Clive woke up slightly before noon and they continued their journey towards Marblehaven. As they walked, the landscape gradually changed. The wild, untamed forest gave way to more cultivated areas. They passed a small orchard of trees with silvery leaves that rustled in the breeze.

  "Moon apples," Lucia said when Clive asked about them. "They only ripen at night. The farmers here have to harvest them at midnight. Dangerous, but they get compensated accordingly."

  By midday, they encountered other travelers on the road. A merchant with a cart pulled by what looked like a cross between a horse and a lizard, and a mail courier riding a sleek, flightless bird with powerful legs.

  Each nodded greetings as they passed, some eyeing Clive's foreign clothes with curiosity. None stopped to chat.

  "Is it much further?" Clive asked after they'd stopped to rest and eat some dried fruit from Lucia's pack.

  "Just beyond that ridge," she pointed ahead where the path disappeared over a hill. "You'll see it when we reach the top."

  The climb was steeper than it looked, and Clive found himself breathing heavily by the time they crested the hill. But the view that greeted them was worth the effort.

  Below, the land sloped down to a natural harbor where dozens of ships were docked. And rising from the harbor, built on terraced levels that climbed the surrounding hills, was Marblehaven.

  "Finally," Clive breathed with relief. "Civilization."

  [Quest completed: Escort Lucia to Marblehaven]

  [Gained 1 Certainty Point]

  Two Certainty points now. Almost halfway there.

  Marblehaven revealed itself as a patchwork of architectural styles. Some buildings stood half-timbered. Others were constructed from local stone that had weathered to a pale, bone-like color. The town climbed from the harbor up gentle slopes, with narrow streets winding between the buildings.

  Lining the city gate was a row of statues that looked unnervingly lifelike. Clive couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship. The precise curve of muscle beneath stone clothing, the delicate creases at the corners of eyes, even the subtle variations in texture that suggested different fabrics. Each figure was highly rendered with every minute detail included.

  "Extraordinary," he whispered. "How did they capture such texture? Whoever did this must have been a master sculptor.

  Clive observed the statues around him.

  A mother cradled her baby. A merchant stood with his hand raised, coins spilled around him. A fisherman carried a net over his shoulder, each individual strand distinguishable, each knot unique.

  Their faces impressed him the most. Raw terror was etched into their features. To be able to capture such vivid emotion in stone. Only the best sculptors could recreate that spark of genuine fear.

  He reached out to touch them, to feel their texture, but Lucia’s hand shot out, clamping around his wrist before he could touch the stone. When he looked at her questioningly, she shook her head.

  His admiration drew the attention of a town guard who had been watching them from the shadow of the gate.

  "What business do you have here?" the guard asked with a gruff voice.

  "I am a traveling artist," Clive replied. "Here to explore the world and expand my craft."

  The guard's face hardened. "An artist? A useless craft. What good are pretty pictures when the Demon King’s monster marches upon us."

  Clive gestured at the statues. "Your town clearly appreciates the fine arts. These are beautiful pieces. Couldn’t have done any better myself."

  The guard's hand tightened on his sword hilt. “Only a depraved madman would call that art. Those aren’t statues," he spat, veins showing on his neck. "Those were people. Real people.”

  The guard took a step closer, close enough for Clive to smell the stale beer on his breath. "My sister's among them, just down the street. Still wearing the dress she was married in, the one I helped pay for. Three months' wages for silk from the southern isles."

  His voice cracked. "I have to walk past her every damn day, see her frozen scream, and know I failed to protect her."

  The guard unsheathed his sword and pressed the tip against Clive's chest. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't run you through right now, artist."

  Lucia stepped between them with her palms raised. “It’s alright Jerome, he’s with me.”

  The guard, Jerome, blinked rapidly. His sword lowered incrementally. "Lady Thornwald." The rage in his expression didn't disappear but retreated beneath a veneer of deference. He sheathed his weapon. "Forgive me for my rudeness. I didn't realize he was under your protection… Though you really shouldn’t be running around like this. Lord Thornwald would be worried."

  A flush crept up Lucia’s neck, coloring her cheeks though her voice remained steady. " Please don’t tell him you saw me outside the gate. My father and I have... different views on where a Thornwald should be seen. He'll only use this as another example of my unsuitability."

  Jerome glanced furtively over his shoulder. "Better get moving then milady. If anyone asks, I never saw you pass this gate."

