The first rays of dawn broke over the quiet streets as Cassy stepped out of the carriage, weary from the long night. He dusted off his jacket and paid the fare, glancing up at the looming Blackstone building with a hesitant smile. Today's a new day, he thought, hoping it held fewer confrontations at gunpoint than yesterday.
Whistling a tune from the backstreets of Kensington, he walked up the steps and entered the office.
At the front desk, Rochelle was having her morning tea, her hazel eyes warm against the dimness of the lobby. Cassy felt a stir of nervousness—a rarity for him—and gave her a polite nod.
"Good morning, Caspian," she greeted, her voice soft yet grounded. "The captain's in his office. Coffee and tea are around the corner in the break room if you'd like some."
"Thank you, Rochelle," he replied, keeping his tone even as he masked his nerves. There was a peculiar sense of calm here, different from the chaos he'd grown up in. It felt almost… steady.
The break room was modest—a few chairs, a scratched table piled with worn newspapers, and the lingering aroma of old coffee. Cassy poured himself a cup, savoring its bitterness, then steeled himself and walked to the captain's office.
"Come in," the captain called as Cassy knocked.
Inside, the captain's expression was hard, yet a glint of curiosity flickered in his eyes. Cassy squared his shoulders, pushing away any hesitation.
"Good morning, captain," he said, the words a little too eager.
The captain's gaze bore into him, assessing. After a beat, he gave a curt nod. "Good. Now, here's what you'll need to know." He didn't waste words, listing details as though they were facts, not open for debate. "You've been granted a stipend and a terrace house. Pick up the key from Rochelle. Your rent comes out of your pay, effective immediately."
Cassy's relief was palpable. "Thank you, sir. You've no idea how dreadful last night was."
"Oh, I think I might," the captain replied, his mouth quirking ever so slightly. "Now, as of today, you'll be paired with Jack. He's to be respected, regardless of any, ah, 'prickly' edges he may have."
"Understood, sir."
The captain leaned back, folding his arms. "Usually, new recruits undergo physical training, but I've heard of your… background. So instead, I'll expect you to attend firearm courses. Go to the Angry Bear pub and ask for 'bird-watching classes.' That'll get you in."
Cassy winced, remembering yesterday's misunderstanding with Maple. "Yes, sir," he replied, a touch of guilt creeping in.
"One more thing," he added, choosing his words carefully. "I've come across information… Sleeping Forest Hunters, Nest and Purity, are searching around Kensington for someone named 'Maple.'"
The captain's face darkened, his fingers instinctively finding his pipe as he absorbed the information. "Interesting," he muttered. After a pause, his expression shifted, and he looked Cassy over. "Have you considered joining the supernatural world? I wouldn't usually suggest it for someone so new, but your circumstances… They make you a candidate."
Cassy took a steadying sip of his coffee, the bitterness settling his nerves. A marked man with a cursed ring, he thought grimly. If the supernatural could buy me some time, maybe even a bit of safety…
"Yes," he said. "Seeing Jack's powers firsthand… It's hard to refuse. And considering the dangers we're dealing with, I'll need every advantage I can get."
The captain nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze. "Smart. Descent is not without risks, but it grants strength to those who can wield it. Speak with Henry down the hall; he'll administer the potion. But be warned—don't take everything he says to heart."
"Understood, captain." Cassy rose and gave a respectful nod. "May the Mother guide us."
"May the Mother guide us all," the captain responded solemnly.
He walked to Henry's door and knocked. Silence.
"Knock knock."
Nothing.
Odd.
"Knock knock."
"Oi, quit that blasted knocking! Door's stuck; lift it up when you pull!" a gruff voice shouted from inside.
Cassy reached for the knob, heaving it upwards as he opened it. The door gave way, and he was met with the sight of a stocky, bald man—older than anyone Cassy had seen survive in the slums—standing there with a look of eternal irritation.
