CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

A Hard Day's Work

I accepted Lirien's request and told her everything. I spoke about my time in the fog—about my long sleeps and the strange notion that I might be an experiment from before the fog's arrival, having lived for an immeasurably long time, most of it spent in a state of suspended sleep. I admitted I might never have actually been in District 7; it was merely the direction I walked from. I also explained how I had formed a core because of my adaptability, and I spoke of the corruption as best as I understood it. Truthfully, I had no clue why those districts were destroyed the day I arrived—maybe pure coincidence, maybe not, but I had no solid answers.

Regarding the corruption, I confessed I knew very little. I barely grasped what wills were, let alone why I could be corrupted yet still remain stable at the same time. Lirien listened to it all without interruption. Partway through, she took me into a soundproof room inside the mansion, recognizing how grave this was.

She was, naturally, unsettled by the corruption, and she seemed surprised but wary at the idea that the ward could heal people of it—provided they did not remain in the fog too long. Just as I expected, she decided the knowledge of this corruption should stay between us. She explicitly told me not to mention most of it, not even to Elina. I agreed, reasoning that fewer people knowing meant fewer complications.

When it came to me harnessing mana, she acknowledged most people did not know much about it. She revealed that she and the other Chainrunner Captains had access to a special drug, one she was not ready to describe in detail. It allowed them to use mana without forming a core, but there was only enough of it left for a few more generations of captains—so it had to stay secret.

Not even Tarin knew about this, although he would eventually have access once he became a full Chainrunner.

Some in the ward had always treated Lirien like a monster, given her ability to fight beasts with inhuman strength and speed. Nobles in high families understood the truth, but ordinary people chalked it up to the fog changing her.

In a way, that belief was not entirely wrong. Even regular people—Chainrunners—often came back sharper, changed after surviving the fog. No one dared raise a fist against them because they sensed that anyone who lasted out there would naturally become something more, or less, than human. They believed we all turned into monsters, the same kind found in the fog.

It suited us to leave that story unchallenged. People would just assume the fog had changed me, and that was not a lie. It simply was not the whole truth. Explaining how mana worked and why some individuals could wield it while others could not would cause trouble we did not need. There was not enough of that mysterious drug for everyone anyway, so it was better to keep silent.

Meanwhile, Dain had already sorted the beasts I brought in. Crews were transferring them to the Chainrunner headquarters and a few other facilities, categorizing and documenting each specimen to decide what should be done with them. Although the Chainrunners occasionally dealt with beast corpses, this time the volume was so large that it posed a serious logistical challenge. Many species were not even in the records yet. She mentioned my bestiary was proving helpful, and she asked me personally about each fight—my tactics and experiences since hearing it firsthand was different from just reading the entries.

I felt a certain pride in telling her. Sharing details of how I fought and survived made me realize how far I had come, and she seemed just as intrigued by my ability to "evolve" like the creatures out there.

She also told me to wear my badge on my clothes from now on. So I pinned it to Hazeveil, which seemed not to mind the slight prick. I took that as a small victory, no protest from my cloak and continued to follow Lirien's lead, mindful of the secrets we now shared.

Sleep hadn't crossed my mind since Lirien's talk. My body hummed with a restless energy, sharp and unyielding, like I'd tapped into something that wouldn't let me rest. But I had nothing to fill the hours ahead. I'd wanted to see Meris, sit with her again, hear her steady voice cut through the quiet. But she'd still be asleep, oblivious to the weight of everything I'd just laid bare. No use hovering for that.

So I decided to head to the Chainrunners Headquarters instead. The morning air hit me as I stepped out, cool and damp, clinging to my skin. I walked slow, taking in the district waking up around me. The energy-powered lamps lining the center flickered, their faint buzz cutting off one by one as switches flipped somewhere out of sight. Above, the fog hung thick, but slivers of pale light streaked through, softening the edges of the gray. It felt calm, almost still—peaceful in a way I hadn't expected after last night.

That quiet didn't last. The closer I got to the headquarters, the more it unraveled. A low hum grew into a clamor—voices shouting, boots stomping, crates rattling. People swarmed the streets, more than I'd ever seen in this corner of District 98, especially so early. Chainrunners, guards, volunteers—they darted back and forth, hauling loads, barking orders. I stopped for a moment, watching them move like ants around a kicked nest. They'd been at it all night, I figured, handling the mess I'd left behind, those dozens of beast corpses I'd brought in from the fog, piled up like a grim gift.

"Out of the way, boy," a rough voice snapped, pulling me out of my thoughts. A tall man loomed ahead, arms straining under a crate stuffed with beast parts—claws, scales, bits of flesh I couldn't place. The load was heavy, even for him, and he was weaving through the crowd, probably headed to some storage shed across the district.

