Night’s hot breath pressed against the stone tower as Filip settled onto the only rickety wooden bench left unoccupied. Below, lantern halos dotted the empty streets; above, the tower’s single window framed a yawning, indifferent city. Once in a while a drunken shout or a scuffle at the gates would shatter the quiet as some lost soul argued for another drink, or an unlucky wanderer got caught in the Garden District’s trap, but mostly Filip fought to keep his eyes open.

He yawned and shrugged his stiff shoulders, twisting his head right and left, more to avoid staring at his cohort’s sprawled figure blocking most of his view out the window than to actually relieve the aching. His eyes drooped and he rubbed at them furiously. No one would care if he slept. That bothered Filip the most, no one would even notice.

Filip could not remember the precise reason why he had joined the night watch. It had been obvious once, but no longer. The passion had gone, leaving only the childish dreams of heroism that would not leave him. Even now he pictured himself with sword drawn, a shield against whatever darkness the city could produce. He tried to hate the daydreams, to push them back, but only succeeded in hating that he hated it, because what was wrong with wanting to be something?

The daydreams stupidly remained, but despite his mind’s heroics, Filip could feel a part of himself die every night when he arrived for his shift to such apathy from the other watch members. They barely acknowledged his existence, and acknowledged the city’s even less so. Filip turned and Durham, the perfect example of the Night Watch’s corruption, swallowed his entire view. When had he seen Durham sober, much less outside the Watch’s quarters? The bastard spent his shifts dozing, drinking, and pissing onto the darkened streets below, not even bothering to use the toilet located on the flight below their quarters.

Filip felt his lip twitch up in disgust as Durham barely avoided suffocating himself in his own rolls of fat as he shifted in his sleep. Truly a revolting sight, and one that Filip had sadly been unable to get used to. As far as Filip could tell, Durham had simply moved in one day and no one had thought to stop him. The man certainly never did anything of use.

Sadly, old Durham was not an exception. Filip’s eyes moved across the room taking in the sea of waste. Brek had fallen asleep mid-meal again, a crust of bread balanced on his chest, rising and falling. Across from him, Aldric sat propped against the wall with his knees up, a crust of something yellow dried at the corner of one eye, the lid swollen and glistening. Filip had stopped lending his spare uniform to anyone months ago. He had scrubbed and beaten the cloth until his knuckles ached, and still could not get the smell out.

How this motley crew of decrepit, diseased, and altogether disgusting wastes of life was expected to help anyone, Filip had no idea. But here they were, proof of the societal collapse his parents always warned him of when he’d told them of his plans to move here and make his name.

His thoughts turned back, hesitantly at first as he stood and wandered over to the open window looking down over the darkened city. The unpleasant odor barely lessened as he stepped onto the rickety wood platform circling the ancient stone watchtower. The night breeze was languid, and the night air was sticky and warm. The area was temperate year round, the winters never as cold as he’d had growing up in the mountains to the north, but also the summers never so hot that you needed to hide from the heat as he had heard was common in the distant southern territories.

Many enjoyed this tepid weather, but Filip had grown to despise it. Unthinkingly he tugged uselessly at his uniform collar, trying to pull the sticky clothing from his body and let some cool air in. Filip found the heat was always just warm enough for him to be uncomfortable, and the humid air filled with the smells you would unfortunately expect from a crowded agricultural based city.

Despite his constant complaints though, he was apparently the only one bothered by it.

The great wheel of progress had moved mountains in some cities, or so he had heard, and entire buildings were devoted to cleaning, healing the sick, or housing the undesirables away from sight. He’d even heard of some buildings purely for selling gowns, or jewels. But here in Marchand, there was no such reprieve.

His eyes wandered and he felt them drawn towards the capital building, far on the horizon. The only building lit, standing stark against the darkened streets below. The building stood in contrast to the old mashed together streets, and tumble of houses built atop each other haphazardly around it. Why had the Governor chosen to build the spectacle when so many around lived utterly destitute and in shacks?

He couldn't say what had driven the Governor to display this level of ostentatious wealth, but he supposed the man had earned it. And really, the beautiful marbled building brought a small amount of prestige to the city. In his short time there, Filip had come to admire the structure, and the immaculately maintained gardens and various government buildings around it, the only barrier between them and the city a thin stone wall dividing the riff raff from the governing class.

