Dawn didn’t reach the sewers of Iron Crest. Instead, a dirty gray seeped through cracks in the vaulted ceiling, mingling with the sickly glow of phosphorescent moss coating the walls. The air was thick, laden with a stench of sewage and rotting flesh that clung to the throat like a second skin. Cain sat against a slick stone wall, his legs tucked to conserve warmth. Filthy water dripped around him, a steady rhythm marking the hours since he and Lira escaped the Pit, pursued by the Ravens. His body trembled—hunger, cold, exhaustion—but his mind remained sharp, dissecting every detail of the previous night: the grate pried open, the clumsy reinforcement of his hand, Lira’s glance when she tossed him the bread.

  She was a few meters away, crouched by a puddle, cleaning one of her daggers with a soaked rag. Her feline ears twitched, catching every creak in the tunnel, and her tail swayed in slow arcs, a metronome of caution. They hadn’t spoken much since stopping here, in this underground chamber scarred with claw marks Cain didn’t want to analyze. The silence wasn’t comfortable, but it was necessary. The Ravens hadn’t followed—yet—but both knew the reprieve was temporary.

  Cain clenched his teeth, his stomach roaring like a trapped beast. The half-piece of stale bread Lira gave him last night had vanished in minutes, and what little remained barely sustained his pulse. Critical hunger, he thought, his photographic memory unfurling survival charts. Without calories in 12-24 hours, metabolic collapse. The fruit from the Pit, the rancid meat, the bread—none of it was enough for a body on the brink of starvation. But food wasn’t all he needed. Flesh Shaper. The ability was his only edge, and last night, prying open the grate, he’d felt a spark of control. Not much, but enough to know he could improve. If I don’t die first.

  Lira looked up, her yellow eyes glinting in the dim light. “Still alive,” she said, her voice dry but tinged with curiosity. “Thought you’d keel over, scrawny as you are.”

  Cain met her gaze, his expression flat. “Give me some credit. I’m stubborn.” His voice was hoarse but steady. He wouldn’t show more weakness than necessary, not to her. Lira wasn’t an ally, not fully. She’d gotten him out of the Pit, but her motives remained an enigma, and he wasn’t one to trust blindly.

  She snorted, sheathing the dagger. “Stubborn or stupid, doesn’t matter if we don’t eat soon. Sewers don’t have markets, and I’m not going topside with Ravens prowling.” She stood, stretching like a cat, and studied him. “So, little one, what’s your plan? Because sitting here until we rot isn’t an option.”

  Cain forced himself to stand, ignoring the dizziness that clouded his vision. His legs shook, but he made them hold. “Survive,” he said, simple but direct. “We need food, a place they can’t find us, and time to…” He paused, searching for the word. “Improve.”

  Lira raised an eyebrow, her tail stilling for a moment. “Improve? Back to your flesh trick? I saw you last night. You barely lifted that bar without breaking.”

  Cain didn’t answer right away. Instead, his mind returned to the plan he’d sketched in the Pit: Flesh Shaper as a biological system, governed by rules he could unravel. Anatomy to understand tissues, fractals to optimize them. Last night, he’d reinforced his hand, imagining muscle fibers in spirals, and it worked—painfully, but it worked. Step by step, he thought. First, resources. Then, control.

  “Speaking of food,” he said, shifting the topic, “how far do these tunnels go? Is there anything useful down here? Storehouses, scraps, anything.”

  Lira crossed her arms, thoughtful. “The sewers are a maze. Some tunnels lead to forgotten depots, but they’re guarded by things worse than Ravens. Rats, sometimes. Or things that eat rats.” She grimaced, as if recalling something unpleasant. “Real food? Don’t count on it. Strays who come down here don’t share.”

  Cain nodded, filing the information. Rats. Not ideal, but biology didn’t discriminate. Protein was protein, though the thought churned his stomach. “Then we search,” he said. “We move, find something, and plan from there.”

  Lira studied him for a moment, as if weighing whether he was worth following. Then she nodded. “Fine. But if we run into trouble, I’m not waiting for you.”

  “Fair deal,” Cain replied, his tone dry. He expected nothing less from her.

  They moved through the chamber, following a narrower tunnel where water ran in a filthy trickle. The phosphorescent moss offered just enough light to avoid tripping, but every step was a risk: loose stones, deep puddles, and claw marks suggesting the sewers weren’t as empty as they seemed. Cain kept his senses sharp, his mind cataloging details: the echo of water, the crunch of debris, the stench of rot intensifying in some stretches. Survival first, he thought. Then the rest.

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  A few meters on, something caught his eye: a small shape in a corner, half-submerged in water. He approached, crouching carefully. It was a rat, dead, its body bloated but intact, no signs of predation. Recent, he thought, sniffing the air. Not rotten, not yet. His stomach twisted, not from disgust, but from need. Protein. Lipids. Calories. But also risks: parasites, toxins, biological incompatibility.

