The tavern above the cellar was a haze of warm lanternlight, clinking mugs, and the constant low murmur of laughter and lies. Kael followed the sound with careful steps, guided by Arinya's hand on his arm. Doran had already vanished into the crowd, claiming he'd "secure a table" — which likely meant he was already halfway through a mug of ale.
Kael paused just inside the doorway of the bustling common room. "Smells like spilled mead and desperation."
Arinya laughed softly, her hand still resting lightly on his arm. "You'd blend in perfectly then."
"You wound me."
He couldn't see the looks people gave him, but he could feel them — the hush in conversations, the subtle shift in mood as the scarred, blind man entered the tavern with a staff at his side and a striking woman guiding him. Kael didn't need eyes to feel the weight of curiosity and caution pressing on his skin.
They found Doran at a corner table with a pitcher already waiting. He grinned as they approached. "I told them you were a bard recovering from battle injuries. So drink fast and try not to break into a tragic ballad."
Kael sat carefully. "I don't sing."
Arinya poured a drink. "He broods. That's his performance."
Doran snorted into his mug.
Kael leaned in, voice low. "We need to keep a low profile. You said your contact would meet us here?"
Doran nodded, setting his drink aside. "Yeah. Goes by 'Whisper'. Nobody knows their real name, but they traffic in information. Dangerous rumors. Things that don't reach the upper levels of Iridale."
Kael's hand tapped the staff twice. "And you trust them?"
"Absolutely not," Doran said. "But I do trust that they hate the Crown more than they hate us."
Before Kael could respond, a cloaked figure approached their table. The crowd didn't part for them, but rather shifted subtly, unconsciously—like their presence disrupted the rhythm of the room. The figure sat across from them without invitation.
"Cute story you told the barkeep, Doran. Bard recovering from battle. Might want to work on the delivery," the stranger said, voice soft and unplaceable—neither male nor female.
Doran raised his brows. "Whisper."
"In the flesh. And you brought friends." Whisper's eyes—gleaming faintly under the hood—settled on Kael's blindfold. "Interesting."
Kael leaned forward. "We need safe passage. Out of Iridale. And information."
Whisper folded gloved hands. "You can have one. The other will cost."
Arinya's eyes narrowed. "What's the price?"
"A favor," Whisper said simply. "There's someone in this city I want... disappeared. A merchant lord with ties to the royal enforcers. Do this, and I'll grant you both."
Kael's brow furrowed. "We're not assassins."
"No," Whisper said. "But you're being hunted, and time's running out. Your enemies won't wait politely while you find a moral high ground."
Kael was silent for a long beat.
Then, quietly, "We'll think about it."
Whisper inclined their head. "Think fast." And just as suddenly as they arrived, the figure vanished into the crowd.
Doran cursed under his breath. "They love doing that. Gives me indigestion."
Kael rose slowly. "We're being followed."
Arinya looked around. "You can feel it again?"
He nodded. "Two men in the corner. One outside the window. Another shadow above us. They're not tavern drunks."
Arinya whispered, "Do we run?"
Kael's jaw clenched. "No. We make them run."
The alley behind the tavern was narrow and dim, choked with smoke from chimneys above. Doran slipped out first, blades drawn. Arinya and Kael followed silently, shadows blending around them.
Then came the scrape of steel on brick. A dark figure dropped from the rooftop.
Kael moved first—his staff catching the assassin's blade mid-swing. The force of the impact shuddered down his arms. The staff glowed faintly in response, and with a twist, Kael disarmed the man and knocked him sprawling.
More attackers emerged from the alley ends—four in total, masked and fast.
"Lovely," Doran said, lunging at the closest. "You know I just finished that drink?"
Arinya raised her hand. A glyph burned to life in her palm. "Then burn it off."
Blue fire spiraled outward, striking two of the attackers with stunning precision. Kael spun his staff, listening, sensing—his body reacting with instinct born of something deeper than training. He stepped back from a dagger and swept low, striking knees and elbows, disarming without killing.
But one attacker was different—silent, efficient. This one moved like he knew Kael's style.
Kael met his blows head-on, gritting his teeth.
"You fight like someone from the Tower," Kael said under his breath. "Or maybe... before it fell."
The attacker didn't answer. Instead, he flicked his wrist—and a sigil burned on his glove. The staff in Kael's hand pulsed, resonating strangely.
Kael's eyes widened behind the blindfold.
"Where did you get that seal?"
The man didn't respond, only lunged.
Kael deflected, but not fast enough—the blade scraped along his ribs. Pain flared.
Arinya turned just in time, her magic exploding outward and knocking the man back.
The attacker hit the wall—and vanished in a flicker of shadow.
Doran approached, blood on his sword. "You okay?"
Kael touched his side. "It's shallow."
Arinya stood close, eyes filled with concern. "That last one wasn't like the others."
"He recognized my weapon," Kael murmured. "He knew something."
"About your past?" she asked.
Kael didn't answer.
Later that night, back in a safehouse Doran secured near the outskirts of the city, Kael sat alone near a window, the city's moonlight filtering through cracked shutters.
Arinya approached quietly. "You're bleeding."
Kael didn't move. "It'll stop."
She sat beside him. "You looked shaken. When you fought him."
"He had a seal," Kael said quietly. "One from my dreams. From before."
Arinya's voice softened. "So your past is catching up."
Kael gave a slight nod. "Or circling me."
Arinya hesitated. Then said, almost in a whisper, "What if I said there might be people... interested in what you carry?"
He turned toward her slowly. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying we should be careful," she said, covering smoothly. "Very careful."
There was a long silence between them.
Then Kael smirked faintly. "Are you worried about me, Arinya?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm worried about the trail of corpses you'll leave behind if we don't get answers soon."
He chuckled. "Fair."
But beneath the banter, Arinya's fingers curled slightly against her robe—because earlier that evening, when she stepped away from Kael, her communication crystal had pulsed.
The message was short. Cold.
"Prepare him. Soon, you must choose. The price for your people is him."
She hadn't responded.
Not yet.