The hooded figures surrounded Silas.
A grin stretched across his face, dark and eager. "It’s finally getting interesting."
His fingers twitched toward his pistols, but he hesitated. Killing them would be easy, far too easy. “No, i shouldn''t kill them, I don''t want to make my hands dirty, atleast not in this life” Silas thought — at least not yet. He lowered his body, shifting into a fighting stance, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. The alley stank of rotting garbage and damp stone, but Silas barely noticed. The air grew heavy, tense. His heartbeat slowed. This was familiar. This was home.
A sharp shuffle of footsteps — someone lunged from behind. Silas spun, ducking low as a fist grazed past his ear. Without thinking, he twisted, thrusting his leg backward in a high arc. His boot connected with a sickening crack against the attacker''s nose, sending the man crashing into the wall behind him.
Another came from the front. Silas sidestepped, caught the incoming punch with his forearm, and drove his elbow into the man''s ribs. The hooded figure gasped, staggering back. Silas didn’t let him recover. He darted forward, grabbed the man’s arm, and twisted. A sharp pop echoed through the alley. The man howled, clutching his dislocated shoulder as he crumpled to the ground.
“Who are you people?” Silas demanded, eyes darting between the figures still standing. No answer. Only silence.
They attacked again. Silas moved like a shadow, weaving between punches and kicks. His body knew what to do before his mind caught up, every strike a memory from a life he no longer claimed. He swept the legs out from under one attacker, caught another by the collar, and slammed him into the alley wall. The man''s head lolled as he slid to the ground.
Another lunged from behind, grabbing Silas''s coat. He shrugged it off in one fluid motion and drove his elbow into the man’s stomach. The attacker doubled over, gasping for air, before Silas brought his knee up into his chin. Blood sprayed across the dirty cobblestones.
“Damn… he''s a monster…” one of the hooded figures whimpered.
“Don’t just stand there!” another barked. “Take him down!”
They rushed him all at once.
And something inside Silas snapped.
The world blurred. His breath slowed, heart pounding like a war drum. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision. He was no longer Silas Ashcroft — he was something darker, something older. A predator.
A fist came at him. Silas caught it mid-swing, twisted, and wrenched the arm backward. A shriek of pain echoed through the alley. He struck another man in the throat, sending him to the ground, gasping for air. One leaped at him from the side. Silas sidestepped, grabbed the attacker’s collar, and slammed him into the nearest wall. The body crumpled like a ragdoll.
His grin stretched wide, teeth glinting in the dim alley light. Blood dripped from his knuckles. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered. No… not whispered. Laughed.
Aldric.
Silas moved faster. His blows grew heavier. Bones cracked under his fists. He was laughing now — dark, cold laughter that echoed off the walls. The last attacker fell to his knees, trembling. Silas raised his fist, ready to strike, but something stopped him.
Clara’s face. Her smile.
The laughter died in his throat. Silas stumbled back, gasping for air. He blinked down at his trembling hands, coated in blood and dirt. Around him, the alley was silent except for the groans of the fallen. His heart raced.
"What… did I do?" He sank to his knees. His fists clenched in his lap, trembling. "I''m not him. Not anymore."
The cold wind whispered through the alley, but it did nothing to cool the fire raging inside him. He wiped the blood from his knuckles onto his coat and slowly stood. His eyes scanned the bodies around him. One of the figures tried to crawl away, dragging himself through the dirt. Silas grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upright.
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“Who are you?” Silas growled. The man whimpered but said nothing. Silas slammed him against the wall. “Who sent you?”
Still, silence. Silas pressed his pistol to the man’s forehead. The cold metal made the attacker flinch.
“Talk.”
“O-okay, okay!” The man’s voice trembled. "W-we were told to follow you. To wait until you were alone.”
“Why?” Silas demanded.
“I don''t know!” The man squeezed his eyes shut. "We were just following orders from our boss! We were told you’d be alone in the alleys. We were supposed to corner you and get your money. You weren''t supposed to fight back like… like this."
Silas’s grip tightened. “Who gave the orders?, who''s wants to rob me?”
“The man from the bar!” The thug spat blood onto the cobblestones. "The drunk! The one you pissed off. Said he wanted to teach you a lesson. I swear, that''s all I know!"
Silas''s mind reeled. The man from the bar… the one who reminded him of his past self now. Was this really just a petty act of stealing? Or was there something more?
Before he could press further, a noise caught his ear — the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel. Silas turned, eyes narrowing. Shadows moved at the edge of the alley. More figures, hooded and silent, watching.
They didn’t move to attack. Not yet.
“Boss…” the man whimpered, eyes darting toward the newcomers. “They’re here.”
“Who?” Silas asked, but before he could get an answer, pain exploded at the back of his skull.
THUD.
Before he could look back a guy hit his head with a metal rod.
The world spun. Silas fell forward, vision blurring. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was a pair of polished black boots stepping into the alley.
