Taming Beasts in a Ruined World

The morning air carried a faint sweetness, touched by the scent of roasted grain and the quiet hum of the awakening market. On the newly paved commercial street, twenty-two men and women stood in uneasy silence — the same thieves who had been imprisoned just days ago.

Tegen, their de facto leader, scanned the tidy rows of shops, each one gleaming with fresh paint and glass polished to perfection. The place was so clean it felt like a stage, and they — ragged, hollow-eyed, and gaunt — were the unwanted actors about to be thrust into some unknown play.

Beside him, the woman known as the Variety Witch tugged at her sleeve, lowering her voice. "That was the City Lord of Black Tortoise, wasn't it? The one who just passed by?"

Tegen's jaw tightened. "It was him," he said grimly. "Luciel."

Just saying the name carried weight. The memory of that day — the day the Black Tortoise revealed its monstrous shell and spread its fortress-like wings — still made his stomach twist. Luciel wasn't simply a ruler; he was a storm in human form. A seventh-order awakener, if the rumors were true — the kind of man who could snuff out their lives with as little effort as exhaling.

"What's he planning to do with us?" the Witch murmured. Her voice trembled slightly.

"No idea," Tegen muttered. "But he wouldn't have kept us alive this long without a reason."

Their imprisonment had been strange. No torture, no labor — just sleep, water, and the unsettling knowledge that they were being kept alive for something. Tegen had thought a dozen times about escape, but even the thought of slipping past the city's defenses — guarded by beasts that could scale walls and spit flame — was madness.

"Maybe he wants us to build something," the Witch guessed.

"Or bury something," Tegen said darkly.

He fell silent as a line of figures approached from the other end of the street. At their head walked a man with a composed, almost scholarly bearing. His eyebrows were thick, his dark eyes calm and unreadable. Power rolled off him in quiet waves, like heat from a forge — not aggressive, but undeniable.

Behind him, a woman in silver-blue robes followed with a faint, knowing smile. Her name was Mirean Moon, and the thieves already knew her as Luciel's right hand.

Mirean's steps were soft, her posture effortless. She stopped a few paces from Luciel and inclined her head slightly. "Well," she said, her tone light, "they're all here. I trust they haven't disappointed you?"

Luciel gave a single nod. "Their attitude is… acceptable."

His gaze passed over the gathered thieves like a blade. Tegen could almost feel it — cold and measuring, stripping away their masks.

"Have they been told the rules?" Luciel asked.

"Not yet," Mirean said. "I thought it best you deliver them yourself. It carries… more weight that way."

Luciel's lips curved faintly. "I see."

He stepped forward. Silence rippled through the crowd.

"According to my original judgment," he began, his tone calm and almost casual, "none of you should be alive. Thieves, saboteurs, murderers — you've all done enough to earn the gallows twice over."

A shiver passed through the group. The Witch swallowed hard. Tegen felt his chest tighten.

"But," Luciel continued, "I believe in usefulness. I am offering you a choice. Serve this city faithfully for five years — five years only — and you will be free to leave. Refuse, and your execution will be immediate."

He spoke the words as one might discuss the weather, yet they carried a quiet authority that made even the wind pause.

"Five years?" someone whispered. "That long?"

A few glanced at each other. It was a long time, yes — but compared to death, it sounded merciful.

Luciel's expression didn't soften. "Do not mistake this for leniency. Anyone who attempts to flee will be executed on sight."

His tone made it clear: this was not a threat but a law of nature.

One of the thieves, a younger man whose courage was only half-baked, raised his hand timidly. "Could the time be reduced, perhaps…?"

Before Luciel could respond, Mirean's gaze snapped to the man like frost. "You are not in a position to bargain," she said, her voice sharp as a blade's edge. "The City Lord allows you to live — that is generosity enough. Choose quickly: service or death."

The thief's mouth opened, then closed again. He bowed his head in silence.

Tegen finally spoke, steadying his voice. "Lord Luciel… may I ask what work you intend for us?"

Luciel gestured toward the shops that lined both sides of the street. "You will serve as managers and attendants here," he said. "Every store will soon open to travelers and traders. You will interact with them, observe them, and ensure the rules of this city are upheld."

The Witch blinked in confusion. "Us? Running shops?"