I glanced around. Guards stood at every corner, eyes sharp, hands on weapons. No one was stealing—just moving, sorting, struggling to find space for it all. The headquarters couldn't hold everything I'd brought, not even close. I'd dumped too much, and now they were scrambling.

I realized too late I hadn't moved. The man stopped short, his crate thudding to the ground with an angry grunt. He glared down at me, sweat beading on his forehead. "I said out of the way, boy," he growled, louder this time. "Which part didn't you hear?"

Fair question—I was blocking him, staring like an idiot. But then his eyes flicked to Hazeveil, catching the badge pinned there. My cloak shifted around me, draping me in shadow even here in the ward's dim light. It wasn't as strong as in the fog, but it still hid me enough that I didn't blame him for missing it at first. I didn't mind his tone either; I'd earned it, standing there like a wall.

He didn't see it that way. His face changed—squinting, then widening as he connected the dots: the badge, the cloak, me. "Wait," he said, voice catching, "you're that kid, right?"

I tilted my head, genuinely unsure. "Which kid?"

"No, no, I didn't mean kid," he stammered, backtracking fast. "I meant—the apprentice… no, the…" He fumbled, words tripping over each other like he couldn't pin me down.

"You mean the one who came back from the fog?" I offered, keeping it simple. "Yeah, that's me. Sorry for blocking your way." I stepped aside, giving him space.

His eyes went wide, nervous now, flickering between me and the crate. "No, no, sir," he said, too quick, hands gesturing like he'd offended me. "No need to apologize—I should've seen you, but this crate blocked my view. I was in your way. Please, go ahead." He shuffled back, clearing a path, his voice shaky.

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What a nice guy, I thought, nodding as I passed. His heartbeat thumped loud in my ears—fast, uneven, even without me focusing. Fear, maybe? I didn't get it; I wasn't here to hurt anyone. The sound faded as I crossed into the headquarters, the door creaking shut behind me.

Inside, the main floor was a storm. Dozens of people moved in every direction—Chainrunners lugging beast corpses in, volunteers carting parts out, guards overseeing the chaos. Crates stacked high, some headed for storage, others for processing elsewhere. I stood there, just inside the entrance, letting it wash over me. This place used to be dead quiet, heavy with dread, like it was holding its breath. Now it buzzed, alive with purpose, every corner loud and moving.

They'd heard about me by now. The kid who'd walked out of the fog after years. People said the fog turned survivors into monsters, and maybe they saw me that way too. A child, sure, but dangerous. I caught the looks—nods from some Chainrunners, quick salutes from others as they passed. Respect, fear, something in between. My badge marked me now: Artifact Holder, a title that weighed more than I'd expected.

Dain was in the thick of it, a whirlwind directing traffic—pointing, shouting, somehow everywhere at once. But he looked rough. His face was pale, almost gray, like he hadn't slept since I'd dropped that haul on them. Was he sick? I wondered, keeping my distance to avoid the rush. I didn't want to block anyone again, so I edged along the wall, watching him work.

It took a while, longer than I'd thought before he finally paused. He leaned against a crate, catching his breath, shoulders slumping. I stepped up behind him, keeping my voice low. "Seems busy here. How's it going?"

He turned slow, his face blank, too drained for much expression. "And who's at fault for that?" he said, no anger in it—just a tired jab.

I winced a little. "Sorry for the work. You should sleep."

He managed a small smile, faint but real. "Just joking," he said, straightening up. "It was a hell of a surprise, though. Could've warned us before dumping all that, but it's a good one—especially you wanting it shared with the district. No sleep for me now, though."

"Glad it's helping," I said, meaning it. "But don't you have someone to cover for you? Take a break?"

He shook his head, a shadow crossing his face. "Had one once. She died in the veteran run years back. Most here are muscle, not thinkers—brute force, no brains. So it's on me." His voice dipped, a flicker of pain breaking through. Then he brightened slightly, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Congrats on the title, though. Badge looks good."

"Thanks," I muttered, feeling it didn't fit me yet. If the ward breached, I wouldn't be sure I could defend anyone.

Dain tilted his head, studying me. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Nothing, really," I said, shrugging. "I came to help."

He blinked, surprised. "Help? Here?"

"Why not?" I said. "You all look like you need it."

"Yeah, but…" He hesitated, frowning. "You're an Artifact Holder now. This kind of work is beneath you."

I didn't get that. "Why? I'm a Chainrunner too—still an apprentice till I'm of age. Isn't it my duty to help?"

"Sure," he conceded, "but we don't expect you to." Just then, Tarin lumbered by, a massive crate wobbling in his arms. He couldn't see past it, didn't even notice us, grunting with every step.

I crossed my arms, stubborn. "I can carry crates. I might not look it, but I'm strong."

