The stairwell smelled of mildew and cigarette ash, the kind of scent that seemed to sink into the walls over decades of disrepair. Xuan Jing took each step with deliberate slowness, the soles of his boots scuffing against the concrete. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm wailed briefly before cutting off, leaving behind a deeper kind of silence. The type that weighed heavily on him.
Reaching the bottom, Xuan Jing pushed open the building's main door, stepping out into the rain-washed street. Neon lights from a row of rundown shops bathed the puddles in a nauseating mixture of red, green, and blue. Colors of a city trying to look alive, but failing. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping his head down as he walked along the narrow sidewalks.
The streets of the old district had always been a place for those who didn't fit. The drifters, the broken, and those who saw things they shouldn't have. Xuan Jing felt himself slipping easily into the rhythm of it, passing closed storefronts with metal shutters plastered in fading posters, alleys that twisted off into the unknown, and people huddled under makeshift awnings, trying to keep dry.
"Hey, kid!" A gravelly voice called out from a dark alleyway, a figure leaning against the wall, barely illuminated by the dim light of a flickering sign. Xuan Jing didn't break stride. He knew better than to get involved. He wasn't a so curious, and he didn't owe anyone anything.
"C'mon, boy, you got that look about ya," the voice pressed, rough and persistent. Xuan Jing paused, something in his gut tightening. He turned his head just enough to get a glance at the man—thin, dressed in layers of ragged clothing, his face gaunt. His eyes, though, were bright. Too bright, reflecting the neon in a way that wasn't right. They didn't belong to someone normal.
Xuan Jing sighed, irritation tugging at his chest. He really didn't want this tonight. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice low but carrying enough edge to warn of his lack of patience.
The man stepped out of the alley, rain streaking his dirt-covered face. He smiled, lips parting in an unsettling way, revealing teeth that were just a bit too sharp. "There's a rumor down below," he said, tilting his head like he was sharing a secret, "something's waking up. And I reckon someone like you could hear it, too."
Xuan Jing felt a chill crawl up his spine. The what? It might as well be the figures in the dark that he saw earlier —they were getting bolder lately, the lines between worlds blurring more with each passing day. He narrowed his eyes, watching the man with the too-bright eyes.
Xuan Jing rolled his grey green eyes thinking that theman may be homeless and could have drank too much and started getting some psychosis or something.
"I don't do that kind of work," Xuan Jing muttered, turning away, already regretting stopping in the first place. He took a step forward, intending to continue down the street, but the man lunged, grabbing his arm, his nails digging into Xuan Jing's skin.
"It's coming for us all, boy!" the man hissed, desperation coating his words, his eyes wide with fear. "You can't ignore it forever!"
Xuan Jing jerked his arm away, shoving the man back, his patience finally snapping. "It's not my problem," he growled, his voice cold. He didn't care about rumors or what was waking up. He wasn't here to be anyone's savior.
The man stumbled, his back hitting the brick wall, his eyes wide with an emotion Xuan Jing couldn't place. Fear, yes, but something else—a kind of pleading, a hopelessness that didn't move Xuan Jing one mili meter.
Then he shook his head, stepping away, letting the rain wash away the moment. The world was full of people like that—people who saw the darkness and thought there had to be a light to fight it. Xuan Jing knew better. Sometimes, the only thing you could do was survive so he ignored and kept walking.