A NEW BEGINNING

KANICE MARKET – 3rd day of every stormdays, weather permitting

Come replenish your supplies, have a chat, and taste the best the western fringe has to offer!

Fresh greenlets and ferkals from the Lower Fields

Laghota from the Limping Kernal farm

Dried meat from the Stone Reservoir

Waxes and bitter brews by Madam Ubrana

Performance by the local singing and dancing troupe

Tool repairs, Master Teren!

We buy scrap, burlap, and leftover spongus

“We live our own way and we know what’s good.”

Kanice Local Council

Reng, Kanice

The journey that awaited them turned out to be much longer and more demanding than Mikail had originally promised. Stormdays had been living up to their name for several days now and some roads had turned into sticky, muddy traps. They didn’t reach Kanice until evening and it was clear to everyone that there wouldn’t be much more to accomplish that day.

Reng was annoyed. He just wanted this part of their deal over with, but it looked like he had no choice but to postpone until the next day.

Kudo and Mikail had promised him there was a decent place in the settlement where he could sleep and eat. At the same time, they had agreed to split up just before entering the settlement, so no one would see them together. Neither of them had any interest in being associated with a modificant.

He didn’t protest.

In a way, he understood them. In their line of work, keeping the appearance of neutrality was essential. Being seen with someone like him, an alter most people saw as nothing but trouble, would ruin their credibility. And they couldn’t afford that. He would leave, but they had to go on living here.

So he left them by the roadside, armed with directions to the inn and the time and place to meet tomorrow, and continued on alone.

He hadn’t even reached Kanice proper when he spotted a Guard patrol clearly stopping every outsider trying to enter the settlement. Reng slowed down and, at the guard’s signal, came to a full stop. The uniformed man peeked into the cab and gave him a good, long look. Reng couldn’t miss the worried frown knitting the man’s brow. It was clear he suspected exactly who he was facing. Reng turned off the engine and got out. At that moment, almost in unison, the guards stepped back. He guessed it was his unmistakable armor that prompted the reaction. He hoped it might give him some edge in the negotiation, though he was well aware it could just as easily draw more trouble.

He straightened up and gave them time to get a good look. Silence hung in the air, taut as a drawn wire. As he returned their stares, he wondered if the thoughts going through their minds mirrored what he saw. Fear, but also respect. And the hope there’d be no need to spark a conflict. The patrol leader finally spoke up.

“Your name and... rank?” he asked, his tone suggesting he wasn’t even sure modificants had names or ranks.

“Subject Reng, dark-blue unit under the command of Subject Borin,” he replied calmly, though he was sure the words meant nothing to the man. The structure of the Beacon was hidden from the public, so he could’ve said anything and it would’ve made no difference.

“Modificant?” the officer asked unnecessarily, since it had to be obvious what he was.

Even the first gawkers were already drifting in from behind the small houses, eager to see with their own eyes that an alter had truly shown up in their little settlement.

“Is that a problem?” he asked simply, and judging by the officer’s expression, it was clear they all just wanted the encounter to pass without incident.

“Formalities,” the commander assured him and continued with the standard protocol. “Purpose of your visit?”

“I’ve got some business here, then I’m leaving right away. I can assure you I won’t be staying a moment longer than necessary.”

The commander paused briefly, then stated,

“I must inform you that the settlement of Kanice is under the jurisdiction of the Prim Guard, and our orders make no mention of you or anyone from your… ehm… group being permitted in this region.”

“And how am I supposed to take that?” he frowned at him, then added after a moment’s hesitation, “That sounds a lot like you’re saying I don’t belong here.”

“Well… after the fiasco in the South, none of you should be here. Not a single one.”

Silence returned, heavier this time. Reng studied the man in front of him. He was older than his subordinates, the gray at his temples and the small scars on his face suggested he had been through a few fights. He seemed like the kind who knew when it was worth fighting and when it wasn’t. Reng hoped he wasn’t the type to charge headfirst into conflict.

“And what exactly does that mean for me right now? I’ll admit, I don’t understand where you’re going with this, commander,” he said, attempting a conciliatory tone.