Filip supposed he fit squarely into the riff raff class, but he didn't mind all that much. Why should everyone be equal? Then there wouldn't be anything for him to strive for. He wasn't one to wallow away in self pity and envy, though he was envious, and admittedly had done his fair share of wallowing.

No, Filip was destined for greatness, and one day he knew he would be in those halls, his own entourage of body guards, though unneeded of course. He flexed his hand and felt for the short, rusty sword strapped to his waist. He would be there one day, he just needed an opportunity to prove he deserved it. One day he would be among kings, so for now he could accept his lot in life.

He turned from the darkened streets and lazily swatted at a fly buzzing around his face, a token gesture at best, which only seemed to aggravate the pest. He sighed and moved back into the stuffy room, his eyes moving across the dozen sleeping men. At last the fly quit bothering him and landed on Kino’s face, likely drawn by the spilled wine dried on the corners of his mouth, the wineskin still perched precariously on his belly, every heave of his breathing causing another small dribble from the loosely closed vessel to run its way down his stained and torn uniform.

Kino was not a bad man, and was likely the best of the lot, except for Filip of course. But that was not a high bar to meet, and even meeting that bar Kino was a useless bumbling drunk, the only saving grace his generally cheerful and friendly attitude. But everyone had bad days, and lately even Kino had begun to sour, much like the unwashed clothes and rug he lay sprawled on. Was this Filip’s destiny?

Durham made a sharp wheeze, and the man rolled partially over, nearly crushing the guard slumped against the wall nearby. A dribble of half eaten food slid from his great maw, now hanging loosely open. Yellow, rotten teeth briefly made their appearance before disappearing behind a sluglike tongue that seemed to instinctively reach out, licking at the food now caked on the right corner of his lips.

Filip felt his gorge rising and turned away, momentarily overwhelmed by the putrid odor now flowing from the man's mouth in sick wheezes. The smell seemed to overtake even the horrendous stench of the room and left Filip with tears in his eyes.

Through the whole, disgusting performance, no one else had even budged. Filip clamped a hand across his nose and decided that he was no longer tired, and decidedly needed some fresh air. Without another thought he pushed his way through the sleeping guards and made it out of the room.

Already feeling better to be free of the confining upper quarters, he trudged down the steps, and arrived at the first landing in the tower. An assortment of cloaks and personal effects lined one wall, and on another a cramped kitchen, and the open entry to the toilet chamber. Piles of hay lined the entry to the toilet, and the brief feeling of freedom quickly evaporated as he made his way through the narrow kitchen past the stinking waste that he knew was within.

Down another set of stairs and there was the main guard tower entry, three unlit torches and one of the newer style lamps hung to the right side of the door. Filip picked up the lamp and carefully lit it as he passed out into the darkness surrounding their tower. The light came alive and shone clearly through the glass as he hooked it onto the top of his walking staff. It swung rhythmically as he walked down the silent streets, casting shadows everywhere he looked.

Filip felt alive once again, and the depression that he hadn't even realized had set in began to fade as he moved farther away from the tower. Why had he not done this sooner? He felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he walked, and the childish daydreams came rolling back in. Here he was, a brave night watchman, stalking the city streets ready to quell any violence, and look damn sharp while doing it. He threw his shoulders back and furrowed his brow, putting on a look of fiery stoicism, or what he imagined it would look like having never seen anyone who remotely fit the description.

He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword as he walked, the walking stick in his other hand clicking in time with his boots in a satisfying sort of way that made his heart race. What if he was ambushed by bandits? What if he stumbled upon a group of thieves, or even the sorcerers of old crafting up some dark spells?

His pace picked up and he barely noticed as one street turned into another, and then melded into yet another. His mind raced with heroic scenarios, and visions of his brave deeds as he first set one wrong right, and then another. Perhaps he would even save a pretty maiden, who would of course swoon and faint at the fearlessness with which he disposed of one foe after another, before he finally swept her off her feet and took her back to her appreciative, and more importantly rich, family.

What fine rewards he would undoubtedly receive, and of course marriage. Why, he could see it now. Not just any maiden, but the Governor’s own daughter. With one heroic action he would become Royalty, and have the life he had always known he deserved, and even more, he would prove his parents and siblings who doubted him wrong.

Filip rubbed at his elbow absently where a mosquito had managed to get at him through his thin uniform. A foolproof plan, really. The heroics he could manage, he was certain of that much. The woman was trickier. He frowned at the thought, then shrugged it off. With any luck she would simply appear, grateful and in need of rescue. He nodded to himself, satisfied, and his smile crept back as his thoughts wandered pleasantly through the faces of the eligible ladies of Marchand.

