And so, before the horizon dared to whisper of dawn, I made haste toward the Citadel Ruin.
Beyond the shroud of darkness, I crossed Agora, the marketplace. Its name was etched into the worn stone archway, and though I had never stepped foot here before, I understood the words—proof that they spoke the same language as the Edels. Yet, the Agora was not silent in slumber. It thrived under moonlight, a place where hushed deals and drunken boasts poisoned the air.
“Tch. It bled like a stuck beast.”
“Not for long. The way its skull cracked—pity you missed that.”
The voices came from two men, their beige skin, burning-red hair, and eyes of deep crimson marking them as Boshaft. A stark contrast to the pale flesh and emerald gaze of the Edel. I ignored them. The words were unimportant, yet they clung to me like a sickness.
I pressed forward, my cloak shrouding me in anonymity. That was when I saw it—a shop of fruits nestled between the shadows. In Edel, we exchanged goods equally valuable as what we needed. If one could not offer, another would provide. No one went hungry. That was their way. But here? Here, I knew nothing of their laws, and as my fingers hovered over an apple, temptation to steal it whispered in my ears. Just then, I felt it.
A gaze.
An unseen presence, watching. Waiting.
I turned, but the streets behind me were empty. Yet, the weight of unseen eyes lingered, whispering silent threats. I abandoned the fruit and moved on, my every step now careful.
Two hours passed, and the Citadel Ruin remained out of reach. That was when a voice, deep and laced with amusement, slithered into the night.
“So, your destination was the Citadel Ruin, huh? You need help?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I turned.
A man stood before me—older, perhaps forty in Edel years if the Edel’s aging mirrored theirs. His features bore the same marks as the men in Agora. Boshaft. Yet, unlike them, his smirk was lined with something deeper, something unknowable.
He had been following me.
“So it was you,” I said. “How should I trust you to help me?”
His lips curled. “With the path you were treading, it would make more sense to ask why I wouldn’t help you.”
The words made no sense, yet something in his tone suggested mockery. Was he toying with my sense of direction? Regardless, I couldn’t afford to wander further into unfamiliar lands before exhaustion claimed me.
“Thank you, then, sir.”
“Oh, and just so you don’t embarrass yourself later—here, we use silver or gold coins to trade. It was amusing watching you contemplate theft.” He laughed, a sound both light and suffocating.
I did not respond.
For an hour, we walked in silence. A silence unlike the peaceful quietness I knew. This was the awkward silence I had read about in the tome. I chose silence as I did not know what word would fit. I thought all of them were nothing but barbarians yet they know banter.
The shadows peeled back, breaking my chain of thoughts, revealing the Citadel Ruin.
"We are here."
A fortress carved from blackened stone, its form defied time. Monolithic walls, fractured but standing, loomed above like the ribcage of a long-dead beast. The eastern side looked like the defensive core.
The fortress was immense. A graveyard of war. A monument to past sins.
I was led to a chamber on the western wing, its doorway framed by archways.
“When I saw your eyes,” the man chuckled, his laughter thick with cruel amusement, “I knew I just had to reunite you with this man.”
I did not understand.
Then, the door was opened.
It was a large rectangular room with a high ceiling. A fireplace hissed weakly, its embers the last breath of a dying beast. And there—
He sat upon a wooden chair.
His skin was darker than the Boshaft I had seen, his eyes of deep crimson gleaming beneath a heavy brow. He wore a chiton, a knee length tunic woven from coarse wool.
His gaze lifted to meet mine. Surprise flickered across his face.
The man who had brought me here grinned, his voice laced with amusement and venom.
“This is your father.”