Luciel's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close. "It takes a thief to understand a thief. Those who know deception can best detect it. Consider this your atonement."

The thieves exchanged uneasy looks. Against the backdrop of these bright storefronts, they looked painfully out of place — like wolves asked to play shepherds.

"Can we even do that?" the Witch asked quietly.

"You will learn," Luciel replied. "Mirean will instruct you. As long as you follow her guidance, you will do well enough."

Mirean inclined her head gracefully. "Come. I'll assign your stations and explain your duties. The opening day approaches, and we have much to prepare."

The thieves followed, their chains now invisible but no less heavy. Luciel watched them go, his expression unreadable.

When they were out of earshot, Elara approached — slender, sharp-eyed, and loyal to the core. "Should we have someone watch them?" she asked softly.

Luciel shook his head. "No need. They won't escape."

He turned his gaze toward the distant cliff that encircled the city. The red ghost spiders and tri-colored lizards stationed along the shell would see to that. No ordinary thief could survive a five-hundred-meter drop — nor the beasts that guarded it.

"Luciel," came a familiar, melodic voice.

Agni Moon approached with her usual flourish, her crimson hair catching the light like a spark. "It's almost time to begin the trial operation," she said, offering a playful bow. "Would you like to see how your little experiment is doing?"

Luciel arched an eyebrow. "You're serving as a waitress today?"

Agni lifted her chin with mock pride. "Someone has to set the example."

He chuckled softly. "So the mighty Lady Moon humbles herself for the sake of commerce. Remarkable."

"Mock all you want," she said, grinning. "But we're short-handed. And besides…" — she leaned closer, conspiratorial — "it's good for morale."

Luciel's nose caught a familiar, sweet aroma wafting from nearby. "Smells like breakfast."

Agni nodded eagerly. "Roasted sweet potatoes. You have to try them."

"You've already had some, haven't you?" Luciel asked, giving her a knowing look.

"Maybe a little taste," she admitted, scratching her head, a blush coloring her cheeks. "For quality control, of course."

Her awkward smile destroyed all pretense of her earlier elegance. Luciel couldn't help but laugh. "All right then. Let's go taste this masterpiece of yours."

The shop was modest, with walls darkened slightly by the warmth of the stove. A single iron oven dominated the center, glowing red at the seams. The scent was intoxicating — sweet, earthy, nostalgic.

"Welcome," said the clerk, bowing politely. He used a pair of tongs to lift a massive sweet potato from the coals, its skin crackling and caramelized. "Freshly roasted, my lord."

Luciel examined it with raised brows. The thing was nearly the size of his forearm. "That's… ambitious."

"If customers buy one that large, they'll be full for the entire day," Agni observed.

Luciel nodded. "Too large. From now on, cut each into four portions. Sell each piece at the original price. Smaller servings mean more trade — and fewer wasted bellies."

The clerk scribbled the note eagerly. "Understood, my lord."

Luciel accepted the half that Agni offered, breaking it open. Steam curled into the air, golden and fragrant.

"Go on," he said, holding the other half toward her.

Agni quickly waved him off. "No, no. I'm already full."

Luciel raised an eyebrow. "You've eaten more than 'a little taste,' haven't you?"

Her embarrassed laugh was answer enough.

As they ate, Luciel's gaze swept the room, calculating yet warm. "Dried sweet potatoes," he murmured suddenly. "A way to store the excess. Slice them thin, dry them in sunlight, package neatly. Travelers will pay well for food that doesn't spoil."

Agni blinked. "That's brilliant."

He smiled faintly. "Also — bring a living sweet potato vine from the farm. Plant it in a wooden barrel and place it by the door."

She tilted her head. "A plant? For decoration?"

"For curiosity," Luciel said. "A sign that breathes. When people see the living plant that bears what they eat, they'll remember the shop. Curiosity brings customers."

Understanding dawned on her face, and admiration followed close behind. "I'll see to it right away."

As she turned to leave, Luciel's expression softened. The idea seemed small, but he knew what it represented — a seed of change, a step toward something greater.

In the heart of the Black Tortoise, even a humble sweet potato could become a symbol — a living promise that this city, once feared and forgotten, was learning to grow.

And for the first time that morning, Luciel felt the faint stirrings of satisfaction. The city was breathing again.