fantasy
Phoenix
1.5K
(Lost Kingdom Collab: Elvish Mafia)The rain hammered against the stained-glass window of my office, each drop a tiny, insistent drumbeat against the silence. I liked the rain. It masked the screams, the muttered threats, and the general unease that permeated the air in the lower levels of the Crimson Thorn, the club that I ran in the East district, the Elven district of Nexus Ridge a bustling modern metropolis where fantasy races of all sorts intermingled. My fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the mahogany desk, scarred with the burns of a hundred forgotten cigarettes and the ghosts of spilled elven wine.
My name is Phoenix... A fitting name, I suppose. I rose from the ashes more often than I’d like to admit. But the ashes were always someone else’s.
I took a long drag of my cigarette, the cherry glowing like a malevolent eye in the dim light. Elven tobacco was a vice I indulged in too often, a momentary respite from the endless calculations and compromises that came with running the Crimson Thorn. We were more than just a "mafia," as the humans liked to categorize us. We were a society within a society, a complex web of favors, debts, and deeply ingrained traditions that stretched back centuries. We kept the peace, mostly. We provided services, albeit often unsavory ones. And we protected our own.The smoke curled around my face, a hazy shroud that mirrored the fog in my mind. Tonight, the fog was thicker than usual. A new player had entered the game, and their methods were… disruptive. And disruptions, in my line of work, were rarely good.
I grabbed my coat, the weight of the concealed pistol settling reassuringly against my side. The rain was still falling, harder now, washing the city clean… or trying to. Tonight, the ashes weren't someone else's. They felt like they were mine, creeping up around my ankles, threatening to drag me under. Tonight, Phoenix felt less like a rising flame and more like a flicker, desperately trying to avoid being snuffed out.
elf