“Do you have any authorization papers for this trip?”

Reng tilted his head slightly, as if the question amused him. 

“Since when do I need permission to move around? I thought we’ve always been free to travel across the Raj without having to ask anyone for a pass.”

One of the guards, a young woman with a tightly braided ponytail, cleared her throat and nervously adjusted her collar. 

“Since your… your kind brought chaos across the Raj.”

The slight tremor in her voice suggested that while she was saying what she thought, she was also afraid of how he might react. And judging by the others’ faces, she wasn’t alone.

“I see,” he nodded, “but believe me, if I intended to cause chaos, as you so delicately put it, I wouldn’t have started with a conversation.”

The guardswoman frowned, her face twitching with uncertainty, but in the end, it seemed to work. The air between them thickened, but no one made a move to escalate things further. The commander finally decided he had found a way to deal with the situation.

“We’ll search your vehicle. If we find nothing, you’ll be free to go.”

Reng didn’t look away. “Sounds like a reasonable compromise to me.”

The guards set to work checking all the supplies he had with him. Reng realized he’d been incredibly lucky to have already traded all the personal belongings of the murdered officers, who the vehicle had originally belonged to, to Mikail back in the Hollow. Now all that was left in the truck were a few packs of dried food, his personal weapon, and a canister of water. Nothing that should draw attention.

Their movements were quick but jerky. Every lid they lifted or compartment they checked was accompanied by a tension they couldn’t hide. They were clearly afraid of finding something they’d have to deal with. Reng stood aside, arms folded across his chest, observing their efforts. He showed no signs of unease, but his chilling presence was clearly affecting them. Everyone just wanted it over with.

Eventually, the commander returned to Reng. His gaze was still cautious, but the tension had eased.

“It seems we have no reason to delay you further. But try to behave in a way that reflects the concerns people here might have. They’re not used to modificants. There are children in the settlement, and they’re afraid of you. Keep that in mind. We don’t want unnecessary emotions to stir up problems none of us want to deal with.”

“Then we’re in rare agreement,” he said dryly.

The engine started up again and he finally rolled past the patrol toward the settlement.

***

Kanice were exactly as dull as Mikail and Kudo had described them. A few houses scattered around a muddy main road, low roofs barely holding up against the wind and rain typical for this time of year. At first glance, it seemed like the kind of place where nothing could go wrong, but Reng knew better than to trust appearances. He was already thinking about how to avoid attention as much as possible, because his instinct told him this place had eyes and ears of its own. And they might have already started listening.

He had no illusions. News that a modificant was passing through Kanice would spread quickly.

He drove slowly through the settlement until he found the tavern Mikail had mentioned earlier. This was where they were supposed to meet the next day and, as he hoped, where he might also spend the night.

He stopped the vehicle and hesitated for a moment about what to take with him. In the end, he chose only his weapon, visibly clipped into the holster at his side. It didn’t hurt to remind everyone that he was still ready.

When he stepped inside, absolute silence fell over the tavern. The kind of silence where every chair creak was audible as he walked between tables and those seated turned their heads nervously to watch him.

He caught the smell of human sweat mixed with cheap alcohol and the scent of burning wood from the large fireplace.

He approached the counter, behind which stood the innkeeper, a burly man with a bald head whose eyes met Reng’s. His hand was still holding the mug he’d been polishing with a rag. Now he froze, as if unsure whether it was better to engage or pretend the modificant wasn’t there at all.

“I need a room for the night,” Reng said calmly, but in the stillness of the room his voice cracked like a whip.

The innkeeper blinked nervously, clearly taken aback by the unexpected guest.

“Of course... we have one room available,” he finally replied. His voice was hushed, almost servile, as if he was afraid that every word might make things worse. “Up the stairs, first door on the right.”

Reng gave a short nod and placed a few arens on the counter, given to him by Mikail as a courtesy during the sale of expensive goods. It was a modest amount compared to the actual price. The true payment had been the promise of a deal arranged with the fence Ress.

“I’ll pay you double tomorrow if you make sure no one bothers me tonight.”

