The suffocating heat of the afternoon hung over the narrow alleys of District Fire like a leaden blanket. The sun barely managed to push back the darkness here, and the air was saturated with the stench of sweat and filth. A loud, jeering crowd had gathered in a rough circle, their shouting and cheers serving as the soundtrack to the brutal spectacle unfolding in their midst.

  Two men stood in the ring, their bodies tense. The winning fighter was an eighteen-year-old young man, tall and muscular, with a closely shaved haircut. He deftly dodged his opponent’s blows and drove a powerful right hook into the man’s jaw, sending him staggering. He did not hesitate. He followed up with a rapid series of devastating punches. The man collapsed heavily and lay motionless. The crowd’s cheers surged.

  As the losers turned away in defeat and the spectators—caught between thrill and disappointment—began to disperse, a man in a long black coat and a hat, sporting an elegant moustache, stepped forward. He handed the young fighter a few coins. “Well done, Miller,” he said. “Here. For your victory.” The fighter laughed and eagerly pocketed the money.

  At that same moment, another boy—slightly smaller and quicker than the fighter—moved skilfully through the disappointed crowd. His fingers were lightning-fast, and like a shadow, he plucked coins from the spectators’ pockets.

  A quick glance was exchanged. The smaller boy gave an almost imperceptible nod. He had the loot.

  “Run, Zack!” he shouted, and with that, their joint escape began. The two ran together, disappearing into the shadows of the alleys, their footsteps light and hurried, their adrenaline high. Zack tucked his winnings into his pocket and glanced at his companion, who grinned as he revealed a handful of stolen coins. It was a routine they had known for years, a perfect symbiosis of strength and cunning that ensured their survival in this harsh world.

  They arrived at the river, both gasping for breath. The heavy wooden houses of District Fire gave way to a rocky bank and gently flowing water. They dropped onto a large, smooth stone and stared at the river as it slowly wound through the valley.

  “How much did you win, Zack?” Eli asked, trying to catch his breath.

  “Ten gold coins,” the younger boy replied, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  “And how much did you steal, Eli?” Zack asked.

  Eli chuckled and held out his hand. “Six gold and two silver.”

  “How long can we eat off that?” asked the fighter, his face darkening again.

  “Easily the whole week,” Eli replied with a shrug.

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  Zack sighed. “One day we won’t have to do this anymore, Eli. We’ll wipe out all the demons, and then we won’t have to live in this stinking city.”

  Eli burst out laughing, his eyes glistening with tears. “You’ve been saying that for ten years now, Zack. There are billions of demons, and we can’t even get past the Hellfire Wall. This is our life. Accept it.”

  “I can’t accept it, Eli. You know that,” Zack said, his voice low and vibrating with determination.

  Eli let out a deep sigh, the sound a mix of exhaustion and frustration. He had known that look in Zack’s eyes for years—the look of a boy who refused to drown in despair.

  “Come on, Zack,” Eli said, standing up from the rock. “It’s getting dark. We need to go home.”

  They walked back into the city, heading toward a part of District Fire where poverty had taken on a tangible, physical form. The houses—if they could even be called that—were nothing more than ramshackle huts made of scrap wood and rags. This was the bottom of society, where the poorest of the poor lived. One of those huts was their “home.”

  As they navigated the narrow, muddy paths, Zack broke the silence. “You know, Eli,” he said, his voice soft but full of hope, “maybe we could work as soldiers in the Wall Defence Force. Once you reach a certain rank, you’re allowed to move to District Earth.”

  Eli laughed bitterly. “You don’t really believe that, do you, Zack?” he snapped. His gaze lingered on the huts around them, on the grey faces staring from doorways. “This is reality, Zack. They’ll never let us in. This is our fate.”

  The next morning, beneath the harsh, unforgiving sun, the two young men decided to try anyway. The Wall Defence Force (WDF) recruitment post was one of the few stone buildings in District Fire, standing like an unyielding fortress among the wooden huts. The WDF banner—a lion holding a sword—fluttered proudly in the wind.

  At the entrance stood a man behind a desk, his face stern and unfriendly. It was the same man in the long black coat and elegant moustache—the bookmaker from the street fight the day before. He looked up and immediately recognised them, his expression hardening into a cold glare.

  “You,” he said threateningly. “You’ve got some nerve coming here.” He pointed an accusing finger at them. “I know who you are. One filthy street fighter and an even filthier pickpocket. Get out before I call the Royal Guard.”

  Eli stepped forward. His face was calm and unflinching, in stark contrast to the man’s hostility. “It was me, not him,” he said clearly. “And he wants to work here… I don’t.”

  The recruiter took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on Eli’s unashamed expression. “You… you leave now,” he said, his finger trembling. “If I see you again, I promise you’ll end up in the dungeons.”

  Eli nodded and turned away. Without a glance at Zack, he slipped through the crowd and disappeared. Zack remained behind, his heart pounding in his throat.

  The man behind the desk turned his attention to Zack, the tension in his posture easing slightly. He assessed the young man, his gaze moving from Zack’s muscular arms to his determined eyes. “Miller,” he said. “You’re the only one in your family who’s survived so far.” Zack stiffened. How did he know that? “I’ll give you a tour, and you can start tomorrow.”

  Zack was stunned. He had expected to be driven away, insulted, punished. But instead… a job. It had gone shockingly easily, his family’s death serving as an unspoken bargaining chip in the recruiter’s hands. Had he been saved—or had he just sold his soul?

  The evening sun cast long, blue shadows over the huts, and the stench of the streets grew stronger as the temperature dropped. Zack returned home before nightfall, but his heart sank when he stepped inside the hut. The space was empty and cold. Eli was gone.

  A deep frown creased Zack’s brow. They had an agreement: no matter what happened, once it got dark, they were to be inside. Even if the other wasn’t there. It was a rule they never broke. Zack tried to ignore the unease twisting in his stomach. Maybe Eli had found shelter elsewhere. Maybe he was still out wandering. With a heavy sigh, Zack slid the door bolt into place and secured the hut, pushing down the unexplained dread gnawing at him.

  Thoughts of Eli’s absence were soon overshadowed by the tension of the next day—his first day with the Wall Defence Force. He would meet Commander William, the legendary leader of the WDF. Would he really see demons? Was there a chance that, as a soldier, he might find a way beyond the wall? The dream of killing a demon, the dream of escaping District Fire, the dream of revenge—it all felt so close.

  Zack knew he couldn’t overthink it. He needed rest. Tomorrow was a big day. He lit the small stove and stretched out on the floor, clearing his mind. The warmth of the fire and the steady tapping of rain on the roof slowly soothed him, and at last he drifted into a deep sleep, dreaming of the wall and the demons that lurked beyond it.

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