A grinding metal shriek tore open the night and all thought of heroics were gone in a flash. Filip’s hands flew to his ears but the terrible sound was already inside him, rattling his teeth, vibrating the fluid behind his eyes. His knees buckled and he went down hard on the cobblestones, the sound pressing on him from every direction at once like a physical weight, and then it stopped, and the silence that replaced it was somehow worse.

Filip’s eyes snapped open to nothing. Pure black. He scrambled to his feet and drove the heels of his hands into his eyes until white light burst through the dark, and when he pulled them away the darkness slammed back down. He looked up, gasping, and found only a thin blade of moonlight cutting between the leaning houses above him, their upper stories nearly touching and sealing him in.

He looked down. Through the sliver of moonlight he saw that the lamp lay in pieces at his feet, its oil spreading in a dark halo across the cobblestones, the last of its flame already guttered out and gone.

Filip cursed his momentary slip in stoicism and quickly found the hilt of his sword. Tension he hadn't realized he had quickly disappeared at its comforting presence. His eyes blinked more and he slowly began to make his way through the darkened streets, his eyes taking in the twisting misery around him. He had found himself in the Garden district, the one place a night watchman did not want to be found after dark.

His eyes panned across the dingy, stinking streets. He could see them now, bodies huddled next to broken doors and under awnings above. More to his right now that he could see. How had he missed the turn? He breathed in and out cautiously, daring not to disturb the homeless, dirty peasants in heaps all around. A few of them had clearly heard the grinding noise a few moments before, and a few eyes shone like pinpricks in the darkness around him, moving lazily around before settling on him, the newcomer.

Any moment now Filip expected himself to be torn limb from limb by some drunkard, or set upon for money. But despite all the warnings he had heard about not policing the Garden district, he couldn't help but feel underwhelmed. The few eyes that looked out at him slowly faded from view, and once again he was seemingly left alone, though the realization that there were dozens of vagrants and undesirables mere feet away from him in the darkness had chased all daydreams and ambitions from his mind.

Filip clutched at his sword, but did not draw it lest he find himself the center of more unwanted attention. But now, reason was returning, and he began to wonder about the rending noise that had nearly deafened him. He continued to lope down the streets until he found a crossroad. Where had the noise come from? He scratched at his chin between his scraggly unkempt beard where the patches had not quite filled in as he pondered the question.

While the noise had shaken him, it still seemed to be ringing in his right ear ever so slightly more than his left. With more bravery than sense, Filip set off down the path on his right. The open bridge he found was a relief—no awnings, no huddled shapes, just the cold river smell and the sound of moving water beneath him. His spirits lifted further as a small mill materialized out of the dark at the waterfront, and with it the realization of where he was.

The Governor’s wall rose ahead, massive and pale as bone in the moonlight. Beyond it, something glowed. Filip’s feet slowed without his permission. He stood there a moment, just looking, before he rounded the corner and the mansion lurched up into the sky above him—gold threading through carved vines at every window, marble columns climbing into the dark, the whole enormous thing pressing down on him like a massive weight.

Once again he felt for his sword hilt, and this time he felt his chest swell with pride to even be basking in the shadow of such grandeur. Of course the Governor had his own legion of guards, practically a small army, but maybe Filip could show that he was worthy of being counted among them. He could be content to ride Royalty’s coattails for a time in life, it would help him be ready for when his own place in history opened up.

Filip marched up to the wall and turned one way, then another scouting the perimeter where it butted up against the shacks and crushed dreams of those that lived beside it. Filip’s gut told him that this was close to the sound's origin, but so far he could find no proof. What’s more he could hear nothing beyond the wall. Surely the Governor had heard the noise and would have his own men investigating.

Filip paused in a puddle and dragged his fingers back through his greasy locks, pressing them into the swept-back style he had seen on the Royal guards. It would do. He would make an impression on them, and perhaps on whatever maiden happened to be watching. He resumed his march, satisfied that Royalty, in its own time, had a way of finding those who were meant for it.

On he marched, along the wall running parallel to the river, his eyes sweeping for anything out of place, and only in the back of his mind wondering why he was the only one looking, and why the streets were still so dead after such a noise. Truly only the dead could’ve slept through it.

