Chapter 5, The Market
The cavern tightened around us again as we left the Ren’s dead-zone and approached The Vigilance border, the air shifting from chaotic violence to something colder and far more deliberate, authority carved into stone by those who survived long enough to enforce it. My master walked as if the ground bowed before him, and I prowled at his side with my tail wrapped tight around his thigh, refusing to give the shadows an inch of him. The Vigilance lived in those shadows too, but not like the Ren. They did not slither. They did not stalk. They watched.
And they remembered.
We stepped into the throat of the last cavern, the one that separated Ren territory from the Vigilance’s reconstructed district. Gone was the feral shrieking of half-starved catgirls on rooftops, gone were the Ren’s guttural beatings and casual cruelty. Instead there was silence, heavy, disciplined, suffocating in a way that made the chaos behind us feel almost honest by comparison.
This place had once been Black Fang turf. A no man’s land of blood and teeth, a border constantly claimed and reclaimed by feral gangs until we, my master and I, shattered the balance. The Vigilance had taken the fishing district with our help, the Black Fangs crushed, scattered, or dragged into the depths. Their territory became a ghostland between two powers who hated each other too much to move first.
The cavern floor was carved into trenches, deliberate ones, old battle pits repurposed into kill channels. Wooden stakes reinforced with scavenged metal jutted out of the stone like ribs. Entire scaffolds had collapsed years ago and been left where they fell, forming natural barricades. Burn marks scorched the walls in high arcs, the black stains of oil bombs thrown during the Black Fang wars. Loose rubble sat in strategic piles, just close enough for Vigilance crossbowmen to kick over if the Ren ever rushed.
Nothing here was random. Not anymore.
The Ren’s final barricade sat behind us, jagged and rust-toothed, still visible in the dim. But ahead, the Vigilance’s border was a fortress. Barn-like structures had been reinforced into miniature fort houses: walls layered in scrap metal and timber, torches shielded by metal plates that forced all light downward so enemies couldn’t track movement.
Crossbow towers rose like watchful spines, their platforms braced with rope, each one occupied by a sentinel in Vigilance blue, helmets gleaming, armour patched but disciplined. No masks. No chaotic spines. Their armour wasn’t pretty, but at least it had structure. The Vigilance were self-trained, half-militia, half-judge and executioner. Their belief in order made them dangerous.
Two banners hung above their barricade, the sigil of the Vigilance. Once the Council of Three governed them. Now only Kaelenna Mireclaw held that title. High Watcher. Catgirl. Survivor. Tyrant in training.
She was my kind, but not my equal. None were.
Still, her influence stained this border. The rigid discipline. The silence. The burning torches that illuminated nothing unnecessary. The methodical spacing between guards. My ears twitched; everything here reeked of her, or at least of the structure she forced upon these civilians-turned-soldiers after the council collapse.
And then they saw us. Recognition flashed like a spark. We had helped these people take the fishing district. My master and I had walked into the chaos of the Black Fangs’ territory and carved a path until the Vigilance could seize what the Ren could not. They remembered the night we broke the Black Fang leader in front of his own men, the way the fight ended fast and ugly, the red glow of torches on my spear. They remembered my master’s voice cutting through the noise like a judge’s verdict.
So when we approached their fortified border, I saw the way their posture changed, not relaxed, not friendly, but alert in a way that bordered on reverence and fear blended together. Two crossbows lowered a fraction. Not much. Just enough to say: We know who walks toward us.
The cavern between Ren and Vigilance territory was no longer quiet. It was watching. The walls themselves seemed to hold their breath at the tension between the two factions: Ren weapons still glinting behind us, Vigilance formations ahead, each waiting to see which side would make the first fatal step.
I pressed into my master harder, tail tightening around his thigh until my muscles trembled with the force of it. Anyone watching, Ren, Vigilance, shadows, would see exactly what I wanted them to see: he was untouchable, because he was mine. My domain. My pulse. My reason to tear apart anyone who aimed a blade too close.
My ears angled toward every sound. Boots crunching gravel. A crossbow string tightening. A torch sputtering. The shift of armour plates. My master didn’t need to see, he felt my tension through the bond, the subtle tightening of my breath, the way my claws flexed, the way my steps changed when danger whispered from the dark.