Dain sighed, giving up. "Fine, no matter. You want to haul crates, go for it. Join that line—someone'll hand you one. Follow the guy ahead, drop it where he does." He pointed, and I went.

The line stretched ahead, a mix of Chainrunners and workers hauling crates packed with beast parts—claws, hides, jagged bones spilling over the edges. I slipped in at the back, my boots scuffing the floor, and a few heads turned. Gasps rippled through, murmurs buzzing low, but nothing loud enough to stop the work. It was simple: grab a crate, follow the person ahead, drop it where they did. Easy, almost calming after everything else. I could've used my storage ring—moved it all in one go, but that'd ruin their system, leave me with nothing to do. So I stayed, hands empty for now, watching.

This was new, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with so many Chainrunners for so long. The air felt lighter than I'd expected, not thick with the grief that'd hung over them after the last failed run. They moved with purpose, voices cutting through the clatter, and I could sense it, the sorrow was fading, replaced by something else.

"Hey, look, we got another apprentice," a voice called out, sharp and young. I glanced up. A tall man, lean, maybe twenty or so, stood a few spots ahead, balancing a crate on his shoulder. His uniform tag read "Gorin."

"An apprentice?" Another voice, deeper, rumbled back. This one was bigger—broad shoulders, thick arms—maybe a year or two older than Gorin. His tag said "Wulric." He turned, squinting at me through the crowd.

"Yeah," I said, keeping it short. "I'm an Apprentice Chainrunner."

Wulric nodded, shifting his crate. "Good. We've been at this all night—still tons left. About time they called in more hands."

"No shit, Wulric," Gorin shot back, grinning. "Dozens of beasts still to go. You seen those ones with all the eyes? Creepy as hell. If I ran into that out there, I'd bolt and never stop."

Wulric snorted, slamming a fist into his palm. "I have. Imagine the guy who took it down."

"They say it was that kid—Omen," Gorin said, lowering his voice.

I kept quiet, eyes on the line as it inched forward. They didn't seem to notice me, too caught up in their talk. Hazeveil draped over me, its shadow softening my edges enough to blend me in. The crate line shuffled along, slow and steady.

"Yeah, I heard," Wulric replied, a shiver in his tone. "Wasn't there when he showed up, but they said Omen gave off a vibe—like the beasts out there. Lost in the fog for years. Must've turned him into some kind of monster."

"I saw it," Gorin cut in, his voice dropping as he remembered. "Only done two runs myself, but I know that feeling, staring at those things in the fog. Omen felt the same. Weird as hell. Pulled out all those monsters from some artifact like it was nothing. You should've been there."

Their words drifted over me, steady as the line moved. I didn't stick out, tall figures like Gorin and Wulric blocked me from view, and Hazeveil did the rest. A few other apprentices shuffled nearby, younger ones like me, but only Tarin was hauling crates. I'd seen him earlier, staggering under a load, and he didn't loop back until I'd already grabbed mine. My crate was smaller, lighter than theirs—easy to carry, leaving my view clear as I trailed behind Gorin and Wulric.

They were new, I gathered. Gorin, a criminal forced into the Chainrunners last year; Wulric, a volunteer who'd signed up not long ago. Both had tasted the fog a few times, survived a couple runs. It was odd, hearing their take—fresh voices, not worn down yet. They hadn't clocked my badge, didn't know I was right there, and I let them talk.

We reached the storage building, a squat structure a good walk from the headquarters. The line filtered in, crates thudding down one by one. Gorin set his down, turning to me as I approached. "Great job, new guy," he said, wiping his hands. "Better toughen up—plenty more to move. That little monster couldn't stop killing out there, brought it all back."

I dropped my crate next to his, straightening up. Hazeveil shifted, the badge catching the light—no hiding it now. Wulric's eyes snagged on it, widening. He grabbed Gorin's arm, cutting him off mid-breath. "Gorin, look," he hissed, pointing.

Gorin froze, mouth half-open, staring at the Artifact Holder badge. I shrugged, keeping my voice level. "Should've warned you about the beasts, I get that now. But if it helps, I'll keep hunting. Probably means more work like this down the line."

His face went slack, color draining. "No, no, I didn't mean—" he stammered, hands up like he'd insulted me. "Little monster was just… a figure of speech, you know, like a…"

He was apologetic, but he wasn't wrong—I was just like the beasts out there. Yet, the longer I stood in the district, the more I felt something shifting, a faint understanding creeping in about the cycle, about the rules. Was this the first glimpse of the next rule? A new insight forming? I couldn't shake the thought that being here, away from the fog, was revealing something I had struggled to grasp while lost in its depths.

"I am a monster," I said, cutting through his panic. "Just don't call me little. Like you said, there's more to carry. Let's go."

"Yes, sir," they said together, voices tight, almost synchronized. They fell in step as we headed back, the line waiting ahead.

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