys in dim hues of amber and rust. The market that had been lively by day now lay quiet, its stalls closed, the scent of roasted grain and burnt oil still clinging faintly to the air. Crickets began their hesitant song somewhere in the distance, drowned every so often by the creak of a wagon wheel or the cry of a night bird.


Ian slipped out of his small home, the wooden door shutting behind him with a soft click. He moved with the caution of someone who knew he shouldn’t be seen. His mother’s soft humming came from the next room — a lullaby she sang to keep herself calm more than anyone else. Ian paused for only a heartbeat, glancing back at the dim candlelight flickering through the cracks of the shutter, then tightened his jaw and turned down the narrow street.


His steps were uneven at first, hesitant, but purpose steadied him. The cool night air brushed against his face, carrying the faint metallic scent of the nearby docks. In his pocket, the small dagger Aren had given him pressed against his thigh — cold, reassuring, dangerous. Every step seemed to make its weight more noticeable, as if it were whispering for attention.


Unseen by the boy, two faint shadows trailed him through the winding alleys.


Narissa moved lightly, keeping to the edges where the lamplight didn’t reach. Her hood was drawn low, her amber eyes sharp and focused. “He’s sneaking out,” she murmured under her breath.




Slyvie, trailing close behind, nodded with childlike determination. Slyvie crept beside her, voice low. “He’s up to something, isn’t he?”


Narissa nodded faintly. “Yes. But let’s see where his feet take him before his conscience does.”


“But keep quiet. We don’t want to scare him.”


Slyvie puffed out her cheeks but nodded, tiptoeing dramatically as if on an adventure. The two of them followed Ian’s small figure as he wound through the maze-like paths between old stone buildings.


The boy finally stopped in front of a dimly lit house near the edge of the workers’ quarter. The door was slightly ajar, a faint sobbing sound escaping from within. Ian pushed it open.


The room inside was bare — a table, two stools, and a single candle trembling on the windowsill. A boy about Ian’s age sat on the floor, clutching a small wooden toy in his hands, tears streaking down his cheeks.


“Lio,” Ian whispered, stepping closer.


The boy looked up, his face pale and streaked with dirt. “Ian…” His voice cracked. “They took him.”


Ian’s throat tightened. “Your father?”


Lio nodded quickly, his hands shaking. “They came this evening. Guards — they said my father’s name was on the list. The sacrifice list.” The words came out like a curse, something that burned to speak aloud. “They said it’s for Arkwyn’s safety. But why would they take him? He didn’t do anything!”


Narissa and Slyvie stood silently outside, listening through the cracked door. Narissa’s fingers clenched against the wall. She could hear every word.


Inside, Ian’s small fists trembled. “Where did they take him?”


Lio wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “To the holding quarter… near the docks. They said the sacrifice will happen soon. Tomorrow night.”


Ian’s breath hitched. “Tomorrow…”


For a long moment, the two boys just stared at each other — one broken by grief, the other burning with a strange, fragile determination. Then Ian slowly reached into his pocket. The dull glint of metal flashed as he pulled the dagger free.


Lio’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”


“A man gave it to me,” Ian said quietly. “He told me it’s not just a weapon — it’s a way to change things.” His words trembled, yet there was a hard, almost eerie conviction beneath them.


Lio’s voice faltered. “You’re not thinking—”


Ian stepped closer, gripping the dagger tightly. “We can’t just sit here, Lio. They’ll kill your father. Maybe mine next. Maybe others. If we don’t do anything, it’ll keep happening.”


Lio looked terrified. “But we’re just kids—”


“So what?” Ian snapped, his voice louder than he meant. Then, softer, “So what… if no one else helps? I can’t watch it happen again.”


He turned toward the door. “I’m going to find where they’re keeping them.”


Lio hesitated, glancing between the dagger and his friend’s trembling shoulders. Then, without a word, he stood up. “I’m coming too.”


Ian turned back, eyes wide — a mix of gratitude and fear. “You don’t have to.”


“I know,” Lio said. “But I want to.”


Outside, Narissa exhaled softly, her chest tightening. “He’s going after the guards.”


Slyvie looked up at her, whispering, “Are we gonna stop him?”


Narissa frowned. “If we stop him now, he’ll just try again. Let’s follow. Maybe we’ll find the truth behind this ‘sacrifice.’”


Slyvie nodded. “Detective Slyvie agrees!”


Narissa smiled faintly despite herself. “Quietly, Detective.”


They moved through the night as Ian and Lio slipped down toward the lower docks — where the smell of brine and decay hung thick in the air, and the sound of boots on wooden planks echoed faintly over the water.


The two boys hid behind stacked crates as a group of guards passed, dragging a few chained men down the pier. The men looked hollow, beaten by something deeper than pain — resignation. Ian’s breath hitched, his knuckles white around the dagger.


“That’s my father…” Lio whispered, barely audible.


Ian’s jaw clenched. “ We will save him.”