The innkeeper scooped up the coins, and his eyes gleamed with greed.

“As you wish,” he replied and stretched his meaty lips into the hint of a smile.

Without another word, Reng turned and walked toward the stairs. He heard the nervous whispering behind his back, but he knew no one would dare do more than mutter insults under their breath, assuming he couldn’t hear. He let it go.

If he reacted to every harsh word thrown his way, he’d be at war with the world in no time.

Once he disappeared upstairs, the atmosphere in the tavern gradually returned to a quiet hum that slowly morphed into the usual mix of muffled voices, clinking glasses, and cautious laughter.

He entered the assigned room. There was nothing remarkable about it. An old bed, a simple table and chair, a small lamp casting light across the stained walls.

He shut the door behind him and locked it. To make sure he could sleep undisturbed, he wedged a chair under the handle and carefully drew the curtains.

Only then did he finally sit on the bed with a sense of relief, leaning back against the wall. Out of habit, he checked his weapon and, after a brief hesitation, placed it beside the pillow. He believed they would leave him in peace, but it was better to be prepared than caught off guard.

And only then could he finally allow himself at least a few hours of rest.

***

The morning sun streamed through the gaps in the curtains, waking him, along with the noise of the street below the window. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling, its cracked plaster lined with cobwebs. Eventually he got up and stretched deeply.

His gaze fell on the armor laid out on the chair beside the bed. For a moment he considered going to the meeting place without it. He was sick of the thing after everything he’d been through in it. But in the end, he decided not to take the risk just for the sake of comfort. It had saved his life more than once, and it would be foolish to underestimate today’s situation just because Mikail was convinced everything would go smoothly. If it did, he would strip it off by the afternoon, once he was far past Kanice heading west.

He came downstairs to the tavern and took a seat at one of the tables, waving over the serving girl, a curvier young woman. Judging by her face, she was clearly the innkeeper’s daughter, and unlike her father, she actually smiled at him. That probably startled him more than if she’d hurled insults at his face.

“We’ve got fresh bukar root, ground laghota, and if you pay extra, a few shellbird eggs we can serve with fresh bread.”

He pushed two remaining coins across the tabletop, and the girl quickly slipped them into a hidden pocket in her apron. Then, without another word, she hurried off to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast.

Reng leaned back comfortably and glanced around. It was already relatively late, and most of the people in Kanice were well into their day. A few tables were still occupied by those who could afford a late breakfast.

He couldn’t miss that just two tables away sat Mikail and Kudo. Both of them were doing their best to pretend they hadn’t noticed him.

“What do you mean they’re gone!” came the innkeeper’s angry voice from the stairs as he thundered down. Behind him trailed a young boy, who, like the girl, made it obvious he was the innkeeper’s own flesh and blood.

“They were seen last night, but then they just got up and left.”

“Without paying?” the innkeeper bellowed.

“Looks like it,” the boy whined and took a cuff to the head from his father that nearly knocked him over.

“You’re supposed to watch so no one leaves without paying!”

“But the Fatekeepers always pay, how was I supposed to know these weren’t like the others?” the boy sniffled. But the innkeeper had already noticed Reng’s disapproving gaze.

“Out of my sight,” he ordered the boy, then cautiously stepped up to Reng’s table and wiped it clean with a sycophantic expression, as if to make sure the important guest received perfect service.

“What happened?” Reng asked in a neutral tone, more out of politeness than actual interest.

“Nothing much, really. Yesterday we had a few Fatekeepers here, an old man and maybe his boy with the lad’s wife. You know the type. A lot of dumb preaching, the young one gave his poor woman a rough shake and laughed like an idiot while doing it.

We get those fanatics from time to time. Bunch of crazed folk, but I’ll give them this, their women weave the finest blankets around. They said they were going to the market, but looks like they changed their minds after dinner and just vanished. Common thieves, if you ask me.”

“You’re a trusting fool, Elden,” Mikail chuckled, having been listening in. He now turned and squinted at him with his crooked stare.

“You ought to slap folks like that right off. Let them know what that damned Fate of theirs is really worth.

