Carefully, Zane moved through the shadows of the once magnificent buildings of the old human city of Paris. With meticulous care, he avoided the stones that lined his path: debris from a bygone era and reminders of the war that had raged here. Rubble and debris from houses and churches. Entire districts had been torn down or gone up in flames, overgrown, and flooded. Some buildings were barely recognizable; others had been rebuilt with a new appearance. The former world of the people was scarcely recognizable. Everything had its price, and these were the consequences of the destructive power that human folly had unleashed.

Paris was just one of many cities that found themselves transformed after their fall. The dreary buildings of the people had primarily disappeared, been remodeled, or taken over. New houses and shelters had already emerged from the ruins in the newly populated districts - as diverse as the city's current inhabitants.

The rubble was piled up anew and gave the city a new face: fairy mounds stretched their round domes out of the ground like round bellies, large towers rose into the sky like spearheads, and the asphalt was broken up, allowing nature to reclaim its realm in many places. Only those who looked closely recognized the old remains of concrete buildings or the former city as a shadow that could not be overlooked but was always hidden behind the first glance.

Only in a few districts and small patches on the maps were the traces of people still clearly visible. These were Remnants and places of refuge for those who had escaped the horror, eking out their lives on reservations under the care of their new protectors or as slaves under their new masters. But not in this place.

The Caith Sith meandered between two taller buildings, and his gaze fell through a stained-glass window made from broken glass. Inside, a large figure was bellowing at a bundle crouched at his feet. He didn't have to look twice to guess what was happening—and he couldn't have been more indifferent. No wretched human being would ever seek his protection or pity again.

Undeterred, he continued on his way through the shadows, keeping away from the busy paths. The sight of humans had become a rarity on the open streets, for most of them eked out their existence in the segregated areas under strict protection—or close guard, whatever you wanted to call it. Most were found in the higher classes among the powerful masters, such as fae, vampires, or other creatures, where they were hoarded as trophies.

Zane snorted contemptuously and looked up after deftly climbing over a beam blocking his way. Beneath the dark hood, the silver soul mirrors flashed and hung in the sky, brilliant orange-red with increasing purples and blues heralding the coming of night.

It was an overwhelming sight. High above the rooftops, individual stone arches stretched like rings divided into two - fairy arches and shrines. The sunlight played vividly with the shadows before disappearing in a melancholy twilight.

His gaze wandered to the ledges high above his head. Pillars framed the roofs, each ending in mighty pedestals and head structures. Stone creatures crouched there, almost inconspicuously.

"Filthy spies..." he muttered quietly and curled his lips in disgust, revealing the slightly more pointed fangs that revealed his true animal nature even in this form.

Like sleeping sentinels, the gargoyles lurked at lofty heights above the streets. The soulless, gray eyes were closed, yet one could never be sure whether the motionless guardians had awoken and were listening to the conversations below with pricked ears. They came in all shapes, large and small, from busts to whole flocks. Grotesque creatures like the demonic bastards that had attacked him and Kaie in the sewers, but also beautiful, angelic statuettes. Were the statuettes alive - or was it just cold stone? You could never be sure.

He crept past a figure standing crookedly in a corner, representing a praying human woman in a flowing robe. When he had long since passed her and reached the next fork in the path, an unpleasant shiver ran down his spine and raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Following the feeling, Zane turned his head - only to find that the stone head had turned in his direction. Now, the cold eyes were open and staring in his direction ...

'Damn!'

With quick steps, he turned to the right, disappeared into a narrow passageway, and dived under some scraps of cloth that must have come from a torn washing line. His strong heart beat faster as he listened to the background noise to see if the thing was following him.

Instead, however, he heard muffled sounds of violence. Stony scraping, a deep rumble, and then an agonized groan. Zane ducked under the part of an old house wall and carefully peered around the corner into a backyard to find the source of the sounds.

In the fading light, his sharp eyes made out a massive block of stone that was only vaguely human in outline.

The 'skin' he could make out was overgrown with lichen. The mountain troll with the long mossy beard beat a much smaller creature while a slender figure leaned casually against a nearby rock.

While one was getting his hands dirty, the other thug puffed away calmly.

Beneath the narrow-brimmed fedora, golden eyes gazed upon the scene, and Zane recognized the gleaming copper skin and pointed ears of a fae.

His heartbeat immediately picked up.

Under no circumstances were they allowed to see him!

"Spit it out!" the troll rumbled, his pinstripe suit creaking with every movement as if the pathetic threads were about to give way. The fabric had already given up on one shoulder, gaping and revealing the gray stone skin underneath. But the guy in the grip of the large paw spat no words, only blood-smeared teeth at the troll's feet. The last rays were caught in red hair and green clothing—surely a leprechaun who had gotten into trouble with one of the local gangs.

Zane carefully scanned the surroundings. Just a stone's throw away, a pair of shutters rattled closed outside a window. A few yellow eyes flashed in the dim darkness between two stone slabs but disappeared again. Away from the main streets, there were fewer vaesen. Most of them lived in their own little kingdom—a house, a hill, or simply a pile of rubble.

There was a feeling that someone should do something or report what was happening there. The question and the crux of the problem was: whom?

Crime and corruption have grown along with their cities since the Vaesen began to take over human structures. There is no such thing as a vigilante.

With Oberon, the Vaesen each had difficulties adhering to laws, and everyone had their own understanding of morality.

That's why there was only one law: the one who remained alive in the end ruled. As the people once said, and could not have put it more aptly, 'The victors always write history.' Today, the district belonged to a troll on his granite throne; tomorrow, a fae would build a palace from the rubble left over from the previous don.

Everyone preferred to mind their own business, as that was the safest option. Nobody stuck their nose into other people's business—at least not without a good reason.

Especially not him.

Chapter 3 - A new old World

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