  Lira stopped beside him, frowning. “Seriously? That’s your plan?”

  Cain didn’t answer. His mind was already working, not on the rat as food, but as something more. Flesh Shaper. If he could manipulate his own flesh, how far did his control extend? Could he break down external tissue, extract what he needed directly? It was a risky hypothesis, but hunger left him no choice. Time for a controlled test, he thought, as if he were in a lab and not a sewer.

  He knelt by the rat, ignoring the water soaking his knees. He extended his left hand, the less damaged one, and closed his eyes. He visualized the process: digestive enzymes, cellular absorption, nutrient transfer. Break it down, he commanded, focusing on the rat. The tingling came, softer than before, spreading from his palm to his fingers. The rat’s skin shuddered, then softened, as if melting under invisible heat. A thread of energy—not food, not exactly—flowed into him, a spark of warmth coursing through his arm.

  It worked. His stomach settled, the dizziness easing slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was something: amino acids, fats, a handful of stolen calories. Cain opened his eyes, panting, and saw the rat reduced to a dry husk, as if its life had been drained. His hand trembled, not from pain, but from a flicker of triumph. Small success, he thought. Proof of concept.

  But the triumph was short-lived. A sharp pang shot through his stomach, not hunger, but something harsher. Incompatibility, he thought, his medical knowledge kicking in. My body isn’t built for this. Toxins, alien protein structures. It was like pouring dirty fuel into a fine engine: it worked, but at a cost. Nausea hit, and he braced against the wall, breathing deeply to keep from vomiting.

  Lira watched, her expression torn between fascination and disgust. “That was… vile,” she said, but there was a new note in her voice. Respect, perhaps. Or caution. “What the hell are you, little one?”

  Cain swallowed, steadying himself. “Someone who doesn’t give up,” he said, his tone dry but firm. He wasn’t going to explain more, not yet. But the experiment had given him more than nutrients: confidence. I can control this. Step by step. He wouldn’t use a rat again—the risk was too high—but now he knew Flesh Shaper could extend beyond his own body. It was a data point, another piece of the puzzle.

  Lira crouched in front of him, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know if you’re a genius or a lunatic,” she said, “but you’re going to get into worse trouble than the Ravens if you keep doing things like that.” She paused, her tail still for the first time. “And I don’t want to be around when it happens.”

  Cain studied her, searching for the catch. He found none, but he didn’t find warmth either. “Then why are you here?” he asked, blunt. “You didn’t save me last night out of kindness. What do you want?”

  She looked at him for a moment, as if deciding how much to reveal. Then she sighed, a sound that didn’t fit her tough facade. “Because I know what it’s like to be alone,” she said, her voice lower, almost broken. “I ran from my clan three years ago. Lynx-type demi-humans, not exactly loved in Iron Crest.” She touched an ear, an unconscious gesture. “I have an ability, something that made me… useful. But also a target. I learned to hide, to survive. Like you are now.”

  Cain raised an eyebrow, processing. Exiled from a clan, has an unknown ability. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d expected. And it explained her caution, her instinct to run. “What ability?” he asked, though he didn’t expect a straight answer.

  Lira smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Let’s just say I’m fast. Very fast, when I want to be.” She stood, cutting off the conversation. “But don’t get excited. I’m not here to save you forever. I just… don’t want to see you die like the others.”

  Cain didn’t respond right away. Her words were a crack in her armor, but also a warning. Fast, he thought, filing it away. Physical speed, like a sprint? Or something else, like enhanced reflexes? He didn’t know, but it changed things. Lira wasn’t just a guide; she was a survivor like him, with her own demons. That made them closer, but also more dangerous to each other.

  “So, what’s the plan?” she asked, slipping back to her dry tone. “We can’t stay here forever. Ravens aren’t stupid. They’ll find the drain sooner or later.”

  Cain stood, steadier now, thanks to the stolen nutrients. “We get out of the sewers,” he said. “Find a place less… exposed. A market, a village, somewhere we can blend in.” He paused, organizing his thoughts. “And I need real food. Not rats. Something to let me train without passing out.”

  Lira laughed, a short but genuine sound. “Real food in Iron Crest? You dream big, little one.” But she nodded, her tail swaying again. “There’s a market on the city’s edge, near the western wall. Not safe, but better than this. If we get there before noon, we might find something.”

  Cain nodded, his mind already working. Food, shelter, training. Flesh Shaper was his edge, but he needed to master it before the Ravens—or something worse—found him. And Lira… she was a risk, but also an opportunity. For the first time, he felt something like a bond, fragile as the moss on the walls.

  “Move,” he said, echoing her words from last night. “I’m not dying here.”

  Lira looked at him, and for a second, her eyes gleamed with something other than caution. “Hope not,” she said, then slipped into the tunnel, with Cain following, the drip of water marking their path into an uncertain future.