Without speaking, he adjusted our path. He always did. Guiding us away from a broken trench, angling toward the safest line between trenches and collapsed scaffolds, reading the world through the way my tail twitched and my shoulders stiffened.
As we drew closer, movement stirred behind the Vigilance barricade. A figure descended from one of the platforms, armour heavier than the others, cloak dark red, helmet shaped with distinct ear-slots. A catgirl. Not Kaelenna, but one of her lieutenants. Sharp-eyed. Broad-shouldered for our kind. She approached with a military stiffness that Ren thugs could only dream of.
I slipped forward before my master could speak, because of course I did, another catgirl stepping toward him was the kind of provocation my instincts treated like fire on fur.
She approached with that stiff Vigilance discipline, armour patched but polished, cloak pinned in the manner of someone who wanted to be Kaelenna Mireclaw but wasn’t nearly ruthless enough. Her tail swayed behind her in slow arcs, measuring, calculating. Her eyes flicked toward my master once more, once too long, and I stepped directly into her line of sight, my own tail tightening around his leg like a living gauntlet.
Her ears twitched in annoyance. Mine twitched in challenge.
Then her gaze shifted to me fully, and for a moment, everything between us fell into that deep, instinctive exchange only two of our kind could share. Not words. Not posture. Something older. Something biological. A recognition of what we are, what we need, what we will never stop fighting over.
My lip curls, fangs flashing. “You remember us, then? Good. Would be embarrassing to have to make my point all over again.” My tail flexes, tight as a noose. “We cleared the Black Fangs out of here. My master gave you this border. You wouldn’t even be alive to stand here if he hadn’t decided it. Maybe you should worry less about who comes and goes, and more about who actually owns this ground.”
She bristles, jaw clenching as she forces herself not to rise to the bait. “You’ve been gone a long time. Rules changed.” Her eyes cut to my master again, always flicking, always calculating, then back to me, envy tangled in every blink. “He’s still got you on a short leash, then?” Her gaze drops pointedly to the collar at my throat, the Alderian engraving gleaming in the torchlight. “Funny. Our kind usually isn’t the one wearing those.”
I grin, vicious, sharp, a mouthful of threat disguised as amusement. I lean in close enough for her to smell my breath, tail slithering even tighter, possessive and obscene. “You think you understand collars? Pathetic. This one means I own him. He is mine. His leash leads only to me.” I drag a claw down the cowl, just above the collar, watching her flinch at the implication. “I chose this. Not because anyone forced me, but because none of you are worth even touching him. Not Kaelenna, not you, not any half-bred lapdog pretending to be a wolf.”
She flushes, anger barely held in check. I see the fear, fear not of me, but of what I represent. Proof that even in a world built for Alderian order, for Vigilance law, the only real bond that matters is the one forged in obsession, violence, and hunger. That her kind can only breed with men like my master, but none of them will ever wear his collar, never have his mark carved so deep into their throat that the whole world can see it.
My master shifts behind me, silent but present, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. The touch is soft, but it anchors me, makes every muscle shiver. I arch into it, baring my teeth at the Vigilance lieutenant. “You want to check my collar? Go ahead. See what happens when you get close enough to touch. Or are you only brave when Kaelenna’s shadow is over you?”
She steps back, her own tail flicking in open frustration. “You want through, you speak to Kaelenna. That’s law now. Not even you two walk this border without her say so.”
I tilt my head, giving her the kind of smile that promises ruin. “Then call your little queen. See if she remembers whose claws actually drew the first blood in this district. See how much her law means when she’s staring at the real threat to her control. You’re nothing but a borrowed badge and a fancy cloak, kitten. My master and I, we don’t kneel for anyone.”
She hesitates, pride and caution warring in her eyes. I see her trying to measure me, to decide whether to stand her ground or retreat. But the fear wins. She nods, stiff, and signals one of her guards to run for Kaelenna. The other Vigilance soldiers stare, caught between awe and terror.