"Morning, Henry," Cassy said, stepping inside. "I'm here for my descent potion."
Henry's scowl deepened, and he muttered something under his breath. "What's so good about it? Get in here."
The room looked like an alchemist's nightmare. Shelves sagged under the weight of jars, beakers, and mysterious herbs. Thick volumes stacked in precarious towers, while the desk was a chaos of powders, vials, and an assortment of strange objects. At the center was a simmering cauldron, the vapor carrying an unmistakable metallic tang.
"Now, what do you think you're after, lad?" Henry said, taking his seat with a creak. "Descent's not a small thing. And the toll it takes… well, that's for you to find out."
Cassy stood firm. "I'm ready."
Henry raised an eyebrow, reaching into a drawer to pull out a worn, folded parchment. "Take a look," he said, thrusting it at Cassy.
Unfolding it, Cassy scanned the list of paths.
Jester. Farseer. Scribe. Priest. Apothecary.
Jester: an incredibly well-rounded path capable of emulating any abilities from other descenders. As their step rises, they gain the ability to store more abilities. At step 9, they are capable of storing two abilities, one-time use each.
Farseer: capable of receiving revelations from past, present, or future depending on their inclination and medium. They are reasonably reliable within their domains. Farseers should be wary of seeing what they should not. When one gazes upon the abyss, so too does it gaze upon them. Do not take these words lightly.
Scribe: capable of wielding a myriad of elemental magicks, easily the most potent combat path in isolation. However, they are infallible due to the large amount of essence each spell requires; they cannot maintain offense for long periods.
Priest: capable of conjuring large ethereal barriers blocking both the mundane and mystical with ease. Skilled priests are able to move such barriers, turning them into offensive tools. They are known as the shields of the mystical world.
Apothecary: gifted with uncanny knowledge related to all living things. They have extremely precise insight into the nature of life, allowing them to heal and mend living beings typically through the use of herbs and animal parts. However, they are also the most capable surgeons in existence, among other things.
Cassy's eyes drifted over each option, but something drew him to one in particular.
Jester.
A path for the nimble-minded. Unpredictable, flexible, able to mimic and store abilities. It felt like a natural choice.
"I'll take the Jester potion," he declared, looking Henry dead in the eye.
The old man snorted, a glint of reluctant admiration showing. "A Jester, eh? Most pick it for the tricks, not knowing it's the weakest in terms of raw power." He looked Cassy up and down, eyes narrowing. "A mind like yours, though… You might make it work. Once you take it, lad, there's no going back."
Cassy nodded. "I know."
Henry hobbled around his office, collecting various ingredients from the walls and chests.
"Bloody hell, that's an eyeball, is it? How am I meant to drink that?" Cassy thought, a mix of curiosity and apprehension washing over him.
"This is it," he mused, realizing that his life was on the brink of a monumental change. "But do I really want to do this? What if I can't handle the consequences?"
Henry glanced over, noticing the conflict etched on Cassy's face. "You don't have to rush into this, lad. It's a significant step. Once you choose, there's no turning back."
Cassy straightened, determination and uncertainty battling within him. "I—I need to think it over. It's not a decision to take lightly."
"Fair enough," Henry replied, his tone shifting to one of understanding. "But the clock is ticking. You may not have much time to prepare."
Cassy's heart raced at the implication. "What do you mean?"
Henry's expression turned serious. "The Hunters are drawing closer. If you don't act soon, you might lose your chance to protect yourself."
A chill ran down Cassy's spine. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on his chest.
"Very well," he said, the urgency propelling him forward. "I'm ready."
Henry raised an eyebrow, a glint of mischief in his gaze. "Then let's get started. But remember, once we begin brewing, there's no turning back."
Cassy felt a rush of adrenaline. "Then let's do it."
As Henry began to gather the ingredients, the air thick with anticipation, Cassy couldn't shake the feeling that he was stepping into a whirlwind—one that would change everything he knew.