Entering through the world was like diving into a cool spring after a desert trek. Vespo Inn materialized around him, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and stale coffee replacing the antiseptic hum of his room. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, reminding him of the world's limitations. He rose from the creaking bed, legs still carrying the fatigue, and then he headed downstairs.
Sounds of raised voices filtered through the dusty air. He peeked down the narrow staircase, spotting four men, burly and tattooed, clustered around the inn owner, a tall man with hair the color of smoke. Their faces held a predatory stare, their voices harsh and insistent.
"We need our protection money," one of them snarled, slamming a fist on the counter. "Vespo ain't safe without the Umayas. You know what happened last time y'all refused to pay."
The owner squared his shoulders, fear tinged with defiance in his eyes. "My business needs no protection from you people. Leave, before I call the city guard."
A ripple of amusement ran through the group. "Guards?" another scoffed. "They answer to money, just like everyone else."
The attendant fought back. "Leave us alone! We have nothing to give you, no money for your 'protection.'"
Another figure, eyes gleaming with malice, leaned closer. "Maybe you ain't heard. This part of town is under new management. You pay, or things get...unpleasant."
The inn owner froze. The Umayas. Whispers of their brutality hung heavy in the air, tales of extortion and violence traded in hushed tones across the city's back alleys. He wasn't a hero, nor one to play the knight in shining armor. But something about the owner's defiant stance, the raw fear in her eyes, sparked a flicker of defiance within him.
He descended the stairs, each step echoing in the tense silence. The Umayas turned, their gaze cold and calculating. Their leader, a mountain of a man with a scar carved across his cheek, sneered. "I thought we told you to clear the inn when we come for our protection money. And just who are you, boy? Think you can play hero?"
Kitsune met his gaze, a mask of indifference settling over his features. "Just hungry," he said to the attendant, his voice tight. "Mind if I get the menu?"
The tension crackled in the air, thick enough to taste. The owner shot him a frantic look, his lips forming a silent plea. "Leave," it screamed. "Don't get involved."
But Kitsune ignored it. He felt a strange draw to the brewing storm, a morbid curiosity gnawing at him. Maybe it was the lingering thrill of defying authority. Maybe it was simply the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, seeking anything to fill the void.
He slid into a corner booth, eyes fixed on the Umayas. The leader's grin widened, tinged with cruelty. This wasn't just about hunger anymore. This was a game, a gamble, a challenge thrown down in the flickering candlelight of Vespo Inn.
And Kitsune, the escaped prisoner, the reluctant hero, had just taken a seat at the table.
The air crackled with a sudden heat that had nothing to do with the flickering candles. The Umayas loomed closer, their eyes narrowed to predatory slits. "Let's be clear, my friend," the scarred leader growled, his voice a low rumble. "This ain't your business. Walk away, or you'll regret it."
He met the leader's gaze, refusing to walk away. "Bring the menu," he said, his voice surprisingly steady.
The leader snarled, pointing a pistol at Kitsune. But before he could trigger, Kitsune moved. Not with the lightning speed of a practiced fighter, but with a sudden, desperate lunge. His hand shot out, catching the leader's wrist in a vice-like grip.
A wave of shock rippled through the room. The other Umayas froze, mouths agape. The owner gasped, her hand flying to her chest. The attendant stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide.
For a tense moment, the two figures grappled, a silent struggle etched in the flickering candlelight. Then, with a swift twist, Kitsune disarmed the leader, the pistol clattering to the floor, as he quickly picked it up.
Silence descended, thick and heavy. The leader stared at Kitsune, his face a mask of incredulity and rage. "You think you can mess with the Umayas?" he spat, his voice shaking with barely contained fury.
Kitsune didn't answer. He kept his gaze locked on the leader, his own emotions a carefully guarded secret. Finally, he spoke, his voice a low growl. "Bring me the menu," he said, his eyes sweeping over the stunned attendee. "And I suggest you do it quickly."
A tremor of movement ran through the room. The attendant, eyes still wide with shock, scurried behind the counter and retrieved the menu, placing it on Kitsune's table, she whispered, "Thank you". The Umayas, their leader still simmering with fury, shuffled towards the door, casting venomous glances back at Kitsune.
"This ain't over," the leader snarled, throwing the words over his shoulder as he stepped into the darkness.
The door slammed shut, leaving an echo of tension hanging in the air. Kitsune sat back in his booth, the tension slowly slipping away, leaving behind a cold dread. He had just faced down the Umayas, one of the most feared gangs in Ainsberch. And while he might have won this round, he knew he had just crossed a line, a line that could lead him down a dark and dangerous path.
He opened the menu, pretending to browse the meager offerings. But his mind was a whirlwind of questions. What had possessed him to act so impulsively? Was he simply a fool drawn to trouble, or was there something more lurking within him, something fueled by his escape from prison and his hunger for something more?
One thing was certain, his quiet stay at Vespo Inn was over. He had ruffled feathers, drawn the attention of a dangerous gang. And now, he would have to face the consequences, whatever they may be.