Leonotis, still groggy, nodded firmly. “Yes. Thirteen tomorrow.” A small, rebellious thrill flickered within him at the thought of this new deception.

Low’s grip tightened on his arm. “Good. When they come for you, to take you to the… auction area, I’ll follow. It’s supposed to be down in the old sewer system. We’ll make our escape then, after I create a distraction. I managed to… acquire some tools.” She reached into the folds of her threadbare dress and produced two crudely sharpened metal forks, their tines honed to points. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”

Leonotis shook his head, reaching under his thin mattress. He pulled out the sturdy root he’d found by the gnarled tree in the yard, its shape surprisingly sword-like. “I have this.”

Low eyed the stick with a mixture of skepticism and reluctant admiration. “Alright, then. Be careful with that. It’s almost midnight. I need to go, before they notice I’m gone.” She squeezed his arm again. “Be ready.” With a final, furtive glance around the darkened room, she slipped away.

Leonotis lay back down, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Sleep eventually claimed him, and he dreamt of a massive, vibrant garden, unlike anything he’d ever seen in the dusty orphanage. A winding path led towards a dark, mysterious cave nestled at the foot of a towering, ancient tree.

The next day crawled by with agonizing slowness. Leonotis and Low went to the dreary orphanage yard after their perfunctory chores. Low, her eyes sharp and focused, explained that she’d seen the male caregiver practicing with throwing knives when he thought no one was watching. So, while Leonotis practiced dodging and blocking imaginary blows with his stick, Low diligently hurled rocks at a cracked wooden fence, her aim improving with each throw. When her aim was sharp enough, she threw them at Leonotis, who blocked and dodged them easily.

“That stick…” Low said, pausing in her throwing practice, her gaze fixed on Leonotis’s makeshift sword. “It really does look like a proper blade. Where did you find it?”

“Just by the big tree,” Leonotis replied. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the stick was somehow stronger than the last one he found. As if he could sense power radiating from it.

That night, as the meager dinner of watery soup was being served, the Director, her sharp eyes glinting in the dim light, approached Leonotis. “Tonight, you’ll be having dinner at a… special place,” she said, her tone devoid of any warmth. Two burly figures flanked her. They blindfolded him roughly and led him away, the rough fabric digging into his eyes.

Leonotis found himself standing on a makeshift stage, the rough wooden planks cold beneath his bare feet. The only real source of light in the cavernous room was a large, smooth stone pedestal in front of him, the Attribute Stone, glowing with a soft, internal luminescence. Dim torches flickered around the perimeter, casting long, dancing shadows that obscured the faces of the small crowd gathered in the darkness.

The Director stood beside him, her voice oily as she addressed the unseen audience. She described his “remarkable work ethic,” his “unquestioning obedience,” and the “untapped potential” she was sure he possessed. Then, she turned to Leonotis, her gaze cold and intimidating. “Touch the Stone, boy.”

Leonotis’s heart hammered in his chest. He tried to scan the shadowy crowd for any sign of Low, any hint of an escape route, but the darkness swallowed everything. “Come on,” the Director hissed, her hand gripping his arm tightly.

With a trembling hand, Leonotis reached out and placed his palm on the smooth, cool surface of the Attribute Stone. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a dark stain began to spread across the stone beneath his hand, like ink bleeding into water. Leonotis’s heart sank. My black ase… it’s coming back.

But then, the blackness began to swirl, and a vibrant, deep green started to emerge from within it, pushing back the darkness until the stone pulsed with a swirling vortex of emerald light. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The Director's jaw dropped in shock. Murmurs erupted from the shadows, followed by excited shouts. Numbers, each one higher than the last, echoed through the cavern as people began to surge forward, their shadowy figures scrambling over each other. “Get back!” the Director shrieked, her authority crumbling.

Leonotis stood frozen and utterly confused. Green was better than black, he supposed, but what did it even mean? Just then, a figure leaped from the shadows, throwing a cloud of white powder into the air. A makeshift smoke bomb, made of flour. Low!

Coughing erupted from the crowd as the flour filled the air. Low grabbed Leonotis’s hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and pulled him off the stage. They plunged through a doorway in the confusion, the shouts and scrambling figures fading behind them.

After what felt like an eternity of running through damp, echoing tunnels, the stench of sewage filling their lungs, they finally stopped to catch their breath. “I think… I think we lost them,” Low gasped, leaning against a slimy brick wall. She turned to Leonotis, her brow furrowed. “I thought you said you didn’t have any ase. They tested you before, right?”

Leonotis shook his head, still trying to process the swirling green light. “They did. Nothing happened.”

“Well, obviously you have a Green attribute,” Low said, her voice hushed. “Quiet! There are rat monsters down here. We can finish this conversation later.”

“My sword!” Leonotis exclaimed, suddenly remembering his stick. He hadn't had a chance to grab it before the Director's goons grabbed him.

They crept forward, Low leading the way through the labyrinthine tunnels. They reached a small alcove where Low had hidden their clothes and supplies. Leonotis saw his root sword, wrapped in a piece of scavenged cloth, leaning against the bag. A large, grotesque rat with glowing red eyes was gnawing at the edge of the bag. Low hissed and threw a sharp rock, scaring it away. Leonotis picked up his root sword, relief flooding him that Low had brought it. “There’s food in the bag,” she explained. “If one rat smelled it already, more will be coming soon.”

