ShadowBound: The Need For Power

A few minutes later, the young man lay sprawled out in the dirt, flat on his back beneath the harsh afternoon sun. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his nose, and a fresh cut on his brow—but despite the beating, his makeshift cloth mask still clung stubbornly to his face.

As he blinked up at the sky, a shadow fell across him, pulling his gaze upward. Standing over him was none other than the round, self-important oaf himself—Hendel—with a smug smirk twisting his face.

"Well, looks like things got messy just like you said," Hendel mocked, hands on his wide hips. "Shame they got messy for you."

He turned with a satisfied grunt and began walking away, only to pause between the looming figures of his two guards. "Get him outta here."

The guards obeyed with little hesitation, each grabbing one of the man's arms and dragging him across the dirt like a sack of garbage. They hauled him a good distance away from the site before unceremoniously dumping him back into the dust.

"Next time, don't make threats you can't back up with action, you filth," one of the guards sneered before casting a final glance at the man and turning back to rejoin the others.

Left alone under the sweltering sun, the young man groaned softly, then rolled to his side with a faint grunt of pain.

"Damn," he muttered, a dry scoff escaping his lips, "those guys hit just like those little girls back then…"

He pushed himself upright with effort, sitting up and exhaling through clenched teeth. "The meatball really tried to short me." He chuckled under his breath, then reached into his tunic and produced not one, not two, but three coin pouches, all jingling with the unmistakable clink of gold.

"But thank the gods I got his pouch. And those two idiots' too."

He juggled the pouches lightly in one hand, grinning like a thief in the night. "Heh… Told him it'd get messy."

With that, he undid the wrap across his face, revealing a well-defined nose and a sharply carved jawline. His smirk widened as he opened one of the pouches, plucking out a single gold coin. He tossed it lazily into the air.

"There you go, girl."

Just as the coin reached its peak, a raven swooped in out of nowhere, snatching it with precise timing. As it flew past, its voice echoed with an ethereal, almost mythical tone.

"Thank you… Marcus."

Still sitting in the dirt, Marcus tilted his head to watch the raven disappear into the horizon, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Then, with a stretch and a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and began walking toward a nearby alleyway.

"Well," he muttered, "this oughta keep me and the old man afloat for two, maybe three months."

He stopped beside a wooden bucket brimming with water and dipped his hands in, splashing his face and hair to rinse off the grime and blood. Then he peeled off his dirtied tunic, revealing the lean muscle beneath, and used the cold water to clean his arms and chest.

"Guess my body's tougher than I thought," he said with a lopsided grin. "Took a whole beating, and I'm barely sore. Bunch'a weaklings…"

Once satisfied, he dunked the tunic into the water, scrubbing his pants and boots before wringing the cloth out and tossing it aside. Then he made his way toward a stack of crates nestled in a corner of the alley. Behind them, he pulled out a weathered brown leather shoulder bag. He unzipped it, slid in the three coin pouches, then reached further back and retrieved a black shirt.

Slipping it on—leaving the top two buttons undone to show a hint of his chest—he pulled out a dark brown leather jacket and threw it on as well. From his pocket, he produced a rubber tie and quickly worked his hair back into a messy bun.

"Hah… refreshed," he sighed contentedly, shouldering his bag and sliding both hands into his pockets.

"Welp," he muttered, strolling deeper into the alley, "time to head back home. Hustling for three months straight ain't exactly easy."

His stomach let out a growl.

"Maybe I should grab some good roasted beef on the way… I am starving."

"Isn't that a coincidence," came a voice, smooth and familiar, "I also happen to be hungry."

Marcus froze mid-step and slowly turned his head. Leaning against the alley wall stood a striking figure clad in black from head to toe, save for the crisp white shirt beneath her coat. Her red hair was braided into a long ponytail, and though the new style gave her face a slightly different air, Marcus could never mistake her—not in a thousand lifetimes.

Princess Serah.

He turned fully toward her, his smile growing with lazy charm.

"Wow," he said, voice low and amused, "so I was right about fate wanting us to meet again."

***

After that, Serah managed to convince Marcus to follow her deeper into the bustling city of Heyh, eventually guiding him to a restaurant tucked along one of the quieter streets. It was a modest yet elegant place, the kind that catered to those with coin but preferred to avoid the noise of grand halls.

