Zayn walked through one of the notorious slums where illegal magic deals, underground fights, and mercenary contracts ran rampant. Neon signs in foreign languages lit the dark alleys, the air thick with smoke and whispered secrets.
He did not dare walk through the slums as "Zayn K. Vyserion." Only the incompetent would dare make such a mistake.
He was wearing a cloaked black leather hood, tight leather pants, and straps. Underneath the cloak was a tight tank top that pulled taut against his frame, not entirely reaching to his pants. His hood was drawn down to hide his keen silver eyes and most of his features. He blended in with crowds by wearing an enchanted mask that dimmed and concealed his distinct aura sufficiently to pass for a dangerous mercenary.
Zayn was there for one reason, and one reason only. Information.
He towered over everyone while the streets were filled with markets from left to right; even in the periphery, there were tiny shops. The bumpy roads and small, uneven streets brought back memories of Zayn's previous nest. The air carried scents of soot and cider, sometimes the sweet smell of toffee.
Despite the disguise, the people could not stop their prying eyes from glancing at him. The glares were mostly from shady teenage boys of all stripes. Mainly hybrids. They couldn't help it—anyone could tell Zayn wasn't from the slums. No one in the slums could afford that quality of leather. What they couldn't tell—most importantly—was that he was the dragon prince. That was all that mattered. The people could stare all they wanted. Zayn was quite the handsome one. His skin was tanned and smooth with a slight hint of roughness. His long eyelashes fanned out at the perfect angle, fluttering gracefully in the wind. His thick hair billowed in the wind with a nice touch, inviting anyone who would dare.
Anyone curious enough to linger learned better within seconds. He held a tiny, jagged note in his calloused hand. It read, "Where the sunshine does not reach and the moon is not present." Gloomy scents fill the air, and when you find the destination, you shall feel the pull from within you."
There was only one possible meaning for a place that was devoid of sunlight and shielded from the moon. It was neither indoors nor outdoors. It would be too obvious. And this person was not stupid. Stupid people did not dare call upon Zayn K. Vyserion in secret if they wanted to keep their lives; regardless of race, Zayn's anger did not discriminate.
Zayn knew what to look for—an underground passage. The problem was where. The easy way would have been to use his magic. But he could not give away his identity, for if he did make use of the magic, people would undeniably sense it.
Making use of the part where he was supposed to sense the pull, Zayn began walking around the narrow streets. It may have been impossible for such a tall individual to move around these streets in secret; that is, if they were regular. Zayn moved with practiced precision; he was not a regular. He started his search as soon as the throng of shortlings commenced to disperse and the moon began its arrival, covering the sun's effects with its thick blanket. Because there were fewer people around, the pull had fewer "obstacles" to overcome in its attempt to get to Zayn.
Its only target was Zayn, and that was a fact. The heat beneath his ribs was growing hotter the more he approached the destination.
The sooner he got to the fool and extracted information from him, or worse, the sooner he would get back to his waiting companion.
He moved in the shadows toward the east, where the pull was strongest. It was faint, but even the faintest pull was a pull nonetheless. It would evolve into a strong pull as long as he kept moving toward it, never stopping. There was no time to stop. And for whoever found themselves bold enough to invite him somewhere with a riddle and couldn't spare the time to write a simple address, they deserved a scolding. And a scolding Zayn would give them, regardless of who they were. That is, unless they were one of the very few exceptions, which was highly unlikely.
Eventually, all the shops were closed. It was not as if they served any purpose to him. Eating wasn't a necessity, nor was wearing thin pieces of fabric. If it weren't for the human standards that have afflicted all creatures, Zayn wouldn't be wearing these flimsy pieces of cloth.
"Where are my thoughts going?" Zayn muttered with a scowl. He'd been around a particular human for so long; his thinking habits must have become infected, too. Unbelievable.
When Zayn reached a wall once again—the same one he came to every time—he felt unsettled. The force pulling and prickling at him was undeniable, but what purpose did the wall serve? It was identical to every other wall in the slums. Aged graffiti was splattered across its surface, and it seemed as though it had been chipping away over time. But something was different. If observed from an angle close enough, the wall was slightly transparent.
"Clever cover-up," Zayn smirked—a subtle hint of venom behind it. "But cowardly."
He stuck a gloved hand through the wall. A fake. So cowardly that it pissed him off. If not for the case, the wall would've been incinerated from the moment Zayn laid his eyes on it. How can a location be secret if anyone could walk through it?
After making sure no one was around the area and increasing his mana suppression, Zayn poked his head through the wall. He was met with complete darkness. Light work. He was no longer a baby dragon; getting through the darkness was easy. He would sense every obstacle that may come in his way, no problem.