And then, silence.
---
Ashcroft Estate
The clock struck eight.
Clara paced back and forth across the parlor, her mechanical sparrow perched silently on her shoulder, its brass beak clicking softly with each anxious step. The large clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, each sound chipping at her nerves. Silas had left the estate at noon and still hadn’t returned. The evening had darkened into night, and with every passing hour, the cold weight in her chest grew heavier.
She’d already asked the servants, but none of them knew where Silas had gone. Even the guards at the gates had no clue.
Steeling herself, she marched outside. Two guards stood at attention near the front gate, their brass goggles glinting in the dim gaslight. Clara hurried toward them, her voice tight with worry.
“Did Silas come back after he left at noon?”
The guards exchanged uncertain glances. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a thick mustache, shook his head.
“No, miss. We haven’t seen him since.”
Clara clenched her fists. “Did he say anything before leaving?”
The other guard, younger and leaner, scratched the back of his neck. “No, Miss Clara. He left quietly. Didn’t speak to anyone.”
Her heart sank. Silas wasn''t the type to vanish without a word. Something was wrong. She turned and rushed back into the estate, her footsteps echoing through the empty halls. Without hesitation, she made her way to Edgar’s quarters.
Knock, knock…
The door creaked open, and Edgar, the Ashcroft family''s loyal butler, stepped out. His sharp eyes studied Clara’s pale, sweaty face. “Miss Clara?” He inclined his head slightly. “What’s the matter?”
“Edgar, have you seen Silas? He left at noon and hasn’t returned.” Her voice quivered with urgency.
Edgar frowned, stroking his chin. “No… I haven’t seen him. Perhaps he went out for a stroll. Though, I suppose he hasn’t made many friends here yet.”
Clara grabbed his sleeve. “Please, Edgar. I think something’s happened. We have to find him.”
Edgar gave her a solemn nod. “Very well. I’ll send some men to search for him.”
Clara watched Edgar stride down the hall, his posture stiff with concern. As he disappeared around the corner, she slumped into a chair in the living room, absently stroking her mechanical sparrow. Its tiny gears whirred softly beneath her fingers.
“Where could you be, Silas?” she whispered. “Were you… planning to leave us?”
The hours dragged on. The clock chimed ten. Clara remained in the living room, curled up on the couch, watching the shadows dance across the walls. She heard footsteps approaching and shot to her feet, hope flickering in her eyes. She ran to the entrance, only to find her mother, Selena Ashcroft, stepping inside.
Selena was tall and elegant, her long black coat sweeping behind her as she removed her gloves. The gaslights caught the sharp lines of her face, her brown eyes glimmering with quiet intelligence. Her sleek black hair framed her face, a stark contrast against her pale skin.
“Clara?” Selena placed a gentle hand on her daughter’s head. “What’s wrong, my sweet girl?”
“Silas!” Clara blurted out. “He left at noon and hasn’t come back. I’m worried.”
Selena’s expression darkened. “I told him to explore the city… but it’s late. He should be home by now.” Her gaze sharpened. “Did you ask the guards?”
“Yes. They said he left quietly and hasn’t returned. Edgar is out looking for him.”
Selena was silent for a moment, her face unreadable. Then she smiled softly and guided Clara back inside. “Come. Let’s wait together.”
They sat in the parlor, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Selena lit a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. Clara frowned.
“I told you to stop smoking.”
Selena chuckled, rubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray. “I’ll try, darling.” She pulled Clara close, resting her daughter’s head on her lap and stroking her hair.
After a while, Clara broke the silence. “Mother… what was Silas like when you first met him?”
Selena’s eyes softened. “He was young. Fragile. Pale. There was something about his eyes… pain, yes, but also a quiet resolve.” She sighed, her fingers trailing through Clara’s hair. “Your father and I were looking for someone who could match our lineage — someone with dark hair like ours. But when we saw Silas… we knew.”
Clara looked up. “But why him? He doesn’t match our appearance.”
Selena smiled faintly. “Because he endured. The other children fought back, but Silas… he endured. Day after day, he bore his pain silently, without complaint. That kind of strength is rare.”
Clara fell quiet, contemplating her mother’s words. The clock ticked on. Midnight came and went. Then —
Clack.
The front door creaked open. Both Clara and Selena sprang to their feet. Footsteps echoed in the hall, hurried and uneven. They rushed to the entrance, just as a guard stumbled inside, supporting a limp figure. Edgar followed close behind.
Clara gasped. “Silas!”
His blonde hair was matted with blood, long bangs hanging over his pale face. His clothes were torn and filthy, and blood stained the fabric. His body sagged between the guard and Edgar, unconscious.
Selena widened in shock. Clara fell to her knees, cradling Silas’s face with trembling hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Silas…” she whispered. “What happened to you?”
No one had an answer. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock, marking each second of silence.
—