The streets of Divitas were alive with the hum of evening commerce and idle chatter, but Amir moved through the shadows like a phantom. His eyes were locked on the two gang members he had spotted earlier—men with black hair and snake tattoos curling up their arms. They walked casually, exchanging occasional words, but their deliberate pace and cautious glances betrayed their awareness of being watched. Amir trailed them at a safe distance, his steps silent and intentional.
The gang members wove through the crowded streets, passing bustling market stalls and slipping into quieter, dimly lit alleys. Amir tightened his grip on the dagger concealed beneath his cloak, ready for anything. Every turn they took heightened his anticipation. He noted their subtle exchanges and how they seemed to mark their surroundings. These weren't just petty criminals; they moved with purpose, guided by something greater than themselves.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they stopped in a secluded alleyway tucked between two crumbling buildings. Amir pressed himself against the cold stone wall, peeking just enough to see the men exchange glances before knocking on the wall in an intricate pattern. An odd marking, faintly glowing with a dull blue light, shimmered into existence. Moments later, a figure cloaked in black stepped out from the shadows.
The cloaked figure's voice was low and gravelly. "You have the supplies?"
One of the gang members nodded and produced a small pouch. The cloaked figure inspected it briefly before tucking it away. The gang members then placed their hands on the glowing marking, and in a flash of light, they vanished. Amir's eyes widened in surprise.
He waited, ensuring the coast was clear, then stepped into the alley. His fingers brushed against the glowing marking, mimicking the gesture he'd seen. Nothing happened. Frustrated, he tried again, pressing harder, but the wall remained solid. He stepped back, his mind racing.
"Some kind of magical trigger," he muttered under his breath. "But it's locked to them. I'll need another way."
With a final glance at the alley, Amir retreated into the night, his thoughts churning with possibilities. Whatever the gang was up to, it was deeper and darker than he had anticipated.
Back at the guild, Amir slumped into a chair in his private quarters. The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight danced on the walls, mirroring the turmoil in his mind. The hidden alleyway and the mysterious cloaked figure were pieces of a puzzle he couldn't yet solve. Frustration gnawed at him, but he forced himself to stay calm. Rushing in blind had never worked in his favor before.
The next day, Amir took to the streets again, blending seamlessly into the bustling crowds. His goal was simple: gather information. He approached merchants, beggars, and anyone who looked like they might have a loose tongue. His questions were careful and veiled, designed to avoid drawing attention to himself.
He learned quickly that the Sainthood gang's influence was vast. They operated in the shadows but had tendrils in every corner of the city. Merchants whispered about "protection fees," while citizens spoke in hushed tones about disappearances. Some mentioned rumors of drugs and even slave trading, but few dared to elaborate.
By evening, Amir had pieced together enough to confirm that the Sainthood gang was no ordinary criminal organization. They were a plague festering within the city, their reach extending far beyond what he had initially suspected. And yet, there was still so much he didn't know. The answers lay with the gang members themselves.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Amir's patience paid off. He spotted another group of gang members—three men loitering near a tavern on the outskirts of the market district. They were younger and less composed than the ones he had followed the previous night. Their laughter was raucous, their movements careless.
Amir shadowed them, waiting for the right moment. When they veered into a deserted side street, he struck.
The first man didn't even have time to react. Amir's dagger slashed across his throat in a blur, and he crumpled to the ground with a gurgled cry. The other two spun around, their faces twisted in shock and fury. One lunged at Amir, a crude sword in hand, but Amir sidestepped and drove his blade into the man's side.
The last man, trembling with a mix of rage and fear, raised his fists. "You'll regret this, kid!"
Amir's cold gaze stopped him in his tracks. "I don't think so."
The fight was over in seconds. Amir pinned the final gang member to the wall, his dagger pressed against the man's throat. Blood dripped from the blade, staining the cobblestones below.
"Talk," Amir demanded, his voice icy. "Tell me everything about your gang, or you'll wish you'd died with your friends."
The man's eyes widened in terror. "You… you're just a kid…"
Amir's expression darkened. "Do I look like a kid to you?"
The man gulped, nodding frantically. "Okay, okay! Don't kill me! I'll tell you!"
What spilled from the gang member's lips was a litany of horrors. The Sainthood gang dealt in drugs, extortion, and murder. But their most heinous crime was their involvement in the slave trade. They trafficked in children, particularly elves, whose inherent mana made them highly sought after. Amir felt his stomach churn as the man described the outposts scattered throughout the city where these vile acts took place.
"You'll show me," Amir said, his voice low and dangerous.
The gang member's eyes darted around. "No! If they find out I talked—"
"They won't," Amir interrupted. "You'll sign a mana contract. You won't be able to betray me even if you wanted to."
The contract was simple but binding. With it in place, Amir followed the trembling gang member through the city. They moved under cover of darkness, avoiding watchful eyes. Eventually, they reached a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of Divitas.
"This is it," the man whispered, his voice shaking.
Amir's eyes narrowed as he approached the building. The muffled cries of children and the guttural laughter of men spilled out through the cracks in the walls. His jaw clenched as he peered through a broken window.
What he saw turned his blood to ice. Inside, cages lined the walls, each filled with emaciated children. Many were elves, their pointed ears a dead giveaway. Men in gang colors moved about, some barking orders, others counting coins. Amir's fists tightened as he saw one man strike a young elf girl, her cries piercing the air. Another girl was being dragged away, her terrified screams echoing in his ears.
Amir stepped back, his breathing ragged. The sight was sickening, but it steeled his resolve. These men were monsters in human skin, and he would make them pay.
The gang member beside him trembled. "I told you everything. Now let me go."
Amir's gaze was like ice. "You're not going anywhere. Not until I decide what to do with you."
As the night deepened, Amir's mind raced with plans. He would need more than just his strength to dismantle this operation. But one thing was clear: the Sainthood gang's reign of terror in Divitas was about to end—and Amir would make sure of it.