Filip’s left boot splashed in a deep puddle and he cursed as water soaked through the threadbare leather and sloshed noisily with every step. Still the water in his boot was warm, and not at all like the icy river’s water to his right.

Further he strode, his hopes of heroics and rewards diminished only the barest as he continued on, and his mood still high despite the noisy sucking from every step.

Step, slosh, step, slosh.

Finally he saw something, a flood of light pouring from around the corner of the latest hovel on his left. He quickly moved around the corner and felt the breath freeze in his throat.

The Governor’s wall had been destroyed in a section as wide as Filip was tall. Giant stones lay strewn around, mixed with mortar, and the ruins of what he quickly realized used to be someone’s home, now completely leveled as if crushed under a giant's foot. He gingerly stepped into the light and moved into the Governor’s massive courtyard just beyond the wall, eyes blinking at the flood of light now assaulting his eyes.

As his eyes adjusted to the blinding light, he began to see cloth mounds nearly completely covering the carefully maintained grounds. Though he had only seen the inside of the courtyard from high atop the guard tower, the colours were nothing like he remembered. In place of the greens and blues he has seen from afar, everything before him was covered by grey cloth, some of them showing scarlet swirls, oddly mesmerizing in its own way, but nothing like the peaceful green he had grown accustomed to.

His eyes swam and he realized now there was a deep burning sensation, and he realized with a start that there was smoke in the air. He blinked and turned trying to find the source, not believing that the courtyard’s torches could be enough to cause his eyes this much distress. He saw nothing, but still the scent of burnt meat nearly made him puke.

His eyes fell to the ground and he realized with a start his left boot was deep red, almost black, and his other boot was liberally dashed with specks of red as well. He grunted and reached down, feeling the slimy red and watching in horror as his fingers came away wet with blood. Had he hurt himself in the commotion? Had a lowlife managed to cut him without him knowing?

Filip sat down and kicked his boot off in a rush, adrenaline flooding him as he peeled the sticky red sock from his foot. Foot free now, he searched it for cuts or injuries, but found none.

He thought back to the puddle he had stepped in, and the odd warmth. His stomach churned, his mind filling with impossible thoughts, even more so than normal. Could there have been that much blood to create a puddle? He had seen no signs of violence, but then he had been in the dark. What horrors might he have missed?

He brought his eyes up and took in the courtyard with new eyes, eyes looking for violence, and he did not have far to look for it.

The mounds of grey fabric, now he saw feet, and hair, and an ever growing amount of blood. He shot to his feet, his bare foot slick in the grass nearly sending him over as he found himself lurching unsteadily backwards. His eyes ran over the sight again and again, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, to make sense of the sheer amount of death surrounding him.

His back pressed against a wall, and he realized he had fallen back against the exterior courtyard wall, likely near where he had entered. His arms scrambled against the cold wall and he slumped to the ground trying to hide from the bodies even as he uselessly counted them. He gave up and clamped his eyes shut, willing this nightmare to be over.

Breathing. Filip almost missed it between his own ragged breaths, but the sound was unmistakable, and out of sync with his own. His eyes jerked open and he found his eyes locked with those of some other being barely a fist width away from his own face.

Pure black eyes gazed into his own, and Filip felt his body go rigid, and a wet warmth begin to spread within his trousers.

The face was nearly as grey as the clothes on the corpses all around him, skin wrinkled and torn, textured like a rough hewn field. Framing the face was a smattering of wild, white untamed hairs. Bloodless pale lips surrounded a cruel mouth, with teeth capped with metal. A single gold ringlet rested above the being's head; one could scarcely call this a man.

Filip tried to look away from the terrible face, to examine the figure further, but he could not draw his eyes away from it. The face was twisted now, moving. He felt a prickling sensation below his chin and realized with a start that something sharp was pressed against it.

The grey lips continued to move, but no words came forth, or at least none he recognized as such. There was a sound though, something unlike anything he had heard before. An odd bird like singing, a rush of ever changing sounds, harsh chirps and clicks. Not words, but something else. The mouth twisted upward, in an animal’s interpretation of a smile. No hint of warmth touched those black eyes, the wrinkled skin barely twitched from lines that were already set, as the edges of the mouth stretched up revealing still more metal capped teeth.

The pressure in Filip’s chin exploded into blinding pain and he gasped sharply, sucking in a breath of smoky air, the scent of overpowering ember right before his nose. His vision swam and he collapsed hard against the wall behind him, and darkness overtook him.