The silence returns, but it’s different now. Not suffocating, crackling. Every eye is on us, every crossbow lowered just a fraction more, every rival banished from the world by the tightness of my tail and the weight of my master’s hand on my shoulder.
I bask in it, feeding off the fear, the jealousy, the knowledge that every catgirl here is just a ghost trailing in my wake. I am not a lapdog. I am not a pretty thing to be collared and displayed. I am the nightmare that crawled out of the chaos and claimed the only man worth following.
The cavern air tightened like a wire pulled between teeth when Master finally chose to speak. He watched us both without stepping in, exactly the way an Alderian should when two predators circle each other. Detached. Knowing. Calculating behind those pale, sharp eyes in a way that made the Vigilance guards shift their footing as if he could see every crack in their discipline.
He did not raise his voice. He never needed to.
“Doll,” he said, tone as calm and cold as steel in moonlight, “if you could just show us to the catgirls headquarters in the market district that would be grand. If not, I’m sure me and the Kitten here can do your job for you with more competence than you’ve managed today.”
His words cut the silence like the last drag of a cigarette ground under a boot. Dry. Cynical. Noir to the bone. A verdict delivered with no raised blade but with the certainty of one already dripping.
The Vigilance lieutenant’s ears flicked sharply. Her jaw tightened. She swallowed whatever pride was trying to force its way up her throat. The insult wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t vulgar. It was worse.
My tail curled higher around his thigh, possessive heat spiralling through me at the sound of his voice flattening her authority as if he were brushing dust from his coat.
The lieutenant took a breath, shoulders bracing. “High Watcher Kaelenna gave standing orders,” she said, trying to reclaim footing that didn’t exist anymore. “No one passes without...”
Her eyes flicked to Master again. A mistake. He is MINE afterall. Every ear muscle in my skull tightened. I stepped once toward her, spear drifting into my hand like water finding its path. She froze. I froze too. Because instinct sharpened like a blade against my ribs.
Intimidation check: 16 +9 = 25
Her breath caught. Her tail flared in a trembling arc of instinctive retreat. But I don’t strike. I don’t need to. My body speaks the threat without the spear moving more than a finger’s breadth. My tail tightens on Master’s leg until I feel the tremor in my own muscles. My ears angle forward like blades. My breath is steady, but it is the steadiness of something ready to lunge.
She tries again to find her voice, but her discipline is a cracked plate now. “If… if you wait, I can send for her. The High Watcher. She’ll decide your route.”
Master’s hand brushed the back of my shoulder, not restraining, just grounding, and my pulse steadied in that violent, bright way that made the world narrow to him. I tilted my head, eyes locked on the lieutenant, and let a slow, manic grin stretch across my mouth. “You heard him,” I murmured. “Show us to your little centre of order.” My voice dipped into something low and velvet soft, the kind of softness that meant danger. “Unless you want Master to keep pointing out how useless you are.”
She stiffened, ears flattening, cheeks darkening in humiliation. “I am not useless.”
Master’s voice drifted like smoke behind me. “Debatable.”
A crossbowman two platforms up choked on a laugh before snapping back to attention.
The lieutenant squared her shoulders. “Fine. I will escort you.” She stepped forward, trying to reclaim command step by step. “But I’m warning you. If you cross the line in Vigilance territory, Kaelenna will...”
She stopped.
Her sentence cut off because I moved again, small, subtle, a tilt of my head that bared a hint of fang. A silent, instinctive reaction. Not overt threat. Just the reminder that catgirls know exactly what is at stake when an Alderian stands within arm’s reach.
Master’s Alderian scent on my skin. My collar gleaming under torchlight. The biological truth echoing in her blood. Her envy. My claim.
She swallowed again, voice quieter. “Follow me.”
The lieutenant’s stride echoed ahead of us like a drumbeat struggling to stay steady. Her armour clinked in crisp rhythm, but her tail betrayed her, twitching, stiffening, betraying flickers of instinct every time Master’s boots scraped against stone behind her. I followed glued to him, my tail cinched so tightly around his thigh that each step sent a pulse of possessive ache through my muscles. Anyone watching would see it clearly. Alderian and catgirl. Master and shadow. Him and me. No space between.
