Chapter 1 The City That Devours

No one is born a thief in Ereko.

‎They are made - like blades in fire.

‎The streets of Obanji do not give. They take.

‎Your name. Your blood. Your breath.

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‎Barumo knew this.

‎He had once walked in palace silk, hands wrapped in honor. Now, he roamed the shadows, cradling a child with no name, no voice - only fear. The boy's eyes, barely six rains old, held the look of someone who had already seen death.

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‎"Hold it," Barumo whispered, guiding the boy's small fingers over the cold iron of the flint rifle.

‎"Like this?"

‎"Yes... now point it."

‎"At who?"

‎Barumo's jaw clenched. "At the world."

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‎They were surrounded by the darkness of a broken kingdom, where power was currency and life was cheap. Barumo had one purpose now: turn this boy into something the streets would fear.

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‎Because in Ereko, only monsters survive.

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‎Ereko was not built for children.

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‎Its stone walls were soaked with centuries of betrayal, and the gutters carried more than rain - they carried whispers of the forgotten. Merchants hawked broken goods, nobles passed with their noses high, and beneath their feet, the true kingdom pulsed - the undercity, the gutter realm, the shadow alleys. This was where Zaru lived.

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‎Zaru moved like smoke between stalls, bare feet light, eyes sharper than his years. Bread. He needed bread. Old Ma's loaf sat like gold on her table, still steaming.

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‎He waited. Watched.

‎She turned.

‎He struck.

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‎Grabbed. Ran. Shouts behind. A dagger grazed his shoulder, but he didn't stop.

‎He never stopped. Not in Ereko.

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