The tavern was nearly empty at that hour. Only the distant ticking of water against the stilts, a few hushed voices filtering in from the alleys, and the regular sound of objects being arranged by Niccolò behind the counter. The worn wood under his fingers, the smell of salt and wine permeating the air—everything had a sense of familiarity, repetition, safety.
I have to hurry, or I won't be able to meet the illustrious Medici!
He lifted a crate, placing it carefully near the side door. His face looked tired, sleeves rolled up, and his gaze wandered elsewhere, beyond the fogged glass of the windows, as if hoping to catch sight of the famous man while he interrupted the mass led by Lyra Morosini.
I wonder what the Saint of the Tides will do… not even the Doge will be able to protect her.
His attention was caught by a rustle.
Not the wind, nor the water.
A different sound, as if the shadow in the room had just shifted form.
Niccolò tensed, his hand darting to his side, where a modest dagger was hidden.
It was then that he saw something move in the darkest corner of the room.
An indistinct shape, as if the darkness itself had taken to walking on legs.
A man—no, not a man. Something that only vaguely resembled one of them.
He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, everything seemed to be back to normal.
Must've been my imagination. Lately, I'm asking too much of my body.
Then the creature dropped from the ceiling, upside down, and admonished him: "You see me, and that's your reaction?"
Reno's eyes glowed with an unnatural gleam—two greenish slits in the fluid black mass that made up his body. He made no sound as he moved, and yet the room felt colder.
"Nice little spot, I remembered it well," he muttered, his voice hoarse and loud, as if coming from a place without air. "A bit too quiet for my taste."
Niccolò threw himself backward, now gripping the weapon's hilt tightly.
"Who the hell are you?" he shouted. "A demon?"
Reno tilted his head, amused. "Close enough. But I'm not here to scare you, handsome."
A faint smile crossed his dark lips—if they could be called that.
"Okay, I was kind of hoping you'd recognize me, but nevermind. I'm Reno. I'm a Tenebrae, not a demon. I'm here to talk to you, since a certain someone needs you. Does the name… Shirei ring a bell?"
Niccolò clenched his teeth, letting his gaze drift from Reno's figure to the door. He was used to Venice's oddities, to the sideways glances he'd get when claiming to have seen a monster, but it was the first time he found himself in conversation with one.
This is madness.
The creature vanished and reappeared a little farther ahead of him.
"So, are we doing this? We need to move quickly."
"I don't know who you are or what you want from me," his thumb slid swiftly over the hilt. "If you're an emissary of the Underworld, you can crawl back to wherever you came from."
Reno sighed, his shadow-formed shoulders rising and falling as if weary.
"Always with religion on your mind, you Renaissance types," his voice sharpened slightly, a hint of impatience beneath the ironic tone. "I'm not the Devil, and I don't care about your soul. I'm here on behalf of the boss."
He paused, letting the point settle.
Niccolò didn't reply right away. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't lower the weapon.
"I don't know any Sir Boss."
Reno chuckled, a low sound that seemed to slither across the walls.
"No? Strange. Maybe because this boss doesn't exist," he moved slowly, circling the counter without a single floorboard creaking beneath his feet.
"Listen, friend, here's the thing… you're special, okay? You're the one who can see monsters, aren't you?"
The dagger trembled in Niccolò's hand.
"S-stop with this nonsense."
Reno stopped, raising his hands—or what passed for hands—in a gesture of surrender.
"I'm not here to convince you to take my word for it. I'm here because my boss said to come get you. And you, Niccolò, are the one we need, whether you like it or not," his voice deepened. "The Saint of the Tides has broken the balance. She started something that could drag everything down—literally."
He stepped forward, his face now only inches from Niccolò's.
"He's asking you to move. Before it's too late."
The Venetian didn't lower his weapon, but his expression tightened. Jaw clenched, breath slow but forced.
"I don't care about your wars between saints and monsters. I have enough to deal with here."
The Tenebrae tilted his head, watching him with an expression that nearly resembled compassion. A twisted, distorted version of it.
"Oh, yes. The family tavern. Crates to move, wine to pour, gossip to overhear every night," his voice dropped, softer now, but sharp as wire, "and a mother who no longer gets out of bed."
The blow landed perfectly.
Niccolò flinched ever so slightly. A blink—barely noticeable, but it was there.
How did he know? Had he visited her already?
Reno continued, approaching slowly, without any overt threat. Just that tone that slid under the skin.
"You don't tell anyone, do you? Not even your acquaintances. Not even the customers who happen to be doctors by trade. Every day you work like nothing's wrong," he leaned in slightly, staring at him with those glassy eyes of his. "But you know that illness… it's not natural. You know that something, out there, made her sick."
Niccolò tensed, his face stretched taut like an overwound string.
"Enough."
The creature raised a shadowed hand, the smile fading slightly.
"I'm not here to make you suffer. I'm just saying that if you really want to save her, you won't do it by staying within these four walls. Nor by waiting for a cure that doesn't exist. But there is a way."
Silence.
The pool of shadow that made up Reno seemed to hover—alive, yet still.
Then he added, "My boss knows how to stop what has rotted your people, but he wants a hand from you."
Niccolò lowered the dagger by a few millimeters, his eyes searching for something in the shapeless figure before him.
Was it the truth? A well-spoken lie?
Finally, he replied, his voice hoarse. "What guarantees you're really on my side?"
The being chuckled softly, the shadow shifting like smoke.
"If I weren't… don't you think I'd have already taken what I want from you?"
A thick silence settled between them, broken only by the distant sloshing of water.
Niccolò didn't know what to say, his fist clenched around the weapon, head bowed as if it weighed more than his body.
Then, without warning, he inhaled. He placed the weapon on the counter and walked pensively through the tavern.
"I don't believe you. Not entirely."
Reno raised an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing.
Niccolò continued without looking up, "But I know when the world around me starts to stink of rot. And if what you're saying is real… I can't stay here waiting for the angels come save me."
He turned to face Reno, eyes steady, expression still hard.
"But the moment I realize you're lying to me, ghost, I swear in the name of God that divine light will deliver the proper punishment."
A faint smile touched Reno's lips, amused. "That's the spirit I like."
The young man slipped his weapon back under his jacket, grabbing the key to the side door.
"Before we leave…" he paused, now more alert. "Tell me everything I need to know. I don't want any surprises while we walk through our own little version of hell."
The Tenebrae crossed his arms, the darkness around him shifting like a living cloak.
"Oh, there will be surprises, believe me—and you won't like them," he took a step toward the exit, turning his back. "Just know we're not the only ones moving."
He stopped, turning his shadowed face one last time toward Niccolò.
"Oh, and one more thing…" he tilted his head, voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "The monsters will hunt you now that you're a Blendbreed. One of your parents had a fine child, but didn't account for the facts of reality."
With those words, he moved toward the exit.
"Follow me if you want to know the rest."
Niccolò hesitated only a moment, his gaze drifting to the stairs that led to the upper floor.
A thought, quick as a scratch. I have to take it.
Then he clenched his teeth and started running, ready to follow the creature into the streets of Venice.
Just hold on a little longer, Mother. I'd make a pact with the Devil himself to keep you safe.