There appeared to be a short spiral staircase that led underground. As the riddle said, "Where the sunshine does not reach and the moon is not present," this had to be it. You could not sense the moon's presence underground, as its light did not reach, and the wall undoubtedly only became traversable once the sun went into slumber.
The air smelled of damp stone, rust, and something fairly sweet beneath it—the scent of rot trying to hide under old incense. As Zayn descended gracefully, the air grew smokier and thicker. Zayn could sense a quick heartbeat and movement nearby.
A sly smirk formed on his face for no apparent reason. Perhaps excitement.
Quickly enough, Zayn reached the base of the staircase. The air was now heavy with the smell of burnt cider and coal, with a subtle mix of illegality. The smell of mana enhancement. Ahead, he entered a long, stony corridor with lights flickering above. Dirty water polluted the eroded concrete floor that emitted pungent smells. And above all, he felt an annoying presence, a lingering one.
Zayn flared his nostrils, irritation seeping into him like prickly needles penetrating his skin all at once. Foolish.
Reaching the end of the corridor took almost no time, as Zayn hurriedly walked in long, graceful strides. And with each step, the presence and pull felt stronger.
Then, far behind him, he heard a voice. A low, synthetic-sounding voice. They hid themselves in the shadows, covered in black from head to toe.
"I didn't think you'd come, Zayn," the voice said, chuckling.
No.
No.
No.
This was all an illusion, and this person was part of it. It wasn't real. He had recklessly let his mind barrier drop for a second—that was it. This person was using an enchantment to make it seem real.
But it was. It was real. The familiar mana, the way it surrounded him before trying to stick its venom into him, and the familiar malevolent presence he'd been feeling all this while.
Through gritted teeth, Zayn managed to say, "I banished you." He could feel his anger boiling over—this was dangerous.
The figure moved closer, unafraid. Their poisonous mana was trying to break through Zayn's barriers. Impossible. A bold and impossible move. A show of cowardice.
"Did you really?" They placed a gloved hand on their chin, grinning. "I must've forgotten the pathetic way you tried to rid yourself of me." Their voice was suddenly angry.
"What do you want, scum? Who allowed you back into my territory? How bold and stupid of you; I won't hesitate to incinerate you. Not like last time." Zayn breathed, his fire threatening to be unleashed. Not yet. Not now.
They began chuckling, unfazed, their shoulders shaking.
"Now, you wouldn't dare; we still need to discuss," they crooned. "You wouldn't like returning empty-handed, would you?"
Zayn did not reply. This idiot did not deserve a reply, and the only thing stopping him from returning with their severed head was one particular human. One who would love to interrogate this scum of society.
Inhaling, Zayn grabbed them by the arm. He shoved them into the nearest wall, and their body collided with it with a solid thud. He used his free arm to pin their head against it, blocking their legs with his. He kicked in the back of their knees, causing them to drop with a yelp.
Now composed, Zayn spoke sternly, "You have five seconds to talk before I cave your head in." The time for games was over, and he was going to handle this seriously.
A loud, terrible chuckle filled the corridor. The scum with no fear of death was taking this as a joke.
"You haven't changed, have you, Zayn?" They asked, probably smiling against the concrete.
Zayn elbowed the back of their head further into the wall. They could do this the hard way, if that's what they wished. They willingly gave themselves up by inviting and calling Zayn by his name.
"Who are you?" Zayn asked. He couldn't be sure. This could very well be a replication of mana; it couldn't be real. This person had been banished decades ago. Banished by Zayn himself. He had made sure they couldn't return by sealing it on a sacred magical document.
Through gritted teeth, "I know that you know, so why do you ask?" They managed.
"When I find whoever helped you back in my territory, I will ruin you all in ways far worse than any ruin you have seen bestowed on another. You won't be granted death; you'll wither away slowly with pain so unbearable you would have no choice but to wish for your own demise," Zayn whispered into their ear, his cool voice sending static into their body.
After a pause, they answered, "And what if I have not received help? What if I already wish for my demise?"
"Then there is no problem. I won't ask again, who are you?"
A thick, venomous silence hung in the air as the tension thickened rapidly.
It didn't seem as if they planned to answer any time soon, so Zayn began applying even more pressure to their head, their yelps becoming more guttural.
"Fuck, I'll speak! Stop it!" They shouted. The effect was working; everyone folded under pain, even this idiot. Zayn applied pressure for a moment longer before stopping reluctantly.
After catching their breath, they spoke slowly, "You really don't recognize your own work?"