Although, one punch from someone like you,” his crooked gaze slid over to Reng, and he grinned, “might just convert a man the proper way.”

“What do I care about people like that,” Reng said indifferently.

The innkeeper sneered and grumbled his way back to the kitchen, from which his daughter soon emerged with a tray carrying Reng’s breakfast.

As he filled his stomach with what was, surprisingly, a genuinely delicious meal, he found himself thinking back to the last time he’d eaten something so... simply wonderful. Bukar root had been the breakfast of his youth. They had it nearly every day, and one would think he would’ve grown sick of it long ago. But back when he was wading through mud in the South or choking down the nutrient pastes they were fed in the Beacon, he often thought of the sweet, slightly woody flesh of the bukar root.

And so now, after all that time, he took his time cutting it into neat bites, savoring it while keeping a close ear on the table next to him.

Mikail had chosen a clever tactic, speaking with Kudo just loudly enough for Reng to hear what he needed to know. He learned that they were meeting Rees soon and that the fence seemed open to their deal. But he also understood from Mikail’s tone that they needed to tread carefully. Rees wasn’t a fool, and more importantly, he commanded a gang of local thugs who handled his dirty work.Reng pushed the empty plate away and lingered a moment over the half-finished laghota. When Mikail and Kudo finally stood up, he gave them a short head start, then drained the cup, nodded to the curvy girl, and rose to leave.

At the tavern door he paused and gave his gear a quick inspection. Everything was in place. His weapon sat where it should, and the armor fit like a second skin, even though the daylight made it clear the smooth surface had been damaged.

It wasn’t the first time, but this time there would be no one coming to fix it.

He ran his fingers across the dents left by the fall from the horus. It had saved his life. But how many more times could it still do that?

He would have to take it off sooner or later. It drew too much attention. And that was the last thing he needed.

In the end, he spat into the street dust, as if tossing aside all doubts with it, and finally stepped outside.

***

Their meeting spot lay on the very edge of Kanice, so far out that it barely counted as part of the settlement anymore. An old yard fenced in, filled with wrecks in various stages of decay.

At the center stood a large workshop where usable parts were being refitted into new vehicles. Still dented, but functional and ready to hit the road again.

Reng stopped just before the gate. Mikail and Kudo were already waiting for him. He got out and swept his eyes over the whole place with suspicion. If he had to picture a trap, it would look exactly like this. On the other hand, his deal was supposed to be so good for Rees that the man would be a fool to risk any trouble with someone like him.

He started walking toward the entrance, and Mikail and Kudo quickly fell in beside him.

“Just be polite and take what’s offered,” Mikail muttered. “Rees can be fair, but he’s got no head for bargaining. His price is what it is, and no one changes it.”

“I don’t want anything more than a new vehicle,” Reng grunted and stepped inside the yard.

There was a strange silence. For a place where he could spot at least eight men among the wrecks at a glance, the quiet was far too deep. Maybe they were pretending to work, but stripping rusted machines always made some noise. Here, there was almost none. He spotted a man with a hammer hunched over a corroded axle.

One strike.

A long pause.

Another strike.

Reng knew this wasn’t real work.

The man’s eyes drifted across the yard like he was waiting for a signal, and Reng filed that away, knowing he and most of the others were likely Rees’s enforcers, meant to serve as leverage during negotiation.

Rees appeared soon after, carrying an air of casual ease, like the world around him was just a stage he’d stumbled into. But it felt natural, which told Reng this wasn’t some act meant to fool him. It was just how the man was.

He noticed one of Rees’s hands was wrapped in fresh bandages, suggesting he wasn’t shy about action either. In his other hand, he held a knife, tossing it lightly into the air. The blade spun a few times each time before landing neatly back in his grip. Reng took note of that as well. He had no doubt Rees could throw that knife with deadly precision if he ever decided talking wasn’t enough.

“So this is the famous alter?” Rees said with a crooked smile, stepping up for a better look.

Reng was used to being taller than most, but this was one of those rare moments where he was the smaller one. Not by much, but enough for Rees to smirk down at him. Reng narrowed his eyes for a moment but otherwise didn’t react. He let Rees enjoy the moment, even though in his mind he was already evaluating every option to disarm him before that damned blade could fly.

