Chapter 635: Far From Saints

Among the impressions were traces of human and demi-human experiments—work that involved living subjects rather than simple materials.

And deeper still, layered through several of the signatures, were attempts to handle chaos energy—quintessence—itself.

Benjamin had a private name for that particular force.

He called it "the Big Bang": a coalition of more than one element of nature, forced together until they formed the original chaotic energy that had once played a great role in the creation of Elyndor.

That was extremely dangerous.

Benjamin remained motionless in the quiet stretch of lane for several long seconds after the pulse of sensing had fully withdrawn, letting the residual awareness of the district settle back into ordinary background noise.

His breathing stayed slow and even, his hands remained loose at his sides, but behind his eyes, the information was still turning over, sorting itself into patterns, refusing to be dismissed.

The barrier they had stepped through earlier had not been decorative.

It existed because the work happening behind these worn walls was the kind of work that preferred to remain unseen.

The kind of work that would not survive the light of day.

He wondered what Armstrong and the people who answered to him would make of the issue.

They would almost certainly treat it as a serious breach — the sort of problem that demanded immediate questions and equally immediate answers.

However, Benjamin felt no obligation to solve the problem for them, because helping might only incriminate him further.

He had already taken part in the death of the great wyvern; the memory of that fight still carried weight when he allowed himself to examine it too closely.

And in the moments that followed, he had come uncomfortably close to being named the rat himself.

Another entanglement with forbidden experiments in a place as tightly watched as Lot might easily drag that suspicion back into the open, and this time there might be no clean way to step clear of it.

[I will discuss it with Armstrong and leak some of these locations] he decided, the thought forming with quiet finality. [That will be helpful enough without getting into anything complicated. For now, we should visit these magic lairs and have discussions with the researchers.]

The plan locked into place.

He would return to the tavern, collect Erica from the group of cheerful older men (technically younger than her) who still held her attention over mugs of ale, and then the two of them would move systematically through the places the sensing had marked.

There will be no grand confrontations or unnecessary displays of force. Only careful conversations with the people who worked behind those doors: enough to learn what needed learning and nothing more.

He had taken only a few measured steps back toward the louder end of the street when a deep voice reached him from the shadowed mouth of a narrow alley that cut between two sagging buildings.

"Woman." The voice called out, low and certain, traveling just far enough to be heard without drawing wider attention. "I need help. Will you come closer?"

Benjamin stopped.

He turned toward the opening, the worn edges of the alley framing a stretch of deeper shadow.

The buildings on either side leaned toward each other, their walls close enough that the gap between them was more crack than passage.

Darkness pooled in the space beyond, thick and patient.

"Hm?" The sound left Benjamin mild and absent-minded, as though the interruption had only half registered. "Are you referring to me?"

"I am." The man responded.

Benjamin glanced down at himself, taking inventory the way a person might check a reflection in a dark window when no better mirror was available.

He wore loose medieval-style pants held at the waist by a thin length of rope that served in place of a belt.

A dark long-sleeved top clung close to the lines of his frame, and over it a short-sleeved tunic sat open in the manner of a light jacket.

The boots on his feet were the dark pair he had taken from Erica’s room earlier in the day.

To his own eyes, the overall effect was, at most, androgynous.

If he forced himself to look more objectively, even the structure of his face refused to settle cleanly into male or female.

It was simply an extremely attractive face—neither strongly one nor the other.

The soft features, the way his hair fell, the slightness of his build: all of it combined to create an impression that shifted depending on the angle, the light, the expectations of whoever was looking.

He sighed once, the sound soft and resigned, and walked toward the alley.

The man’s form began to resolve as Benjamin drew nearer.

He was huge; broad across the shoulders, thick through the chest and arms, the kind of physical presence that filled the narrow space without effort or apology.

His skin was not particularly light. The muscles of his torso and upper arms stood out in clear, hard definition under the open air, each line and plane visible without the softening of ordinary clothing.

He was bald, the scalp smooth and unbroken, and the only garment he wore was something that resembled a loincloth—plain, functional, and nothing more.

Benjamin stopped a short distance inside the mouth of the alley.

Close enough that they could speak without raising their voices. Far enough that he still retained room to move if the situation required it.

The air here was stiller than on the open street, with a blend of old stone, dust, and something metallic that had no clear source.

"So...?" Benjamin asked, keeping the question even. "What do you need me for?"

"Yes." The man answered, the words arriving with the same natural ease another person might use to ask for the time of day or the location of a nearby well. "I have sexual urges I want you to help me with."

Benjamin’s gaze drifted sideways for a moment, landing on the cracked surface of the alley wall rather than on the man himself.

The stone was rough and uneven, marked by years of weather and neglect. A thin line of moisture ran down one section, disappearing into a crevice.

"Uhm... I don’t know." He said it after the short pause. "Is that what you people do here in the Lot district? I’m something of a stranger, so I’m confused by the... directness of this."

The man’s mouth curved into a small, knowing leer.

The expression sat easily on his face, as though the conversation were already progressing exactly as expected.

As though this were a script he had followed many times before.

"So you indeed are new to this place? All the more reason for you to not resist." His voice remained level and patient. "Whatever brings anyone to Lot district is always nothing good. You are running from the law, or you are running from debt. There is never a clean reason for ending up on these streets."

Benjamin lifted his eyes to the man’s face again, meeting the stare without flinching.

"What does that have to do with you asking for something like this?"

"It means both of us here are far from saints." The man’s voice remained level, as though he were explaining a simple and obvious truth.

He then balled one large fist at his side.

The veins along the back of the hand and up the thick forearm became prominent under the skin, standing out in clear ridges.

"Take off your dress and turn your back to me."

[Okay... this situation again] Benjamin thought, watching the size of that fist without shifting his weight. [I can’t believe people live here and treat this as ordinary. If I truly were a young, innocent woman walking these streets alone, I would be in serious trouble right now].

He let his gaze drop to the packed dirt at his feet.