The Edge Market faded behind them, its clamor reduced to a distant murmur as Cain and Lira ventured down a cracked dirt path that wound beyond the western wall. The rain had stopped, leaving the air damp and heavy with a scent of iron and rot seeping from the outer cracks. Cain moved with clumsy steps, the bread stolen by Lira settling in his stomach like a fragile anchor against the hunger still stalking him. His legs trembled less now, but every motion was a test of will, a reminder that his body teetered on the edge of collapse.

  Lira led the way, her cloak billowing with each nimble step, her ears swiveling to catch any sound. She hadn’t said much since the theft—a bread and a fruit, taken with a speed still echoing in Cain’s mind—but her silence wasn’t relaxed. It was the quiet of someone expecting trouble, and Cain understood it all too well. The Ravens hadn’t appeared at the market, but their shadow lingered, an invisible weight pushing them to keep moving.

  The path ended in a clearing ringed by ruins: remnants of black stone buildings, some reduced to broken walls, others with roofs caved in like crushed skulls. Moss and gray vines crawled through the cracks, and the ground was littered with debris—shattered bricks, rotted wood, a skull Cain chose not to examine too closely. Lira stopped before a more intact structure, a stone arch leading to a partially covered underground chamber with a broken slab for a roof. “Here,” she said, nodding toward it. “Not pretty, but it’ll do for now.”

  Cain followed, ducking under the arch. The interior was cold, the air stagnant with a smell of damp and old earth. Daylight filtered through slits in the ceiling, illuminating a small but dry space: walls scarred with scratches, a corner with ashes from an old fire, and a pile of rags someone had left behind. He leaned against a wall, letting his body rest, and watched Lira as she checked the entrance, her movements precise but alert.

  “This isn’t your main hideout, is it?” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was low, not accusatory, just observant.

  Lira turned, her yellow eyes narrowing for a moment before softening. “Perceptive,” she replied, tossing her cloak over the rags to make a makeshift seat. “No, it’s not. My real place is deeper in the city. This is just… a pit stop.”

  Cain nodded, processing. She doesn’t trust me, he thought, and he couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t trust a malnourished kid who showed up out of nowhere with strange tricks and too many questions either. “Guess you don’t bring just anyone to your hideout,” he said, sitting across from her carefully to avoid straining his legs.

  “I don’t bring anyone,” she corrected, pulling out the stolen fruit and slicing it with a dagger. She tossed him half, a gesture that already felt routine. “You’re an exception, and I’m still not sure why.” Her tone was light, but there was an edge beneath, an unspoken question.

  Cain caught the fruit, sniffingSystem: sniffing it—bitter but edible—and took a bite. The juice stung his tongue, but he swallowed anyway, feeling a spark of energy. “Because I’m useful,” he said between bites, keeping his voice casual. “Or so I hope.”

  Lira watched him as she chewed her half, her ears tilting slightly. “Useful, huh? Maybe. But you’re also a mystery, little one, and I don’t like mysteries I can’t solve.” She paused, wiping her hands on her cloak. “Let’s be straight. How do you know nothing about this place? The cracks, the awakened, Iron Crest… it’s common knowledge. Even a beggar knows the basics. But you? You’re lost, like you fell out of the sky.”

  Cain swallowed the last piece of fruit, buying time. He knew this moment would come, and he didn’t have a perfect lie. “I lost my memory,” he said finally, letting the words come slowly, as if testing them. “I don’t know how I got here. I remember some things—bits of knowledge—but the rest… it’s blurry.”

  She stared at him, her tail stilling for a moment. Then she let out a short laugh, more incredulous than amused. “Lost your memory? That’s the weakest excuse I’ve heard in years. And you expect me to buy it?”

  “I don’t expect anything,” he replied, shrugging. “It’s what I’ve got. Believe it or not, it doesn’t change that I’m here, with you, and the Ravens want me for something I did without understanding.”

  Lira crossed her arms, studying him like a puzzle with missing pieces. “I don’t believe you,” she said, blunt but without anger. “Not entirely. Nobody ends up that scrawny, half-dead, knowing things like fruit rot and wound care, and has no clue where they are. You’re not just some drifter, Cain. Drifters don’t talk like you. But…” She leaned back, relaxing her shoulders. “For now, I’ll let it slide. I don’t have the energy to beat the truth out of you.”

  He nodded, relieved but not surprised. Lira was pragmatic, not sentimental. If she wasn’t pressing, it was because she still saw use in him, not because she trusted him. “Thanks,” he said, dry but sincere. “So, since we’re being straight… how about you explain this place? If I’m going to survive, I need more than bread and ruins.”

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  Lira raised an eyebrow but didn’t refuse. She settled against the wall, her dagger spinning idly between her fingers. “Fine,” she said. “Listen up, because I’m not repeating this. This world, ANRK, isn’t a nice place. Iron Crest is just one part, a fortress-city with thousands of souls crammed inside its walls. There are others like it, bigger city-states, some with tens of thousands, ruled by guilds or families who think they’re kings. Then there are villages, small communities outside the walls, but most don’t last. The cracks tear them apart.”

