Cold seeped into his bones.
Momen opened his eyes to a grey sky. Dawn. He lay on his side in the alley, curled in the filth. A deep, dull ache radiated from his ribs and shoulder where Brann had kicked him. His head throbbed with a hollow, sick feeling that was more than just the aftermath of a beating.
Silence.
Not the quiet of a sleeping city, but a complete, dead silence. No distant carts, no early morning birds, no sound from the shops whose back doors lined this alley. Even the usual slum noise from over the wall was absent.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing as his ribs protested. He looked around.
The alley was empty. Brann was gone.
His sack lay nearby, still spilled open. The turnip sat in a puddle. The bread was trampled and dirty. The fish scraps were scattered. He stared at them, his mind sluggish, trying to piece together the last moments before the blackness. Brann's foot on his back. The words about his mother. The heat. The red voice. The… pressure. Then nothing.
He sat up fully, shivering in the morning chill. He looked at his hands, intending to brush the muck from his clothes.
They were covered in blood.
Not smeared, but coated, up to his wrists. Dark, almost black in the dim light, drying in the creases of his knuckles and under his fingernails.
His breath caught in his throat.
He hadn't been cut. He checked his arms, his torso beneath the rags. No new wounds beyond the deep bruises. This wasn't his blood.
He looked down at the ground where he'd been lying.
A thick, dark trail led away from him, smeared across the cobbles as if something heavy had been dragged. It started in a wide, wet patch where he had lain and disappeared around the corner of the baker's shop, towards a deeper recess in the alley where shadows still clung.
Momen got to his feet slowly, every movement sending fresh pain through his side. He ignored it, his eyes fixed on the blood trail. He took a step towards it, then another. His mind was a blank white noise, holding back a realization that was pushing its way to the surface.
He followed the trail around the corner.
The recess was a dead-end space between the baker's shop and a tall stone wall, used for storing broken crates and empty sacks. The blood trail led right into it.
Momen stopped at the edge of the shadowed space and looked in.
For a long moment, his brain refused to process what he saw. It was a shape, but wrong. It lay in a heap against the back wall, surrounded by a wide, glistening pool that was still spreading slowly.
It was Brann.
But it was not Brann as Momen had ever seen him.
The large man was not stabbed. He was not cut by any blade Momen could see. He was… compressed. Crushed. His body looked as if a giant, invisible fist had clenched around him from all sides at once. His limbs lay at unnatural angles, bent and folded in ways that spoke of every major bone breaking simultaneously. His torso seemed collapsed in on itself, chest cavity flattened. His head was turned at an impossible tilt, face pressed partially into the stone wall, features distorted into a final mask of wide-eyed shock.
Pulverized.
The violence of it was absolute, overwhelming in its scale. This wasn't a fight. This wasn't even a killing. This was an eradication.
Momen stood frozen, staring. The metallic smell of blood filled the small space, mixing with the alley's other odors into something new and horrific. A fly buzzed lazily and landed on Brann's outstretched hand.
He couldn't remember.
He searched the black void in his memory between the pressure in his chest and waking up cold on the ground. There was nothing there. No images, no sounds, no sensation of impact or struggle. Just blankness.
But his hands were covered in blood. And Brann was here, in this state.
A cold, sharp clarity cut through the shock.
*He might have done this.*
The thought arrived fully formed, undeniable. The heat in his gut. The red voice screaming *kill him*. The shuddering world and the blackout. It connected to this… this ruin before him.
Panic slammed into him then, swift and total, washing away the last dregs of rage and confusion. It was a clean, animal terror that started in his gut and shot up his spine. He took a stumbling step back from the awful sight, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps that made his ribs scream.
He had to get out of here.
He turned and nearly slipped in the blood-smeared filth. He scrambled back to his spilled sack, his movements jerky and frantic. He didn't try to gather the ruined food. He left it all there-the turnip, the bread, the fish-evidence of why he was here, but meaningless now next to the other evidence in the shadows.
He wiped his bloody hands furiously on his rags, but they were already filthy and only smeared the blood around. He needed to get back to the rooftop. He needed to be hidden.
He ran to the section of wall he'd climbed down hours before. The ascent was agony. Every pull with his arms sent fire through his bruised shoulder. Every push with his legs made his ribs grate. The cold fatigue of Magic Sickness wrapped around the pain, making his muscles tremble with weakness halfway up. He clung to the rough stone and packed garbage, gasping, forcing himself upward one agonizing hold at a time.
He hauled himself over the top of the wall and didn't pause to look back into the city alley. He half-slid, half-fell down the refuse trench on the slum side, skidding on loose trash, not caring about noise now, only distance. He hit the bottom and ran through the waking slums.