  As they slipped past him, Jerome added under his breath, "And keep that foreigner close. Strange folk aren't welcome here—not since the curse."

  “Curse?” Clive mumbled.

  “I’ll explain later,” Lucia replied as she pulled on his sleeve to guide him forward.

  Clive took a final, lingering look at the statues. What he had admired moments ago as an artistic triumph now revealed itself as an obscene tragedy. His [Artist’s Eyes], which had noted every careful detail only made the horror worse. He hurried through the gate, unable to look at the faces he'd been studying only moments before.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  "So you're a lady?" Clive asked as they navigated the narrow streets. "Lady Thornwald?"

  Lucia grimaced. "Just barely. The Thornwalds are minor nobility in these parts. Shipping merchants who sailed enough gold into the right harbors to buy themselves a title three generations ago." Her voice softened. "It's a profitable business, certainly. My father owns a fleet that runs from here to the Southern Isles."

  She paused to check an alleyway before continuing. "But titles and ledgers never called to me. My heart belongs to potions. It… just calls to me, you know."

  Clive nodded. “I understand that feeling.” He glanced back toward the gate. "And this curse? What kind of magic could cause that?"

  "The stone curse, we don't really know how it's happening. It began almost a year ago. At first, it was just travelers. Then townspeople started transforming." She shuddered. "Sometimes they change gradually. Fingers stiffening first, then limbs, until they're completely petrified. Others simply vanish in the night, only to appear as statues by morning. The church blames it on a man known as the Devil. No one has ever seen him, but they say he’s a chosen of the Demon King."

  “Chosen?” Clive asked.

  “Chosen of the gods,” Lucia explained. “Individuals blessed with unique powers that defy our understanding of the world. They're vessels of divine will, each granted abilities that mirror their patron deity's domain.”

  She tilted her head, studying his face with sudden intensity. "Come to think of it... Clive, your creation magic… are you perhaps a chosen?"

  [Certainty: Don’t answer that Clive.]

  Clive's pulse quickened. The truth of Certainty's blessing weighed on his tongue, but caution held it back. He remained silent, carefully considering his answer.

  Before he could formulate a response, Lucia's expression dissolved into laughter. "I'm just teasing you," she said, playfully nudging his shoulder. "Chosen ones are exceedingly rare and instantly renowned. Their arrival shifts the very course of history and inevitably leads to conflict."

  "In the past hundred years, there’s only been one chosen in Marblehaven." Her voice dropped as they passed a grim display at the town's center. Two skeletal remains hung from wooden crosses, their bones bleached white by sun and time. A sign beneath them declared: Here Lie Heretics.

  "The last time there were two chosen in the same town, it led to the Hundred Year War," Lucia continued. She pointed solemnly toward the macabre warning. "And so the church does whatever it can to preserve ‘divine harmony.’ The last heresy trial was three summers ago, but they keep the reminder fresh."

  Clive stared at the crucified remains. The bony figures seemed to watch him with hollow eye sockets, their silent warning more effective than any spoken threat. He'd read plenty of mankind's darker history in books, but witnessing such brutality displayed so casually made his skin crawl.

  [Certainty: Lumis is meticulous in his dominion. His calculated crusades and strategic miracles are why the Light's doctrine blankets Euchronia.]

  Sounds like he’s built quite the empire for himself.

  [Certainty: Precisely. Faith, you see, operates much like your former industry—monopolies are more profitable than competition.]

  He sounds…unpleasant.

  [Certainty: You’re not wrong. But if you continue upon this path to ascension, you'll inevitably cross paths with him. Don’t worry though, I’m rooting for you <3]

  Hmm, not sure that’s supposed to be reassuring.

  Lucia tugged at his sleeves, pulling Clive back from his thoughts.

  "Come," she whispered. "I'll show you around town.

  She led him through a labyrinth of cobblestone streets, each turn revealing glimpses of a once-thriving port town. Merchant stalls stood half-empty, with their colorful booths faded by salt and sun.

  They continued through the town's western quarter, where the buildings gave way to a complex of low, wooden structures surrounded by training grounds.

  "The Hunters Guild," Lucia explained. "Though they hunt more than just game these days."

  Men and women practiced with bows, crossbows, and stranger weapons—serrated blades that glowed faintly blue, nets woven with shiny threads, throwing stars that seemed to bend in midair.

