Two officers sat in a booth painted blue and gold, taking cover from the rain that poured down relentlessly with a continuous patter. The smoke from the factories lay thick in these parts, and the combination of dark skies and smog made for a gloomy afternoon.

  One of the officers coughed violently.

  “Damn Lows. Smog so thick you could cut it,” he said and spat out into the rain, drumming his fingers against a saber in his lap. He looked up at his colleague, a man with a bushy mustache.

  “How did you even get this dung of a position?”

  The other officer answered while pressing tobacco into a short pipe.

  “Tactical retreat. After my superior forgot to give the obvious order.”

  “You fled?”

  “Hey, be careful what you say. Tactical retreat, I said.”

  The clean-shaven officer, the obvious junior of the two, grimaced.

  “Apologies. Didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”

  The booth stood alone in an empty square and the rain continued to pepper the painted wood. Except for the distant hum of the factories, it was quiet.

  “Was it down in the tunnels?” the junior officer continued.

  “It was,” the other answered, lighting his pipe with a match.

  The clean-shaven officer let his eyes wander to a gas-lamp nailed to the wall, a dozen winged insects fluttering against the glass.

  “Heard it was a bloodbath. If anyone’s to blame for that debacle, it’s the higher-ups.”

  The mustached officer sighed, exhaling smoke that curled through the slim booth, filling it with a sweet and prickly scent.

  “To be fair, we were well-prepared. Five Firelings among us, and a slew of Embers. But that thing…”

  An air of tension grew with the thickening tobacco smoke as the officer continued.

  “Grendel, The White Death. I’ve fought Blessed beasts before. Never alone, always as backup to the army-blessed or the hunters. They say he’s a Blessed man. I’m not sure I believe it.”

  He blew smoke out of his nose and kicked his boots up onto the tiny table in the booth.

  “Where do they come from?” His clean-shaven colleague asked. “The monsters, I mean?”

  “I heard they’re like us, they get Blessed too. The Flame’s impartial. But how you get chosen… I’m sure it's confidential.”

  His comrade nodded in thought.

  “What could that guy do, then?”

  The mustached man stared down into the pipe’s bowl and the cinders playing within, brow furrowed.

  "When we had him in a trap, he looked like any human. Then, he changed… some kind of beast. Shrugged off the steam cannons like they were raindrops. A mist appeared in the tunnels. We lost sight of him."

  One of his eyes twitched as he reminisced.

  “One by one, people disappeared. I retreated, and that’s when I found them. The ones who vanished in the fog, their heads twisted behind their backs, he’d wrung them out like wet rags.”

  His colleague sat silent, staring at him intensely.

  “That wasn’t the worst of it. We had a regroup point. An exit up to the surface, hidden. He found it and…”

  “Hey,” a voice said from the rain.

  The officers jumped to their feet with quick yelps, stumbling over chairs as pipe and saber fell to the floor. They opened their eyes wide, jaws slack with shock.

  A young man stood in the opening of the booth. He was short, with thin cords of muscles visible along his neck and collarbone. One foot had a boot far too large and the other too small. His frame was covered in layers of tattered and massacred cloth. The outer of which, perhaps once, had been called a coat.

  His face carried no tension, but was lined with thin scars across his cheeks, nose, and forehead. The largest of which split his left eyebrow and continued down his cheek.

  Rain seeped down his form, dripping from his abysmal exterior. He looked like the king of tramps.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Wretch said, with a tilt of his head.

  The clean-shaven, younger officer pulled up his saber, gripping the hilt ready to draw.

  “Why the hell are you sneaking around in a storm for!” he said, flustered.

  The boy looked over his shoulder, taking in the rain and smog, then turned back with a smile.

  “It’s not too bad.”

  The mustached officer cleared his throat and straightened his uniform, regaining some composure.

  “No harm done, citizen.” he said. “We simply didn’t expect anyone in this forsaken weather. How can we be of service? Has something happened?”

  “I became a Blessed the other day,” Wretch said carefully, still standing in the downpour. He glanced up, watching their reaction carefully.

  The two guards stared, dumbfounded.

  “I want to be a hunter,” he continued.

  Both officers blinked.

  “You?” the young, clean-shaven officer said after a moment. “You’re Blessed?”

  The mustached officer picked up his smoldering pipe from the floor.

  “Are you sure? It’s rare for civilians to ascend.”

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  “I’m sure," Wretch said and looked at him with dark eyes that seemed too large for his scarred face. "I can heal my body. And do some other stuff, too. Just look at this hand.”

  He drew back his sleeve, revealing a malformed hand. It was too small, and the skin was as smooth as a newborn’s.

  “It got bitten off, takes a bunch of flame to regenerate and it hurts like hell.”

  The Junior officer stumbled backwards at the sight of the strange limb. His comrade however nodded.

  “That looks unnatural to me, how did you become Blessed then?”

  His colleague's eyes narrowed.

  “Did you hurt anyone?”

  Wretch raised his hands.

  “Oh no, no. I just ran into a really big rat, down in the sewers.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “A rat?” the mustached officer said in disbelief.

  Wretch nodded, spreading his arms to their full length to emphasize its size.

  “A really big one. Blessed too."

  The officer stroked his mustache, raising a brow.

  “Just to confirm. Can you visualize stabbing my coworker here?” he asked, patting his colleague’s shoulder.