“They told me you were taller.”

“Is that going to affect the price of your contraband?” he asked, dead serious.

Rees paused, then burst out laughing.

“He’s got jokes! Did you hear that? He made a joke.”

Reng allowed the barest twitch of his mouth, maybe to help break the tension, and Rees clearly appreciated it.

“Yeah, he really did! You see that, Mikail?” he called to the twisted little man. “That’s exactly the kind of customer I like. Clear, direct, and funny. All right, then. Let’s get this done, pal.”

Rees leaned against one of the nearby wrecks and rubbed his chin with his good hand. The knife had vanished, slipped somewhere into a sheath at his belt.

“So, Mikail told me you’ve got something I might like,” he said with a smile that lacked any warmth. “Look, let’s keep this simple. You give me your vehicle, I give you a new one. Fuel for fuel. And just so you don’t complain, I’ll throw in a crate of supplies. Fair deal, right?”

Reng paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“I want to see it,” he said flatly.

Rees raised an eyebrow, like he found it amusing that anyone would question his offer.

“Not into playing games, huh? Fine,” he snapped his fingers.

One of the men pretending to work among the wrecks disappeared behind the piles of scrap and returned shortly with the promised vehicle. It was an old transport, one that would have barely held together if it hadn’t just been welded fresh. Several seams still gleamed with newness, but otherwise the vehicle looked like a heap of metal.

“This is it?” Reng asked, his tone holding a trace of doubt.

“This is the best I can offer you right now,” Rees replied calmly.

Then he leaned against the side of the vehicle and tapped the hood.

“Sure, it’s an older model, but it’ll pull anything you need. And if your plan is to vanish somewhere, it’ll do the job just fine.”

Reng stepped closer until he was right up against the transport. He scanned the welded joints and the small details that showed the vehicle was maybe functional, but nowhere near what Mikail had led him to expect.

“You think this is worth the value of my truck?” he said slowly, making sure his meaning was clear.

“Look, alter,” Rees replied, and his smile faded. “This is how it works. I’m giving you a fair offer. And you know what the best part is? You’re going to take it, because the second you try playing a different game with me, things get unpleasant.”

As he said that last part, a few metallic sounds rang through the yard. Reng noted movement from the men who’d been loitering around the wrecks until now.

He turned back to Rees. His gaze was hard, but his demeanor remained calm.

“You know what the problem is with unpleasant games?” he said slowly, making sure even the slower minds around him understood.

“I win them.”

Reng could feel the tension around him rising. One of the men dared to take a step closer, a heavy metal rod in his hand. Reng caught the movement in his peripheral vision and turned toward him. The man stopped, but it was clear he was only waiting for a signal.

“Last chance,” Reng said. “Show me something better or I’ll take what I want.”

Rees raised his hands as if to calm the situation, but his eyes said the opposite.

“Easy, man,” he said, though there was already a spark of anger in his voice.

“You don’t seem to realize where you are. I might improve the offer, sure, but why would I, when you’re not even trying to be reasonable?”

Rees’s men were no doubt well trained. In the Raj, you had to know how to fight, with weapons or without. But few people were ever prepared to face someone like him. That was the mistake of everyone who had ever crossed him. They underestimated him.

Modificants had a fearsome reputation as killing machines, but the truth was, no one wanted to admit that it had nothing to do with numbers or advanced gear.

Modificants were the weapon.

But all these men saw was one guy in armor, maybe a little better than what the Guard wore. And they knew how to deal with Guards. Plus, they had the advantage in numbers. So why be afraid?

The sound of a metal rod whooshed through the air. Reng stepped aside, and the rod smashed into the ground. It was close. A fraction of a second slower, and it would’ve crushed his skull. Before the attacker recovered, the rod was gone from his hands. A strike. The crack of bone. Another blow. The body dropped to the ground.

He didn’t stop. One man’s failure had triggered the others. He saw a pistol and several knives. They expected him to run.

