Marrec’s confidence collapsed the moment Evans stopped in front of him.The street was quiet now. Not peaceful, but stunned. Engines idled. Dust floated slowly through the sunlight. Five grown men lay scattered across the road, groaning or too afraid to move.Marrec forced a laugh, but it came out thin. “You think this is over?” he said. “You think beating hired hands makes you powerful?”Evans did not raise his voice. The gold in his eyes had not faded. “Your hands were not forced,” he said calmly. “You gave the orders.”Marrec straightened his shirt with shaking fingers. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded. “Do you know how many officials owe me favors?”“I saw what you are,” Evans replied. “That’s enough.”The crowd shifted again. Nobody wanted to breathe too loudly. The mother clutched her son tightly behind Evans, as if he were the only wall left standing.Marrec’s tone hardened. “You assaulted my men,” he said. “You damaged property. You interfered with lawful debt collection. I

Evans exhaled slowly. “Madam,” he said, “that man will not be planning revenge while he believes his leg is dying.”She looked down the road, where Marrec was still on the ground, grabbing at anyone he could reach. One of his men had managed to stand and was trying to pull him up, wobbling like a drunk.Marrec screamed at him, frantic. “Lift me! Lift me now!”Evans leaned closer to the mother again. “His thoughts will be consumed with treatment,” he said. “If he has any influence, he will use it to save himself.”She swallowed. “And if he doesn’t?” she whispered.“Then he will learn what it means to be powerless,” Evans replied.The mother’s son peeked up, eyes red. “Will they take me again?” he asked in a small voice.Evans’s chest tightened. He forced softness into his tone. “No,” he said. “Not today.”The boy clung to his mother again. “I don’t like this place,” he mumbled.“I know,” Evans whispered, almost to himself.Evans pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and found

"You have no idea about what it means to be the oligarch of Rovek." Patrick retorted."I as far as I know, I wouldn't be the kind of leader you are right now if I am the oligarch." Evans said.Patrick’s expression didn’t change. "Do you think you are better than me?" Mr Patrick asked. “A wrong type of help gets you punished,” he said. “And punished people don’t eat.”Evans swallowed. “So everyone just becomes stone right,” he muttered.Patrick’s voice stayed calm. “Stone survives.”Evans stared at him for a long moment. “You keep saying that like survival is the only goal,” he said. “No wonder people here look dead even when they’re walking.”Patrick’s gaze flicked to him again. “Careful what you say Evans.” he said.Evans didn’t flinch. “I’m not scared of your warnings,” he replied. “I already stepped out today.”Patrick’s tone cooled. “And you think that makes you strong,” he said. “It makes you marked.”Evans faced the window again. The poverty thickened as they moved, like they w

Patrick walked again. “This is inside, that is outside.” he replied.Evans followed, and the hallway opened into a wide living space with high ceilings and soft lighting. Thick carpets muted their footsteps. The furniture looked expensive without trying to look expensive. Evans didn’t see a single scratch, a single stain, a single sign of struggle.His voice came out sharper than he meant. “Why does it look like heaven in here?”Patrick didn’t stop walking. “Because I built it that way.”Evans kept pace. “Outside looks like collapse,” he pressed. “Children have no shoes. People fight over water. And you have fountains.”Patrick sighed, slow, like Evans was a sound he had heard too many times. “You ask too many questions,” he said.Evans didn’t back down. “No,” he replied. “I ask the right ones.”Patrick’s eyes turned to him. “In my house, the right question is when to stop,” he said.Evans’ jaw tightened. “So this is how it works,” he said. “You keep a paradise behind walls, and the

The warning did not pass.It deepened.The first ostrich lowered its head slightly, not in hunger but in tension. Its pupils tightened, black within black. The feathers along its back lifted in uneven ripples, and its breathing grew sharper—shorter pulls of air through a throat that vibrated with something older than instinct.Evans felt it then.Not around him.From him.A pressure beneath his ribs stirred, faint at first, like heat rising through stone. It was subtle, almost playful. The Primordius Dragon did not roar—it breathed. And animals felt breath long before men did.The second ostrich backed up two steps. The first shifted again, stamping harder now. Its body angled toward him fully, neck stiff, ready either to flee or to strike.The woman’s hand trembled slightly. “What is wrong with them?”Evans did not answer immediately.He let the pressure rise another inch, deliberately.The air thickened.A shimmer of unseen authority settled across the space like a weight laid ge