Chapter 1 — The Guilt of Shadows

Kael

The air in the Rivermark Tunnels clung to Kael’s skin, damp and cold, carrying the metallic tang of mildew and rust. Faded graffiti scrawled along the walls seemed to watch him as he ran, their slogans smeared and illegible. Each step sent muted echoes reverberating through the labyrinthine pathways, a reminder of how easily sound could betray them. His chest heaved, the satchel slamming rhythmically against his back with each stride. It was heavier than he’d expected—not just with its contents but with the weight of what this heist meant. Prove yourself. Don’t fall behind. Don’t give him a reason to doubt you.

Ahead of him, Jerik’s broad frame was a shadow against the dim, flickering lights. The older man moved like he belonged there, every step deliberate despite the urgency. “Keep up, kid,” Jerik called over his shoulder, his voice low but edged with impatience. “We’ve got company—don’t slow us down now.”

Kael swallowed hard, his legs burning but his determination sharper. “I’m right behind you!” he shot back, his voice cracking with both exertion and a simmering unease he wouldn’t let surface. He tightened his grip on the satchel’s straps, their edges digging into his ribs as he pushed himself harder. Behind them, the echoes of their pursuers—shouts, the clatter of boots—were growing fainter, but Jerik’s rule had been drilled into him: never assume you’re safe. Complacency was a death sentence.

The tunnels twisted and turned like veins in the city’s ancient skeleton, their walls slick with damp and moss. A faint trickle of water followed their path, reflecting the dim light in broken, wavering patterns. Kael’s mind raced as fast as his feet. What was in the satchel? Jerik hadn’t told him—it wasn’t his place to ask—but the way Jerik had handled it, the way his knuckles had whitened around the straps, told Kael it was far from ordinary.

“Jerik,” Kael panted, forcing himself to speak even as his lungs screamed for air, “what’s in this thing? Why’s it so important?”

Jerik spared him a glance, his face unreadable in the dim light. His voice carried a low, almost mocking humor. “Secrets, kid. Enough to make someone very rich—or very dead. Now focus on running.”

The words sent a shiver crawling up Kael’s spine, but he didn’t have time to dwell on them. Jerik came to an abrupt stop, raising a hand. Kael skidded to a halt behind him, his own momentum nearly toppling him. He pressed a hand to the wall for balance, his heart hammering in his chest. Jerik’s head tilted, his body tense like a predator scenting danger.

Kael strained to hear what Jerik had caught—there, faint but growing closer: the scrape of boots on stone, distant voices, the hum of something mechanical. Jerik cursed softly under his breath, his shoulders stiffening. “We’re not alone,” he muttered. “Stay sharp. Stay close.”

Kael nodded, but his throat was dry, the reassurance catching there. His fingers brushed the edge of his lock-picking gauntlet, its concealed tools offering a small but steadying comfort. As Jerik moved cautiously forward, the sharp click of the flashlight carved a narrow beam through the shadows. The tunnels suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier, pressing in around them. Kael’s instincts prickled—a growing sense of wrongness settled like a weight in his gut.

The ambush came fast—too fast.

A figure lunged from a side passage, colliding with Jerik. The satchel slipped from Kael’s shoulder as he staggered back, his pulse spiking. More shadows emerged from the darkness, faces obscured by the flickering light, and chaos erupted. Jerik’s barked orders—“Hold your ground! Don’t lose the satchel!”—cut through the panic, but Kael’s world had narrowed to a blur of flailing limbs and sharp, disconnected sounds.

Someone lunged for the satchel, and before Kael could think, he reacted. He swung the satchel upward, the corner catching his assailant under the chin with a sickening thud. The man crumpled, but his weight sent the satchel flying from Kael’s grip. It hit the ground several feet away, skidding into the shadows. Kael dropped to his knees, scrambling after it, his palms scraping against the damp stone.

“Kael, don’t—!” Jerik’s warning came too late.

Kael’s fingers closed around the strap just as he heard it—a sharp, metallic clang followed by a low groan. He turned, his breath hitching in his throat, to see one of the attackers sprawled on the ground, motionless. Jerik stood frozen, his knife drawn but unused, his face a mask of something Kael couldn’t name—shock, anger, regret.

Kael’s gaze darted to the source of the sound. The man’s head rested at a grotesque angle against the jagged edge of a broken pipe protruding from the wall, blood pooling beneath him. The weight of what had happened hit Kael with brutal force, knocking the air from his lungs. He hadn’t meant—he hadn’t thought—

His hand trembled as he realized the truth. In his panic, he’d shoved the man away—and directly into the pipe. His actions had set the chain of events into motion.

For a moment, the world around him disappeared. The shouts of the remaining pursuers, the drip of water, Jerik’s barked instructions—it all faded. All he could see was the body—the blood—the fixed surprise in the man’s lifeless eyes. His chest tightened, his pulse roaring in his ears. This was his fault.

“Kael!” Jerik’s voice snapped him back. The older man grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly. “We’ve got to move! Now!” His tone was harsh, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something else—worry, or maybe disappointment.

Kael stumbled to his feet, clutching the satchel like a lifeline. His legs felt leaden, his mind spinning, but he forced himself to follow Jerik as they vanished back into the maze of tunnels. This time, Kael didn’t look back.

When they finally stopped, far from the scene of the ambush, Kael collapsed against the wall, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Jerik crouched nearby, his shoulders tense, his face obscured in the dim light. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Kael stared at his hands, still trembling. He could feel the phantom weight of the satchel in his grip, but it wasn’t the satchel he saw—it was the man’s lifeless body, the blood spreading in dark rivulets, the sharp clang of metal. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms.

“Jerik,” Kael said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

Jerik cut him off, his tone gruff but not unkind. “You did what you had to, kid. If it hadn’t been him, it would’ve been you. That’s the way this world works.”

Kael looked up, searching Jerik’s face for something—reassurance, understanding, anything to quiet the storm inside him. “But I didn’t think—”

“That’s your problem,” Jerik interrupted, his voice hardening. “You’ve got to think. Every move, every decision—you’ve got to know what it costs before you make it. Hesitation gets you killed. Impulsiveness gets others killed.” He stood, brushing the dust off his pants. “You’ll learn, or you won’t last.”

Kael swallowed hard, his throat dry. The weight of Jerik’s words settled over him, heavy and unyielding. He clutched the satchel tighter, his knuckles white. This was the life he had chosen, the life he wanted to prove he belonged in. But tonight, for the first time, he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

As they moved deeper into the tunnels, Kael glanced back once more. The darkness swallowed the path behind them, but the image of the broken pipe and the lifeless body remained etched in his mind. He clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening even as guilt began to root itself deep within him.

Never again, he thought. But the words felt hollow, a promise made to no one but the shadows.