The air stank of blood and burnt wood. Smoke lingered in the alleys like a living thing, coiling around the crumbling buildings, refusing to dissipate. The flickering glow of guttering torches barely kept the darkness at bay, their light revealing jagged, broken streets littered with the refuse of a city that had given up on itself.
She wasn't sure how much longer she could survive out here, but she was told thatĀ heĀ would be here. And she really needed his help. And then, as if the heavens had heard her desperate thoughts, she saw him.
He limped through the mulch, his boots squelching in unidentifiable filth. It looked like there was something wrong with his leg, and a grimace appeared on his face every time his foot planted on the ground.
Desperate to sieze the opportunity she had been waiting for, she stepped towards him.
"Oi, you." she hissed.
The man turned his head to look at her, and a glint flashed in his eye as his arm fell towards his dagger.
"Whatever your selling, I ain't buying." He muttered, his voice carrying towards her with intent.
A twinge of annoyance sparked through her,Ā he thinks I'm some sort of crackhead. Can't he see I'm a poor, innocent girl?Ā She thought to herself.
"I'm not trying to sell you anything, idiot. I need your help."
"Like that's any better." He snapped, clearly having dealt with people who needed "help". But she was different to them. She stepped closer, and immediately he fully rounded on her, his presence envoloping her. Then she truly felt how out of her depth she was, and now truly understood how hopeless she had felt to be driven toĀ him. And now, there was no question.
"You... you're the one they call theĀ Woundkeeper, aren't you?"
A grimace appeared on his face at her question. But he didn't reply.
****
The nickname hit him like a fist to the gut, it never stopped feeling like an accusation. TheĀ Woundkeeper.Ā A man who survived what others didn't. A man who carried the scars of a dozen lives lost. He didn't answer, and the girl took another step forward.
"They said you could help me. That you've been through... worse than this." She gestured at the ruin around them, her voice catching on the words.
Dorian barked out a hollow laugh. "Worse? Maybe. Doesn't mean I've got anything left to give."
But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. If he'd learned one thing in the years since his life had been torn apart-since the system had forced itself into his world, twisting reality into stats, skills, and progressions - it was this: he couldn't ignore someone who needed help.
The girl stared at him, her eyes wide, hollow, desperate. Dorian recognised that look. He'd seen it in the mirror once, a lifetime ago. With a sigh, he reached into his coat and pulled out the last of his rations-a piece of stale bread wrapped in oilcloth. He tossed it to her.Ā
"Eat that. Slowly. Then tell me what you want."
She caught the bread with trembling hands, tearing into it like a starving animal. He watched her for a moment, his eyes scanning the streets. This place - Greystone District - was a graveyard with delusions of life. The system had crushed it long ago, its people left to rot as monsters prowled the outskirts and the powerful built their empires elsewhere. He'd come here looking for... something. Answers, maybe. Or vengeance. But all he'd found was more ruin.
A translucent screen flickered in his peripheral vision, a dull green rectangle only he could see.
[Status Update: Hunger (Severe)]
[Current HP: 38/121]
The message hovered like an unwelcome guest, but Dorian waved it away with a twitch of his fingers. The system had a cruel sense of humour, reminding him of just how close to the edge he always lived. He pulled his coat tighter against the cold, feeling the weight of the single dagger strapped insideāhis last weapon, its blade chipped and dulled.Ā He pulled out a health potion and chugged it down, he didn't see anyone else nearby, and he doubted she would be a threat.
"I need someone to kill them," the girl said through a mouthful of bread.
Dorian blinked. "Kill who?"
Her hands shook as she gripped the crust, her knuckles white. "The ones who took my brother. The... theĀ guild.Ā They've got him chained in the pits."
The pits. Of course. Dorian's stomach twisted at the memory-dark, reeking caverns where the strong fought for scraps and the weak were devoured, a sick place the system allowed and supported. Facilitated by thoseĀ scum, the guild. He'd been there once. He'd crawled out. Barely.
"You've got the wrong man," he said, his voice flat. He turned to leave.
"Wait!" Her cry cut through the night like a blade. "Please! They said you were strong. That you-"
"I'm not strong," Dorian snapped, rounding on her. The bitterness in his voice startled even himself. "I just don't die easy. That's not the same thing."
She stared at him, her eyes wide, glistening in the torchlight. "Then don't do it for me. Do it for him. Or for... whoever you lost."
The words struck something deep, something raw. He stood there for a long moment, the wind biting at his face, the girl's plea hanging in the air. His past clawed at him, the weight of all he'd lost pressing down like it always did.
Finally, he sighed. "Fine. I'll help you." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a growl. "But don't expect mercy. Not from them. And definitely not from me."