[Year 1507, Mad Hat Island]
Mad Hat was no ordinary island. It was a neatly divided hell. Each part of it was guarded by monsters wearing human faces. Bastien knew that if they wanted to survive here, they had to know exactly where they stood—and who lurked in the shadows.
On a cold night, the salty sea wind blew through the window of the old workshop, its frame patched with rotting wood. With sharp, calculating eyes, Bastien spread out a crude map he had drawn himself—a rough representation of a city he had come to know intimately, especially its darkest corners. Beside him sat Arthur, his face serious, his eyes tracking every line and mark on the parchment.
"I've watched everything," Bastien said softly, his voice low and heavy, as if he were speaking about a world much larger than the map itself. "We need to know which territories we must never cross."
He pointed firmly to the northern part of the map.
"The North," Bastien said, his eyes narrowing as if envisioning the horror that lay there. "That's where the main auction houses are. The organization's called the Golden Ring, led by a man named Baron Gael. Looks like a noble, thinks like a leech. They auction off anything—slaves, organs, even kids. Don't go near them unless you're ready to be hunted like a dog."
He then shifted his finger to the northeast, a zone filled with vice and violence.
"The Red District and the northeast port," Bastien continued, his tone growing darker. "Place of prostitution, casinos, and pirate docking. Controlled by two forces. The Red District and casinos are ruled by Madam Vellora—a former prostitute who's now richer than most nobles. She's powerful enough to buy anyone's life. The port, on the other hand, is ruled by whoever's anchored there. But the most regular bunch are the Bone Tongue Pirates. They're insane, brutal, and cannibals."
His finger moved eastward, to the center of the map.
"The Eastern Market. Controlled by the Flame Bear gang." Bastien's voice dropped into a grave tone. "Their boss is Max the Red Bear. An extortionist, thug, and former pirate. Every vendor and thug around pays him tribute. If you steal a tomato in that market, chances are you'll lose a hand."
Bastien exhaled, his expression turning darker still.
"Southeast. The filthiest place of all." He pointed to another area, as if the stench of it reached even now. "That's cartel territory. Drug labs and something worse. I don't know the full name, but they call the boss Doctor Keno. A mad scientist. He manufactures drugs and conducts twisted experiments. Loads of kids have gone missing from the city center—probably taken there. And God knows what he's doing to them."
Then, Bastien allowed himself a small smile, like a man discovering an oasis in the desert. But even that smile held caution. He pointed to the south and southwest.
"The safe zone."
"This is where we are," Bastien said. "Southwest district and the southern port. Protected by old man Lazhar. No one dares mess with this area. Even the Flame Bear bows his head when Lazhar walks by."
Arthur gave a slow nod, clearly understanding the weight Lazhar held in this twisted city.
"We'll be safe as long as we stay in line and work hard at the shop," Bastien continued, locking eyes with Arthur, hoping he truly understood the importance of keeping the peace.
Bastien's finger then moved west, toward a place filled with secrets and quiet threats.
"The Western District. Mafia territory."
"People here dress sharp, talk in codes, and make deals in silence. They hate open violence, but don't be fooled—they can wipe out an entire family without a sound. Their leader is unknown, but they're highly organized. They deal in money and death, and no one really knows who's truly in charge."
He pointed northwest.
"Human trafficking zone. Not auctions—direct distribution."
"Their leader is Rick Blacknose. Rumored to be a former heavyweight pirate. Smart, ruthless, and has eyes all over the city. He probably knows more about the people here than anyone else."
Finally, Bastien pointed to the center of the map, to a place that held the ghosts of his past.
"The city center. And the Clocktower. That's where I used to live."
"This place has no ruler. But that makes it the most dangerous. Street kids, beggars, madmen, and slave hunters all roam there. Anyone can die and no one will care. It's a free zone—but one soaked in blood."
Carefully, Bastien rolled up the map, his gaze fixed firmly on Arthur.
"This city is hell. If you want to survive, we watch each other's backs. And never—never—cross a boundary without knowing where you're stepping."
Arthur gave a low whistle, trying to break the tension. "You sound like a little warlord."
Bastien gave a small smile, though his eyes still held that sharp glint. "I don't just want to survive. I want to… claim a part of it. But slowly. One step in the shadows."
And that night, in a humble workshop in the south of Mad Hat, two boys made a decision: they would no longer be victims. They would become players in this game—whether as pawns, or as kings of the shadows.