She led us down a tunnel lined with old fire scars, the ceiling charred black where knives and torches once clashed in chaos. Fires burned in makeshift pits shoved against the walls, stoked by shanty-dwellers wrapped in blankets patched from old Ren banners and scraps of Embercrack green. Smoke drifted low, edged with meat and damp stone, thick enough that I tasted it on my tongue.
My senses sharpened with the shift, ears angling forward, tail bristling once, every instinct sliding into hunting mode as we stepped out of Vigilance order and into a neutral zone where chaos had teeth.
Perception check 17, enhanced senses +2, wisdom +0 = 19
Footsteps in too many rhythms. Ren thugs, barefoot or in thin sandals, dragging their weight, loitering in clusters. Embercrack dwarfs, heavy boots, metal studs, disciplined but irritated. Vigilance patrols, so precise it hurt my ears, a uniform click of armour plates. And the quiet travellers, murmured trade deals, the faint rustle of coin pouches and worry.
Ren musk first, sharp and feral, all unwashed aggression and adrenaline. Embercrack forges smelted into their clothes, burned metal, coal, sweat. Travellers carried the tang of surface wind, cold stone tunnels, spice sachets from distant vendors. And the Vigilance lieutenant in front of us smelled of discipline and insecurity layered so thick I wanted to laugh in her face. She was trying not to be afraid of me.
She was failing.
Ren daggers half-hidden under crates. Vigilance guards pretending to relax but gripping spears too tightly. A dwarf woman slipping Embercrack green under her cloak. A catgirl kitten crouched behind a fish stall, wide eyes fixed on Master with confused hunger.
My tail flared and snapped tense.
The atmosphere here was a powder keg soaked in oil. Three factions who hated each other standing elbow to elbow at market stalls, acting civil only because this stretch of the Maw Mine was the last place left where trade happened without bodies dropping.
The Vigilance were supposed to be the enemy of the Ren. Clan Embercrack were supposed to be enemies of everyone. Travellers were supposed to be terrified of all of them. Yet here they were, sharing space, sharing coin, pretending not to glance sideways every heartbeat.
Master halted beside me, posture calm in that way only he could manage. I felt the sharp edge of his scrutiny through the bond, the tug of his thoughts as he mapped the room through my reactions. I turned slightly, voice low enough for him alone. “They’re not fighting, Master. They’re waiting. One spark and this market becomes a grave.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
The lieutenant gestured stiffly. “This way. Don’t stray. This sector isn’t forgiving.”
Noir humour curled inside Master like a knife sheathed in velvet. He walked on without slowing, boots brushing soot from the floor as if the entire world should tidy itself for him. We pushed through the last row of stalls, fish, bone carvings, cheap copper tools, dried moss ropes. and stepped into the open plaza.
And there it stood. The Catgirl Headquarters. A barn-like fortress built from timber and scavenged metal plating, reinforced beams crossing like ribs beneath a heavy roof. Every inch of it breathed purpose and authority. Torches burned in shielded sconces, directing light downward just like the Vigilance do, Kaelenna’s influence stamped in architecture.
Guards circled it in a half-ring, catgirls in leather and makeshift armour, tails high, spears braced, vigil sharp enough to cut stone. Their reactions as we approached were immediate. Shock. Recognition. Fear. Something else brews behind their eyes when they see Master.
I felt every twitch of their ears. My tail constricted Master’s thigh tighter, adrenaline sliding through me like silk soaked in sparks. I stepped half a pace in front of him, my spear lowering an inch. Enough to be noticed. Enough to promise.
“This is it,” the lieutenant said. Her voice wavered. Not much. But enough that I saw her tail curl down in submission. Master’s presence does that.
I inhaled, letting the scents of the place coil into my lungs, catgirl musk, polished wood, the faint trace of Kaelenna’s sharp citrus perfume. I leaned closer to Master, tail tightening until the muscles in my hips trembled with the strain. “They’re watching you,” I whispered, voice dripping with jealousy and threat. “Every one of them. And they’ll keep doing it until I make them stop.”
My ears flicked forward as the heavy doors creaked open. The headquarters waited. And so did the confrontation inside.