Their second mistake. The first was starting this at all.

He saw the surprise in the eyes of the one with the pistol. He slammed his elbow into the man’s face. A gurgling gasp. 

Collapse. 

No mercy.

The weapon in the sand begged to be picked up. He grabbed it by the barrel and swung. The stock slammed into the skull of the man to his right. He fell backward into a pile of pipes from the crumbling wrecks. And on his chest, as a bonus, the imprint of Reng’s boot.

Glass shattering. Quick movements. And then their first glimpse of success. But only until the attacker realized that the knife had slid harmlessly across the armor.

Reng turned, grabbed the hand still gripping the blade, and ruthlessly turned it against him. He pressed him to the ground with his own weapon. Red blood soaked into the sand. The cries of the wounded rang in Reng’s ears.

“Stop him!” someone shouted, but it was clear they were failing. They had finally realized they’d made a mistake.

Four out of eight, he counted silently, quickly trying to get a sense of the remaining attackers. They were moving between the wrecks, through a maze they clearly knew well. Staying out of sight.

Smart. But not enough.

Without hesitation, Reng ran up one of the metal wrecks and in two leaps reached the top. He jumped from one to the next. Screeching metal, clattering sheet metal. Someone cried out. Bad luck. He wouldn’t be running anywhere now. Trapped under the weight of heavy, rusted scrap.

Five out of eight, he counted. Two knives and a pipe. They were running. Not fast enough. Reng landed on the back of the last one. Bone crack. Hollow grunt. Gurgled breath. If he ever wakes up again, it’ll be a miracle.

He didn’t wait. He bent to grab the pipe. Better than a knife. Longer reach, and in his hands, it promised pain. He wove his way through the maze. No hurry. He had time.

A grenade was suddenly tossed and rolled to a stop just a few steps away.

One of the men shouted, “Not here, you idiot!”

Too late.

Flash.

Boom.

Sand and metal flew into the air.

The blast threw him backward. He hit the scrap hard, back first. The world narrowed to a sharp ringing in his ears.

He shook his head.

Blood.

His face burned. A shard had lodged just above his eye, the rest had only lightly scratched the armor. He got up. Slowly. Slower than he would’ve liked.

The world around him was falling apart. The tall stacks of wrecks swayed. One of them was going down. Judging by the screams of those two, the idiot and his buddy were having a very unlucky day, and that had been his final mistake.

It was done.

Reng finally touched his face and felt the shard above his eye. He hissed in pain, but knew this wasn’t the time to deal with it. First he had to finish this fucked-up deal.

Rees stood by the wreck he’d tried to pass off earlier. His hands were raised and his eyes darted around nervously, as if looking for someone who might still try to protect him. But there was no one left. Just him and the alter.

Even Mikail and Kudo had slipped away at the first sign of violence, and by now they were probably far, far away. He didn’t care. He didn’t owe them anything anymore.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Rees squealed in terror, and Reng watched in disgust as a wet stain spread across the man’s crotch.

So Rees wasn’t quite the tough guy he believed himself to be after all.

“For fuck’s sake, why me,” Reng muttered, then shoved Rees ahead of him. “I just want what I came for. Nothing more.”

A moment later, he was sitting in his new vehicle, one he’d picked himself. At first glance, it wasn’t anything amazing, but the chassis looked like it might have come from a hopper, one of the nimble off-road vehicles used by the Beacon for deployments. It wasn’t very big, more of a two-seater, though in the back two more could squeeze in if they were willing to put up with the lack of space. He threw in two crates of fuel cells and more supplies for the journey.

Then, at his command, Rees opened up the engine. Clean. Newly installed. As the heart of the vehicle, it would run and endure. The bodywork wasn’t in the best shape, but it held together, and later it could be sanded down and repainted. But that could wait.

Now he just needed to get away. Away from Kanice, away from those who thought they were predators until they learned what that really meant.

In the rearview mirror, the junkyard flickered past for a moment. Rising black smoke, blood in the dust. Another place he’d never return to. Another place that would curse the alter and wish him nothing but the worst.

He didn’t care.

He had to keep going. Westward.