Zayn froze.
They tilted their head just enough for the light to catch their eyes. "Say my name, Zayn. You carved it into history yourself."
A heavy feeling clawed at his chest. "What are you talking—"
"You banished me," they rasped, "And yet… your little human carries my signature."
It couldn't be—
A loud, banging sound snapped Zayn's attention away. A swarm of agile, veiled gangsters swarmed in, guns and various kinds of weapons in their hands. How had he not sensed the footsteps? Distraction.
The person put on a gas mask, and so did their companions. A thick, purple fog filled the air… It wasn't regular fog. An illegal substance that could be used against dragons. Dragons specifically.
"So that's how you plan to survive this," Zayn thought, smirking.
"You should've thought twice when you believed exile would erase me." They laughed softly. "I learned everything I needed to while you were playing prince."
The searing pain in Zayn's chest intensified. When did his heart become so weak?
Even if the fog was made specifically for dragons, it was not strong enough to ward off the dragon prince. Though it caused a subtle, persistent ringing in his senses, it was a pathetic attempt at escape. And yet, Zayn could not kill this person. Even if he tried, it was impossible. He couldn't abandon his pride.
With a flick of his hands, the measly companions and their weapons went flying, all banging their heads on hard concrete walls. Most got back up, all dashing toward Zayn. He did not let them recover their weapons. The measly worm had freed itself from his grasp during it all. Clever. But clever was where it stopped; it was no more than that.
"If you think you can stop me like this, you are dreaming," Zayn yelled, a dangerous smirk plastering across his face. He freed himself from the cloak, tossing it somewhere on the ground.
"We'll see about that. You're merely a prince playing investigator," they laughed.
Zayn narrowed his eyes. "Let's go; come at me if you dare," he invited them, smiling broadly.
And without hesitation, they all charged at once, resulting in their fists now that their weapons were gone. As if that could stop him.
Zayn sent them all flying toward the walls as they approached like a wolf pack protecting their leader at the top. But this fucker wasn't an alpha; deep down, they were a measly lone wolf who could only dream of becoming an alpha.
Right now, Zayn was the "alpha," and he would show it to them with a flick of his finger. That's all it took—and that's all it would take.
He didn't land any killing blows, not yet. Zayn efficiently disabled the scum's companions, the sound of cracking bones and muffled yelps filling the corridor. They threw themselves on top of him—a futile attempt at slowing him down any further.
One managed to stab a dagger into his shoulder, but it was nothing serious. Nothing he couldn't handle.
The ringing intensified in his ears, dulling his senses. He ignored it. He only needed to catch that little worm who thought they had surpassed the word "clever." Cleverness had a limit, and they had reached theirs.
Once he successfully took down the squirmy maggots, he would capture that idiot. Once captured, he would plan the rest.
Zayn received a blow to his face, but it held no sufficient strength behind it. He narrowed his eyes, glancing over at who threw it.
It was a fawn, a boy no older than a teenager. His anger burned; it was always the young ones ruining their lives before they began. How many years could this one have lived? Not many years, and yet here he was, working for scum in a world too harsh for the young.
Nevertheless, he grabbed the boy, twisting his arm at an odd angle. The boy gritted his teeth and strained against him, stomping hard on his foot defensively. Zayn pressed his body against him, the boy's arm buried beneath his armpit, while he blocked him from any movement. The boy would serve more use being unconscious rather than uselessly throwing away his life by fighting Zayn. He overpowered and put the boy in a chokehold, swiftly and with technique. And with a soft thud, he dropped to the ground.
It did not end there. Several other teenage-looking kids lunged at him. This was some kind of distraction, and it would not work against Zayn.
Little did he know, the seed had already been planted. It was waiting for the perfect time to bloom. The ringing in his ears kept on worsening, becoming an annoying hurdle.
Somewhere amidst the fog, a shout came, "Whatever—whoever you think he is, Zayn—it's already too late." And then their presence vanished in a flicker. So did the scum's presence.
Zayn's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't misjudged power. He had misjudged timing. And because he had gotten carried away, that worm managed to flee again. Like a coward.
"Wherever you go, however you hide, I will find you," Zayn added as the last antling fell to the ground.
He raked a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, chest heaving. It had been too long since he'd fought like this. He had let himself take it easy for too long. "A prince playing investigator," the scum's words echoed, sour and lingering.
Then, almost too quickly, the pull vanished.
No—
It snapped back violently, twisting through his chest like a burning hooked chain.
Zayn pressed a hand to his chest. The pull was no longer toward the slums.
It was toward Sterling.