  “Hey!”

  “Oh, and you can step inside now before you drown,” he added, just realizing the youngling was still out in the rain.

  Wretch stepped into the booth, eyes flicking to the clean-shaven officer. The man took a cautious step back as Wretch stared at him intently.

  “There, there, he doesn't bite,” the mustached one said, amused and turned to his partner. “Feel anything? A name spark into your skull?”

  The clean-shaven officer blinked, face tightening with a mix of disgust and surprise.

  “Wretch the Rat-Eater…” he muttered.

  Wretch made an awkward face and ground his oversized boot against the floor.

  Once again they grew silent, each of the trio trying to find the right words. Finally the senior officer spoke, “do you bite?”

  Wretch tilted his head.

  “Are you a rat?”

  That earned him two blank stares.

  “No. I don’t bite,” he said at last, pushing his hands into his pockets.

  The mustached officer let out a strained chuckle, clearing his throat as he regained his formality.

  “Wretch the Rat-Eater, huh? Strange name, but you did the right thing coming here.”

  He launched into a monologue.

  “All newly-Blessed are required to report to a government employee immediately, per city law. You’ll be registered, and your blessings catalogued."

  He puffed at his pipe, only to find it had gone out.

  “From now on, you have to answer if the city needs you. In that case, you’ll be paid for your service. That’s the law, anyway.”

  He patted through his coat for a match, then gave up.

  “There’s some paperwork, but if you’d like, we can lead you to the civil office?”

  “Yes please,” Wretch said with a bow.

  “All right, I am Alik, this here is Pavlo,” the mustached officer said and gestured to his junior colleague.

  Alik reached beneath the counter, pulled out a pair of umbrellas, and the three of them stepped into the rain. The younger officer, Pavlo, still kept a safe distance. The hazy street was nearly empty, save for a lonely carriage speeding past over the cobblestone.

  “Say, junior. Wretch is a strange name. You from one of the strongholds beyond the wall?” Pavlo asked.

  Wretch looked up at him with his dark eyes, his wet hair clinging to his forehead.

  “No. I’m from Nov Yanosk, born in the slums, not really sure where.” He said with a crooked smile. “Mom never bothered with a real name. Just called me what she thought I was, a wretch. Then she sold me for coin.”

  “Hmph…. I see,” the guard muttered.

  They arrived at a tall stone building. The civil office was packed despite the weather. Civilians queued in long lines to speak with clerks behind glass windows.

  The mustached officer, Alik, guided him through the bureaucracy.

  Using a feather and ink, Wretch signed a dozen papers with near-illegible scribbles, including a confidentiality agreement. He gave a vocal report of his two blessings, which the clerk noted enthusiastically. They issued him an identification card and told him it would grant access through the inner gate.

  The three exited the building. Wretch under one umbrella, Alik and Pavlo under the other, the pair standing uncomfortably close in their uniforms.

  Dusk was drawing near but the rain had not let up. Gas lamps flickered through the haze, casting an eerie glow across the half-empty street.

  “Thank you for the help. Do you know where I can sign up to be a hunter?” Wretch asked, looking up at Alik.

  The senior officer sighed as if he had been prepared.

  “Kid I get it. You want to be one of the military greats like Gustavius the Lion or Sasha the Blade-Tide. But the army’s picky about recruiting Blessed civilians. And with a name like that, your—”

  A tap on the shoulder cut him off. Pavlo shook his head.

  “He didn’t say the army. He said the hunters.”

  “The hunters?” Alik said in confusion. “They die like flies. Who in their right mind would…” He paused, glancing down at the young man.

  Wretch gave a wide smile.

  The senior officer cleared his throat.

  “The hunters are led by Maria the Impaler, they are… a loose organization.” Alik said with a shake of his head. “Different groups up in the Spires, all with their own methods. The Bureau of the Hunt tries to oversee it all.”

  Wretch nodded.

  “Great, they must have some kind of archive.” He said more to himself than anyone else.

  “Kid, you’ve been through a lot. I can see that," Alik sighed. "But go with the third option. The Church under the Saint herself will take in any Blessed. No battles. Help the city in other ways, get paid, live decently. That’s a life worth living.”

  Wretch gave a polite bow.

  “Thank you again. You’re good people, despite being officers,” he said, returning the umbrella before stepping back into the rain.

  He turned as he walked, flashing a toothy smile and giving a wave before vanishing into the haze. Beyond him in the distance, the silhouettes of the Spires looked down through the rain, The massive jutting towers of the city's heart.

  “There’s a referral reward,” Alik said, staring into the rain. “Two pounds per Blessed. We split it evenly, yes?”

  “Sure,” Pavlo replied, leaning against the building’s fa?ade.

  For a moment, they stood silent, watching the hazy streets and the oil lamps shining through the smog.

  Pavlo broke the silence.

  “Must’ve been some rat.”

  Alik had relit his pipe and took a long drag, exhaling wisps of smoke.

  “Can you believe they don’t even name their kids in the slums anymore? Poor sod.”

  “I told you, this is a shit place to get stationed,” Pavlo said, pulling his coat tighter.

  “Also… you can’t just ascend by eating rats, right? What do you think really happened to that kid?”

  “I’m not sure I want to know," Alik looked into the night. "But that kid, he won't live long as a hunter. They never do.”