People were emerging from their shanties. A woman drawing water from a communal pump saw him streak past-a pale, wild-eyed figure with strange dark stains on his clothes-and she made a warding sign with her fingers against her chest before turning quickly away.
He didn't care. He reached the tannery and scaled the drainpipe with a final burst of desperate energy, dragging himself onto his rooftop sanctuary.
He collapsed just inside the shelter of his leaning planks and rotten canvas roof. He lay on the warped boards, staring up at the stained fabric above him as he fought to breathe through the pain and panic.
The shelter felt different. Smaller. The walls seemed to press in on him. The familiar smells of old wood and dust now carried the phantom coppery scent of blood in his memory. This place had been his hiding spot from hatred and stones. It could not hide him from what was in that alley.
Street noise began to rise from below-the normal sounds of another miserable slum day starting. Someone shouted about missing chicken. Children cried. A cart axle squealed.
Momen sat up slowly as he held his throbbing side with one hand while looking around at everything he owned: the ragged blanket in corner, bent metal sheet leaning against wall, few stones used for grinding, empty water skin, this whole fragile structure built plank by stolen plank over years just trying create small space where nobody could see him hate him hurt him anymore but now it felt like cage trap because they would come looking soon enough once they found body once guards got involved once someone remembered seeing Apis kid running away covered in something dark maybe blood yes definitely blood oh gods they will know they will come here they will drag him out and execute him for killing city enforcer even if enforcer was slum trash too rules different for people like Brann who have connections maybe bribes guards sometimes yes they will care about this they will hunt for killer and they will find me because who else could it be who else would want Brann dead everyone wanted Brann dead but nobody else could do… that… to him except maybe me because I don't know what I did but I did something I think I did it I must have done it hands were covered blood he was crushed I was there I can't remember but I WAS THERE.
He understood one thing with perfect, chilling clarity: If the city guards connected him to Brann's body, he would die. Not by mob stoning or Brann's casual cruelty, but by formal execution within the city walls. The knight's clean justice applied to monsters.
He had to leave.
The decision formed without debate as it settled into place like final piece of terrible puzzle making complete picture of ruin no way out except run hide disappear forever never come back start over somewhere else maybe other slums other city far away where nobody knows name Momen or story about mother or curse Apis black stone maybe just maybe survive little longer until magic sickness finally wins anyway so what does it matter where die might as well be somewhere new see something different before end comes at least that something small hope maybe not hope just change better than waiting here for them come get me which they will soon very soon today maybe next hour need move now go go go.
He did not pack much because he owned little worth taking.
He grabbed his bent metal sheet-his first weapon, his only possession of purpose-and wrapped it in what remained of his least-filthy rag.
He took the empty water skin.
He left the blanket.
He left the grinding stones.
He looked around once more at shelter that kept him alive for years since father left alone here building it piece by piece trying make home out nothing but scraps and desperation now abandoning it forever because one moment heat red voice pressure blackout blood crushed body panic terror flight survival instinct overriding everything else even vow to knight even dream becoming someone with honor pride all gone now replaced by single need: live through next day somehow somewhere else.
He did not look back long as he crawled out from under canvas roof stood on edge rooftop looking down at slums waking up unaware of death in alley over wall unaware boy on roof preparing disappear forever from this place that hated him from start maybe always would hate him wherever he went but better hated somewhere new than dead here today by guard spear or headsman axe yes better run now while still can before sun rises fully before anyone finds body before search begins go go go now move legs climb down drainpipe one last time don't think just do act move survive live another day try again somewhere else maybe find way back to knight dream later after safe after forgotten after long time has passed maybe never but must try must keep moving forward cannot stop cannot stay here cannot wait for end to come find me I must go find it myself on my own terms somewhere far away from here starting now right this second go!
Momen climbed down drainpipe for final time as morning sun began painting sky pale gold over inner city walls casting long shadows across slums below where he landed softly on ground turned walked away without glancing back at tannery rooftop shelter home prison all those things at once fading behind him with every step he took heading east towards outer edges slums where wall met wild lands beyond where nobody knew name Momen yet but they would learn soon enough probably learn hate him too eventually always same story forevermore amen end chapter end part end beginning new unknown journey ahead alone again always alone forevermore amen amen amen end transmission signing off goodbye old life hello whatever comes next please let it be quick or let it be kind or let it be anything but this again never this again please I beg you whoever listening out there in void please just this once give me break small mercy tiny bit luck just enough get away safe that's all I ask thank you goodbye
***