For the first time in years, Marcus stepped beyond the edges of his familiar district. The towering buildings of polished stone and reinforced glass began to fade behind him, replaced by narrower alleys and older walls. Here, the city's heart beat differently—more erratic, less refined, but alive with the voices of people who moved without titles or shields of nobility.
He was following a name. Just a name. Scrawled in the margins of a forgotten book in his father's library, tucked beside a note that read: "A walker in the dark. A whisper beyond the walls."
It didn't make sense at first, but the pattern repeated. Again and again. A single figure referenced in scattered notes—never described, never explained. Only one thing was certain: this person had passed the "Walker's Trial."
Marcus had to find them.
He knew what he was doing was reckless. Leaving the elevated sectors without a guard, without permission—it was nearly unheard of for someone of noble blood. But something had shifted in him. Knowledge had begun to outgrow fear.
As he moved through the older quarter, Marcus kept his hood low. The streets were tighter here, the air thicker. Laughter mixed with shouts, the clang of metal echoed from some distant workshop. No one noticed him, but he felt it: someone was watching.
His heart raced as he ducked into a side alley, breath shallow. That's when he saw him.
A man leaned against the far wall—cloaked in gray, a satchel slung over his shoulder, fingers tapping against a blackened pipe. He had a presence. Not regal, not dominant—but... calm. Controlled. His hand bore a mark—faint, almost hidden, but unmistakable.
The mark of a Walker.
Marcus approached cautiously.
"You don't look like you belong here," the man said before Marcus could speak. "What is it you're seeking, boy?"
Marcus hesitated. His instincts told him to lie, to turn back. But he didn't.
"I want to know," he said quietly. "About the Trial. About the path beyond what we're given."
The man narrowed his eyes. "Most don't even know to ask that question."
"I do," Marcus replied. "I know more than I should… but not enough. I want to learn."
The silence stretched. Then the man straightened and walked past him without another word, vanishing into the crowd.
But as he passed, Marcus felt something cold and weightless slip into his coat pocket.
He pulled it out: a coin. Plain metal, etched with a single word on one side:
"Begin."