He shed the rough orphanage uniform, the coarse fabric a familiar discomfort. Pulling on his own shirt and shorts felt like a reclaiming of himself. A genuine smile touched his lips as the simple clasp of his green warrior toga settled onto his shoulder. It wasn't armor or fine silks, just plain cloth, but wearing it felt like shrugging off a heavy cloak. He settled his hand on his hip, the gesture feeling natural, confident. Across the sewer, Low had also changed out of the usual drab uniform and now wore a plain white tank top stark against faded red shorts. "Where did you get your clothes?" Leonotis couldn't help but ask, the question escaping before he fully considered it. Low's reply was immediate and flat. "None of your business."

Just as she said it, two monstrous growls could be heard from the darkness. Two pairs of glowing red eyes emerged from the gloom, followed by the hulking shapes of the rat monsters. They were easily the size of dogs, their fur matted and bristling, their teeth long and yellowed, dripping with some unspeakable slime. They sniffed the air, their whiskered snouts twitching, fixated on Leonotis and Low.

Low reacted instantly. Her hand darted to a small pouch tied at her waist, and two smooth, fist-sized stones appeared as if by magic. With a grunt, she hurled the first stone. It whistled through the air and slammed into the side of the nearest rat’s head with a sickening thud. The creature staggered, a high-pitched squeal of pain ripping from its throat, but it didn’t go down.

Before the first rat could recover, Low launched the second stone. This one caught the other rat squarely in the snout. The impact made its head snap back, and it stumbled, momentarily disoriented.

“Leonotis! Now!” Low yelled, her voice echoing off the damp brick walls.

Leonotis, clutching his root-sword, moved with an agility he hadn’t known he possessed. The root, gnarled and surprisingly dense, felt strangely natural in his hand. The first rat, its eyes blazing with fury, lunged at him, snapping its massive jaws. Leonotis sidestepped the attack, the rat’s foul breath washing over him, and brought the root down in a swift arc. The impact against the rat’s thick skull was solid, a dull *thwack* that made his arms vibrate.

The rat shrieked again, a more enraged sound this time, and swiped a clawed paw at Leonotis. He barely managed to duck, the razor-sharp claws tearing through the air where his head had been moments before. He danced back, keeping the length of the root between himself and the creature.

Meanwhile, Low was scrambling for more stones. The second rat had recovered and was now advancing on her, its teeth bared in a menacing snarl. It moved with a surprising speed for its size, its claws scrabbling on the uneven ground.

Leonotis saw Low was in danger. He feinted towards the first rat, drawing its attention, then spun and charged towards the second. He thrust the pointed end of the root towards the rat’s chest. The creature, caught off guard by his sudden change in direction, didn’t have time to react. The sharp tip of the root pierced its matted fur and sank into its flesh with a wet, tearing sound.

The rat let out a choked squeal, its powerful body convulsing. It thrashed wildly, its claws raking against the stone floor, before collapsing in a heap.

The first rat, seeing its companion fall, turned its full fury on Leonotis. It charged, a low growl rumbling in its chest. Leonotis stood his ground, his grip tightening on the root. He waited until the last possible moment, then dodged to the side as the rat lunged. He swung the root again, aiming for its exposed flank.

The impact was heavy, and the rat stumbled sideways, its breath coming in ragged gasps. Before it could recover, Low, now armed with another stone, hurled it with all her might. The stone struck the rat behind the ear, and this time, the creature’s legs buckled. It let out a final, shuddering squeak and fell silent.

Leonotis and Low stood panting in the dim light, the stench of the dead rats filling the air. Leonotis’s heart hammered in his chest, and his hands trembled slightly. He looked at the root in his hand, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through him. He had fought, and he had won.

Low, her face pale but resolute, nodded grimly at the fallen creatures. “Good. They won’t bother us anymore. Let’s keep moving.” She glanced at Leonotis, a flicker of respect in her eyes. “That… that stick of yours is more useful than it looks.”

“I was late getting to the auction,” Low explained, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I had to scout our escape route from the city through this sewer maze first.”

As they were about to move on, a heavily built figure in dark leather armor appeared at the end of the tunnel, a drawn sword glinting in the dim light. One of the Director’s bodyguards. A brief, desperate scuffle ensued. Leonotis, reacting instinctively, swung his root-sword in the same simple arc Gethii had shown him. But this time, as the stick connected with the bodyguard’s arm, a network of thick, thorny roots erupted from the damp stone floor, ensnaring the man’s legs and arms. He roared in surprise and struggled against the sudden, binding vegetation.

Low stared at Leonotis, her mouth agape. “How… how did you do that?”

Leonotis stared at the writhing roots, his own shock mirroring hers. “I… I don’t know.”

“We need to go!” Low yelled, grabbing his arm again. They fled down the tunnel, the bodyguard’s frustrated shouts echoing behind them, until they stumbled out of a large sewer pipe and plunged into the cold, rushing water of a river.

Back in the sewer tunnel, the Director reached the edge of the pipe, her face contorted in fury as she watched Leonotis and Low being swept away by the current. “We can’t let him get away,” she snarled. “A Green aseborn… he’s worth a fortune!”