Nathlan and I were standing in the bizarre cluster of shelving units and display cases that somebody had optimistically called a workshop, haggling with Sally the Tinkerer. I say we, but it was mostly Nathlan doing the actual haggling, while I would jump in with my requirements when they both paused to look at me. We had agreed ahead of time that Nathlan would be the one to negotiate on my behalf – assuming they could find a common language – and Sally seemed to pick up on that dynamic pretty quickly, which made things smoother.

I pulled my gaze away from a clockwork contraption of gears and shining chrome tubes that I couldn't for the life of me figure out the purpose of. It almost looked akin to a complicated brewing mechanism, like the pop-up stands we'd passed in the market earlier selling Qahwa, floral teas, and cacao blends.

As soon as the thought of consuming something from that strange metal contraption entered my head, I felt instincts not my own screaming at me to not, under any circumstances, try that. I assumed my Wilderness Endurance Hunter Skill was responsible for the prompt, likely from the Hill Foraging sub-Skill which seemed to have a deep emphasis on recognising poisons.

"Huh?" I asked dumbly, as I felt the combines gazes of Sally and Nathlan settle on me like a disappointed blanket. Nathlan rolled his eyes and seemed about to reply when Sally spoke.

"What's it now? Ya like the look of it?" She gestured at the chrome contraption and continued to speak before I could respond. "I made it on a whim. Well, this here's version three – took me a while to figure out why version two kept explodin', and the prototype wouldn't even begin the process – but it works now! Ya want it? Seventy five tarrots. Minimum! And tha's you twistin' my arm."

She turned back to Nathlan as she said the price, as if to begin a new round of haggling, now including the new purchase.

"Hang on, I never said I wanted it!" I was perhaps too hasty, and worried that I'd come across as rude given her affronted look, so I ploughed ahead. "I don't even know what it does. I thought it might be a Qahwa press like those in the market, but it looks too complicated for that, and one of my Skills seems to be warning me of poison or something… it's not a drink poisoner, is it?"

Sally raised one bushy eyebrow at me, her offended look melting into scepticism, as if she couldn't believe anyone could be that stupid.

"Na, it's not a flamin' drink poisoner. I'm a Tinkerer, not a poison merchant. Scathler!" She muttered the word under her breath, clearly expecting nobody to understand. Context was quite enough, even without my god-given linguistic skills, for me to know she was calling me some manner of moron.

"How would tha' even work? It'd be so bleedin' obvious; 'excuse me madam, while I run your drink though this elaborate contraption, I promise no harm will be done.' Why not jus' slip the poison in with a pipette or a glass vial? Runts these days! Always trying ta do everythin' in the most complicated manner…"

She continued to mutter quietly to herself as she zipped around the cramped little shop, shuffling papers and stray leather strips around on the various desks before grabbing something small and cylindrical from a drawer and holding it up in triumph. Nathlan and I shared a look, and I was relieved to see he was equally as baffled as me.

"I am not at all surprised ya didn't recognise the purpose of this little wizzeau, but I am surprised yer skill warned ya. I assume that drinkin' anythin' from it would be dangerous given the version three upgrade. I mentioned the version two exploded, yes? The pipes needed linin' with something non-reactive to filter the air, and so I used a coating the city uses for their sewer-system. It leaches over time and the runoff is quite toxic, but it's very stable for a number of years first. Unless ya heated something through it, I would guess. Sensitive Skill ya have there."

"You would guess? How do you not know that? Why would you use a material you don't know the properties of?" I asked, more for the fun of it than with genuine worry.

"Well, it's not actually a Qahwa press, is it? Why would I waste time knowin' how safe my inventions are for every possible hair-brained scheme cooked up by some idiot chevala, eh?"

I looked around at the cramped shop again. Littering every surface and shelf was what could generously be described as a conglomeration of random designs and half-finished prototypes. If Sally's mind was anything like her shop, it was unlikely that she did much parameter and safety testing. Perhaps I should have realised that as soon as I walked in, but I was too invested in the argument now to give up before I'd had my fun.

Fate had other plans though, as I was prevented from responding by a loud squawk of outrage. It was as if a chicken had been stuffed in a bag and shaken before being released back into the world. A series of crashes and thumps followed, and we all looked at the front window.

The glass was mostly covered by various wooden scraps and boards, and what was left free to allow in light was grimy and discoloured.

"Something wrong?" Nathlan asked casually.

Far too casually, in my opinion – perhaps I simply knew him too well, but it seemed painfully obvious that he was very interested in the disturbance and was just feigning his lack of care. Sally luckily didn't seem to notice, busy as she was sweeping knick-knacks and gadgets from the benches and display cases into drawers, then locking them with a frankly awe-inspiring numbers of different keys.

"Just a bocch from the central district tryin' ta run a protection racket. It's been goin' on for a few weeks now, but the city enforcers are spread too thin ta deal with it, given the large incursion they're struggling with on the lower levels. It will be solved, and the rich fuckin' Carhon behind it will likely get caught, but they've managed ta rope in some local thugs to make our lives harder in the meantime."

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Nathlan's hand gripped the hilt of his sword at her words, and he looked over at me. "Has anyone been hurt yet?" He asked.

She hadn't ceased her whirlwind of activity yet and replied as she bustled to the shutters at the front of her little store. "Only minor injuries so far, but they've been gettin' bolder. Gave all of us along the street a deadline ta pay up or there'd be 'consequences', and it sounds like tha's Larden outside havin' his stall broken up. I'm packin' up for the day, so come back tomorrow if ya want to discuss those ideas of yers again." She cast a quick glance at me towards the end, and I nodded gratefully at her.