  "They're the town's first line of defense," Lucia said as they passed a row of mounted trophies of creatures Clive couldn’t identify. "They patrol the forests and coastline, looking for any signs of the Devil."

  A scarred man with a patch over one eye approached, a massive hunting dog at his heel. "Lady Thornwald," he said with a formal bow. "Your lord father has half the household guard combing the docks for you."

  "Was he, Huntmaster Kell? How fortunate I missed him."

  The Huntmaster's remaining eye narrowed. "As a father myself, I recognize the look you wear." His voice softened unexpectedly. "That same defiance lives in my daughter's eyes. But these are dangerous times, child. I've buried too many children of Marblehaven to watch another vanish because of pride." He gestured toward the town square, where another statue had appeared overnight. "Go see him. He must be worried sick."

  "As if my lord father would ever waste worry on his wayward daughter," Lucia replied, but the edge in her voice had dulled. "His reputation, perhaps. His investments, certainly. But me?" She shook her head.

  Kell sighed deeply. "The youth of today... They mistake a father's fear for control, his silence for indifference."

  His attention shifted abruptly to Clive. "And who might your friend be? Not from our shores, by the look of him."

  "Clive is my escort," Lucia interjected.

  "I see..." He stared at Clive intently, nostrils flaring slightly as if catching his scent. The hunting dog mirrored its master, hackles raised just enough to display the unnatural sharpness of its teeth.

  "Strange days indeed," Kell murmured, "when Lady Thornwald chooses foreign protection over her father's guards."

  “Clive is more than qualified, I assure you.”

  “Really now.” He glanced at Clive’s hands. “ No calluses from sword hilts, no scars from knife fights. Those are not the hands of a warrior.”

  In a flash of movement too swift for ordinary reflexes, Kell's arm shot forward toward Clive's throat. In his grip was a blade curved like a predator's fang.

  But Clive's world slowed. His [Motion Vision] ability activated instinctively, breaking the motion into its component parts: the subtle shift of weight, the tensing of shoulder muscles, the trajectory of the strike. Clive perceived each micro-movement in crystalline detail.

  He sidestepped, clamping his hand around Kell's wrist with a grip that belied his slender frame. The blade halted an inch from his throat.

  "I assure you," Clive said firmly, "I'm more than qualified."

  For three heartbeats, neither man moved. The hunting dog growled louder, but made no move without its master's command.

  Then, slowly, Kell's stern expression cracked. A grin spread across his scarred face. He didn't try to pull away from Clive's grip.

  "So it appears.” He glanced at Lucia with newfound approval. "You chose well, Lady Thornwald. Better than I expected."

  With a subtle gesture, he signaled the hunting dog to stand down. Clive released his wrist, and Kell sheathed his blade.

  "Keep her safe," Kell added as he walked away, his loyal beast following in his shadow.

  "Sorry about that," Lucia apologized as they left the Hunter's Guild behind. "Huntmaster Kell may appear rough, but he's got a good heart beneath all that scar tissue. The other hunters call him the papa bear."

  She lowered her voice, glancing over her shoulder. "He's also the highest-ranked hunter in Marblehaven. One of the few who's faced a greater demon and lived to tell of it. The patch is proof of that; he sacrificed his eye to see into the shadow realm during the Battle of Mistwood."

  The buildings grew more elaborate as they climbed toward the town's upper levels. What had looked like simple white blocks from a distance revealed intricate carved detail.

  "The stonework is incredible," Clive said, pausing to examine a particularly complex relief carved into a shop front.

  "Local artisans," Lucia replied. "Marblehaven marble is prized throughout the kingdom. The quarries outside town have been active for three centuries."

  "And now people are turning into the same stone that built their city."

  "Ironic, isn't it?" Her voice carried bitter amusement. "The source of our prosperity becomes the instrument of our destruction."

  Eventually, they reached the highest point in town, where a magnificent cathedral dominated the skyline. Unlike the other buildings weathered by salt and time, the white marble towers of the cathedral remained pristine.

  "The Church of the God of Light," Lucia said. "The heart of Marblehaven's spiritual life—and the Saintess's domain, the one and only chosen of Marblehaven."

  We carved our lives from marble, built our wealth on stone, and in the end, the stone claimed us all. What cruel poetry that we should become the very monuments to our own demise.

  —Last entry in the journal of Master Stonemason Damien Greywall, found beside his petrified remains