  Cain listened, his mind filing each word into a mental map. “Cracks?” he asked, keeping his tone curious but not overly ignorant. “Have they always been here?”

  “Nobody knows,” she admitted, her dagger pausing for a second. “Some say the world broke centuries ago. Others think it’s a punishment, or a test. What matters is they appear, spit out monsters, and if you don’t close them, they devour everything. Iron Crest survives because it has hunters and walls, but even here, every day’s a gamble.”

  He nodded, recalling the Devourer in the plaza, Kael sealing the crack with that strange staff. “And the races? I’ve seen humans, demi-humans like you… what else is there?”

  Lira grinned, flashing sharp teeth. “Plenty. Humans are the majority, but there are demi-humans—like me, with beast blood. Lynxes, wolves, snakes, you name it. Some call us half-breeds, others hate us for existing. Then there are the pure ones, rare and smug, with long ears and glowing skin, like elves from stories. And there are rumors of worse things beyond the cities, but I haven’t gone out to check.” She shrugged, as if the rest of the world didn’t matter much.

  Cain processed this, his memory groping for Earth parallels that didn’t quite fit. “And abilities? The awakened, as you call them. Where do they come from?”

  She spun the dagger again, a habit Cain now recognized as her way of thinking. “Nobody awakens by chance,” she said. “Some are born with potential, others earn it through monster cores or rituals I don’t understand. Powers are divided into three types: physical, mental, elemental. Physical are the most common—strength, speed like mine, endurance. Mental are rare, things like seeing the future or moving objects with your mind. Elemental, well, you saw the hammer guy with fire in the plaza.”

  Cain nodded, recalling the fight with the Devourer. “And the rare ones?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral though his pulse quickened.

  Lira looked at him, her eyes narrowing again. “Rare ones exist in every type. In physical, for example, most have brute strength or speed—like me, though mine’s finely honed, if I do say so myself.” She smirked, but it faded fast. “Then there are the weird ones, like healing, not just small wounds but things that should kill you. Or yours.” She paused, pointing at him with the dagger, not threateningly. “That flesh trick. It’s not normal, messing with your meat and bone like that. It’s… something else. Rare, even among the rare.”

  Cain kept his face blank, but inside, his mind raced. Physical type, but not common. Direct biological manipulation. “Interesting,” he said, letting the words hang. “Guess that explains why the Ravens want me.”

  “Probably,” she said, sheathing the dagger. “A rare ability is gold in Iron Crest. Or a ticket to death, depending on who catches you.”

  He nodded, letting the silence settle. Lira’s explanation was an incomplete puzzle, but it gave him edges where before there was only chaos. City-states, villages, cracks, races, abilities—a broken but structured world, and he was at the bottom, with a skill that made him a target. But also a tool. Flesh Shaper. The new food—bread, fruit—was a chance to test it again, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

  “I’m going to try it,” he said, breaking the silence. “My ability. With something in my stomach, it should go better.”

  Lira leaned forward, curious despite herself. “What, another rat? Because I don’t see many around here.”

  “No,” he said, pulling out the last piece of bread from his tunic. “Just need energy.” He sat straighter, closing his eyes to focus. He visualized his left hand, the skin, the subcutaneous tissue. Harden, he thought, recalling the fractals from his plan: a hexagonal lattice to distribute stress, like a honeycomb. The tingling came, clearer now, and his skin tightened, turning rough like cured leather. He held the change, counting in his head—one, two, three… ten seconds—before releasing it. The pain was minimal, a faint pinch instead of the fire from before. He opened his eyes, panting slightly but satisfied. Ten seconds.

  Lira gave a low whistle, impressed. “Not bad, little one. Not bad. How long can you hold it?”

  “Not long,” he admitted, flexing his hand. “But it’s a start. With more food and practice, I can do better.”

  She nodded, but her gaze lingered on him, appraising. “You’re weird, Cain. Not just because of that.” She gestured vaguely at his hand. “You know things you shouldn’t, and you don’t know things everyone does. That memory story… I’m not buying it. But for now, we’re good, so don’t screw it up.”

  He smiled, a small but genuine gesture. “No plans to. So, what’s next? These ruins won’t hold if the Ravens track us.”

  Lira stood, brushing off dust. “We move tomorrow. There’s a village west, small, outside the wall. We can hide there a few days, find food, maybe work if they don’t kill us first. But today, we rest. If you collapse on the road, I’m not carrying you.”

  “Fair deal,” he said, leaning against the wall again. The bread and fruit sustained him, and the progress with Flesh Shaper was a spark of hope. But Lira’s words—cities, cracks, rare abilities—kept spinning in his head. ANRK was bigger, more broken than he’d imagined, and he was a stranger in it, with or without memory.

  Lira sat near the entrance, dagger in hand again, watching the ruins. “Get some sleep,” she said, not looking at him. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  Cain closed his eyes, letting exhaustion claim him. He didn’t fully trust her, and she didn’t trust him, but for now, they were the closest thing to allies either had. And in Iron Crest, that was more than he could ask for.