Marcus, of course, had no interest in conversation, and made that known with every sluggish step. But food was involved—and more importantly, it wasn't his money being spent—so he followed without protest.

Now they sat at a small table for two, nestled beneath a well-shaded canopy that kept the blinding afternoon sunlight at bay and offered some illusion of privacy among the scattered patrons.

In front of Serah sat a simple meal: a portion of seasoned rice accompanied by vegetables, a savory sauce, and neatly sliced cuts of meat. She ate with a natural elegance that wasn't meant to draw attention—but still did. A few wandering eyes from nearby tables had started drifting her way, much to her irritation.

Across from her, Marcus was doing the exact opposite of blending in. He wasn't just eating—he was devouring. Three white ceramic plates were arranged before him like offerings to a hungry god. The first had once held a whole grilled beef roast, bones and all. The second mirrored Serah's plate, but with noticeably more meat. And the third, which he was now tending to, was a deep bowl of soup made from tiger beast meat.

The first two plates were scraped clean, pushed slightly to the side, as Marcus focused entirely on finishing the third.

"You know," Marcus began between bites, "for our first date, this is really ideal. I mean, you've already figured out my love language, princess."

Serah's eyes snapped to his face with a sharp glare. She leaned in slightly and lowered her voice. "I told you not to call me that. I don't want my identity getting out."

"Oh, right. Totally forgot. You're Mabel Hevtin now, yeah?" Marcus replied with a smirk.

"Yes. Mabel. Just Mabel. Forget the 'Hevtin.'" Serah said firmly.

Marcus gave a low chuckle, then lifted the soup bowl and took a long, slow sip, eyes fluttering closed in exaggerated appreciation. Setting the bowl back down, he exhaled contentedly.

Serah, finishing her own meal in silence, nudged her plate aside and lifted her glass of water, taking a sip while still watching him.

"You," she said at last, her tone calm but sharp as a dagger, "are enjoying this way too much."

"I enjoy free food," Marcus shrugged, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Especially when it's coming from a secretly royal lady who dragged me into a city full of people that'd probably slit my throat just to be sitting in my seat."

A flush bloomed across Serah's cheeks. "You need to shut up."

"Aww," Marcus teased, leaning forward with a grin. "Did I just make your heart flutter?"

Serah exhaled, steadying herself. She placed her glass down gently. "You really think this is a date, don't you?"

"Well," Marcus said, counting with his fingers, "you dragged me out, paid for my meal, and now you're staring at me like you're undressing me with your eyes. If this ain't a date, I dunno what is."

Rolling her eyes, Serah shook her head. "You really need to filter the words that come out of your mouth. And this is not a date. I just needed a quiet place to talk."

Marcus leaned back, plucking a tiny wooden pick from the table and starting to work at his teeth. "Then talk. I'm all ears—and a full stomach."

Serah glanced around the shaded perimeter once more. No one seemed to be paying them any mind. Then, with a subtle flick of her fingers and a low incantation under her breath, she cast a Silent spell, muffling the sound around them in a small radius.

"What are you doing here in Heyh?" she asked directly.

Marcus tilted his head, blinking. "Huh? What else? I'm here to work."

"To work?" she echoed, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," Marcus said with a casual shrug. "I need money too, you know."

Serah stared at him for a moment, studying his face. "Wait… so you're not here for Drosmir?"

"Him?" Marcus raised a brow. "No, I'm here to work for him. I mean, come on, the guy's one of the richest men in Heyh. I'm broke. Seems like a match made in heaven."

Serah's eyes narrowed slightly, confusion mixing with suspicion. "So… you're not involved in anything… shady?"

Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his tone smooth. "From the look you're giving me, it sounds like you want me to be involved in something shady."

"Well," Serah said bluntly, "unfortunately, I do think you are."

He scoffed quietly. "I'm not. Honestly. If Drosmir's your next big mission or target or whatever, then yeah—guess I walked straight into a mess. But I'm really just here to hustle. I got no schemes running. Just me, trying to make a living."

There was something in his eyes—some strange honesty—that made Serah pause. She didn't want to believe him. She couldn't fully trust him. But somehow… his voice, his mannerisms, that careless sincerity he always wore like a second skin—it all made her hesitate.

Maybe he was just here to hustle. Or maybe he was still hiding something.