Nathlan brushed past, walking outside and casting a final, significant glance over his shoulder at me. "These things have a way of escalating. I will try and calm it down. Stay in here, Lamb."

I helped Sally finish closing up the store, keeping an ear open to the sounds of a heated argument outside. I could hear Nathlan attempting a soothing tone, contrasted against the yelling of what must have been Larden, and the excited jabbering of at least a few of the enforcers. I couldn't make out everything being said, simply from the speed and number of people talking over one another, but the odd word snapped out at me, and the general tone was enough to know it wasn't going well.

There was a slight lull in conversation, Nathlan's calm voice rising slightly in warning, and then a meaty thud. A strangled yell cut off from Larden and a deeper voice echoed out, quelling all voices except Nathlan's. I could hear the tension in it now though, and was considering whether I could really just sit inside and follow Nathlan's instructions, when I felt a heavy aura descend upon me.

Larden let out another anguished moan, and Nathlan abruptly stopped speaking. I heard a cruel laugh in that deep voice, and then I was at the door. The lock snapped in my hand before I'd even realised that I'd reached it, and the door was flying off its hinges as I was rushing out the shop.

I barely had time to take in the view; three men stood on the street outside, standing over the remains of a wooden cart formerly filled with fruit and leather buckles and harnesses. These were now strewn about the carved rock of the street, its red hue smeared with yellows and greens from goods crushed without a care. An older man, grey-haired and whimpering, lay prone on the floor behind Nathlan, who stood rigidly before two well-dressed and thickset men bearing a cudgel and a long staff, respectively. Their weapons were sheathed and bound in their scabbards, but both wore outraged expressions on their faces and looked to be only an instant from reaching for them. Another one was on the floor, clutching at his throat and curled into a ball.

My eyes were drawn to the fourth and final figure though, directly in front of Nathlan; a tall man with an arrogant tilt to his mouth and a spear strapped across his back, much like my own but far more ornate and decorated with a red tassel at the top of the haft. He stood far too close to Nathlan, clearly inside his personal space. I could see every muscle in my friend taut, his body actively fighting the instinct to cower in the presence of the aura that blanketed the street.

My body moved without my conscious input, responding in the only way I had learned how to when faced with imminent death. For that is what the weighty aura promised; blood, pain, and death for anyone who got in the way of this pale man. He flicked his eyes at me as I burst from the shop and the pressure of his regard nearly buckled me. Had I control of myself I likely would have hesitated or even turned tail and fled.

Unfortunately for all of us though, my rational mind was pushed far from the saddle and stirrups, and a more primal drive was holding the reins. My stride didn't falter, and in a blink I was between him and Nathlan.

The three vultures behind the man flinched back at my presence and cringed away. The pale man before me seemed only amused, however, and met my eyes with his own. Up close he looked older than I'd originally thought, closer to the latter half of his life than the former, with grey creeping in at the edges of his close-cropped hair, and a weathered and lined look to his skin, like an aged papyrus scroll stretched over a skeleton.

His frame was wiry and thin, but his back was ramrod straight, utterly assured even as he stared me down. I felt again the weight of his aura, seeking to crush me and force me down. To make me beg and plead for mercy, to lie weeping at his feet in the hopes of avoiding his ire, much as Larden was currently doing.

But while that desire tried to take root in my soul, something pushed back. Indomitable Prey had activated instinctively the moment I felt his aura descend, and it roared back from within my soul, covering me with a cloak of unassailable defiance and intent. The insidious, probing fear couldn't find purchase and simply slipped away like water from a duck's back.

I stared into grey eyes, taking a final step forward to intrude on his space in the same way he had done to Nathlan. I looked down at the arrogant little man before me, thrilling in the feeling of energy. That rushing in my blood, the song of violence in the air. Hovering at the precipice. I could feel the air thrumming between us as my forehead hovered an inch from his.

I heard a voice growl something, low and threatening, and it took me a moment to realise it was my own. He looked back at me impassively, curling his lip and spitting at the floor beside me.

"Out of my way, dog."

His voice was soft, filled with the same quiet confidence as his stance. I growled back again, the link between my brain and mouth not yet fully established. No words as far as I could tell, just an animalistic noise of warning.

One of the other men behind him stepped forwards to tap the old man on the shoulder and lean in, but he cringed away again when my gaze fell on him. My thoughts were coming back to me, and I was beginning to realise the situation I was in, but the presence of Nathlan behind me forced away most of the hesitation. The man's next words sealed the deal.

"Move, boy. The man behind you struck one of my men and now owes me a debt. I will be collecting that debt today."

A brief pause to let his words be digested, before he spoke once more, "I won't ask again."

The challenge inherent in his statement ignited a fire within me, burning away any chance at a peaceful solution. Nathlan was far better a mediator than I anyway, and he'd been ignored and now attacked. If words had failed, then violence was the next step.

My lessons with Jorge had taught me how to fight, but it was from my occasional bouts with Vera that I drew inspiration. She brought an intensity to sparring that was electric – a feeling of danger than thrilled down the spine. As if facing a friendly tiger; mostly tame, and normally predictable, but with an edge that left you flinching even so. She had a way of dispensing with the niceties and polite rituals that we lived with, so ingrained that we never noticed their presence until they were missing.

Vera's contribution to this moment was simple; when violence is inevitable, strike first.

Only a few heartbeats had passed since the man had aired his challenge, and I could see his mouth open once more to draw breath, whether to speak or simply fuel his body I couldn't tell. Didn't matter either way though.

I drove my forehead into his nose.

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