Chapter 13: When Roads Divide

  They stepped into the inn, and the silence swallowed them whole.

  No lanterns were lit. The once warm and inviting hearth in the common room sat cold and ashen. Shadows draped the wooden beams like mourning cloth, stretching long across the stone floor, untouched by flame or footstep. The air was still. Too still. As if the building itself had paused, holding its breath in grief.

  The scent of old meals and spice lingered like ghosts in the air, but there was no warmth to them now. Only absence. Tables remained set where Zura had last arranged them.

  It felt wrong to speak. Even Zoey, who could always summon words, said nothing.

  Gurz stood in the center of the inn, his fingers brushing lightly against a table. The same table they had sat at that morning.

  Where Zura had sat.

  He exhaled, a brittle, breathless sound, and turned to face the others. His red-rimmed eyes held the weight of loss, but beneath the sorrow, something fiercer had begun to burn.

  "Thank you," he said, voice low but steady. "For what you did in the plaza. I’ve only known you three a short while, but you stood with us. Even you, Dregor. We’ve fought together before, but this... this was different."

  "We only did what felt right," Aeor said quietly. "You don’t need to thank us."

  "Please. Have a seat."

  They followed his request, settling slowly into the quiet space.

  "What will you do now?" Dregor asked.

  "I can’t stay here. Not after this. It feels suffocating."

  He paused, eyes drifting toward the cold hearth.

  "I’m going to Thar’Iluneth. To the seat of the Solenar. Where the Sovereign resides."

  The words hung heavy.

  Dregor was the first to respond. "Why? Look what happened here, and this is just a remote town. In the capital, they’ll be on high alert. The Archives made allegiances public. They could have already started a purge."

  "I have contacts there," Gurz replied. "They can keep me hidden."

  "That’s not what I’m asking. Why go at all?"

  Gurz looked up. "Because I’ve lost everything. Zura. Barek. All because Vaireth Solenar refused to let go of power. He defied custom, ignored the law, and still people follow him. I can’t watch from the sidelines."

  Dregor’s voice dropped. "Where are you going with this, Gurz?"

  Gurz didn’t blink. "I’m going to kill the Sovereign."

  Silence stretched like a drawn bow.

  Dregor leaned forward. "They have dragons. Archmages. Fanatics who would burn for him. You won’t make it two streets."

  "I don’t care. I’ll try. And if I fail, so be it."

  Dregor went quiet. Then: "Fine. I’m coming with you."

  Gurz gave a hollow smile, eyes softening. "I wish I’d known you sooner, Dregor. You’re a good man. But this... this I have to do alone."

  Eventually, Dregor sighed and nodded. "Just... stay safe. Alright?"

  Gurz turned to the others. "What about you? Will you remain here?"

  Velora shook her head. "I’ll head to a city under the princess’s banner. The Archives didn’t give a timeline, but I don’t think we have long. Things are shifting. Fast."

  "Two cities lie in the east," Gurz said. "Both hers. The nearest is Sar’Vareth... my hometown."

  "How far?"

  "A month on foot. Less if you get a steed in one of the smaller towns along the way."

  "Even that feels long," Velora murmured. "But I don’t see many better options. Thank you."

  Eyes turned to Zoey, Aeor, and Dregor.

  "Didn’t think we’d be splitting paths," Zoey said. "Then again, nothing’s gone how I expected."

  She looked at Gurz. "I’m sorry, for Zura, for Barek. I hope you find peace, or at least something close. Velora, if you’re alright with it, I’d like to travel with you."

  "I’d welcome it," Velora replied.

  "I don’t mind tagging along either," Dregor added.

  Aeor nodded. "As much as I want to help, I don’t think I’m ready to walk your path, Gurz. Not yet."

  They all nodded together in quiet understanding.

  The next couple of hours were spent discussing the details of their travels.

  Eventually, the air grew heavy with the quiet ache of parting. What began as strategy, routes through valleys, veiled trails to avoid patrols, fallback points if the Sovereign's scouts moved faster than expected, slowly shifted into something quieter. Softer. Dregor had grown quiet. Gurz hadn’t smiled once.

  We have only known each other for a few days, but the thought of parting with Gurz seems to weigh heavy. Aeor thought to himself.

  Gurz pressed a small pouch into Dregor’s hand.

  "Eight hundred Solari," he said, voice rough but steady. "It’ll help with your journey."

  Dregor opened his mouth to protest. Gurz shook his head.

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  "Don’t argue. Just get there safely."

  "Thank you."

  When the discussion finally ended, they rose together. No speeches. Just stiff joints and tired eyes, minds already turning toward the road ahead.

  Outside, the sky was overcast. The group moved through the streets of Thar’Ezun in a loose formation, gathering what they needed.

  The townspeople noticed. Some bowed their heads to Gurz as they passed, quiet gestures of respect for the loss of loved ones. Others simply watched. No one spoke.

  Once their supplies were gathered, the group returned to the inn.

  The hearth crackled quietly, flames low but steady. The inn had softened since the morning, still grieving, still marked by loss, but warmer now. A long table had been pieced together from benches and chairs, mismatched and worn. But it felt right.

  Gurz sat at the far end, arms folded, silent. Dregor leaned back, unmoving, a mountain of calm resolve. Zoey stirred her soup with a spoon, distracted. Aeor stared into his cup, watching the flicker of firelight. Velora watched them all.

  A knock came. The tavern door creaked open.

  Bren stepped inside.

  "I heard the news. You planning on leaving?"

  Gurz nodded.

  Bren entered with a single bottle cradled in one hand. He said nothing, just poured the amber liquid into clay cups, passing them to whoever reached.

  Others trickled in behind him as dusk fell. No announcement had been made. Still, the inn filled.

  Tailors. Stonecutters. Priests. Familiar faces from across the city.

  When Bren stood, the room quieted.

  He spoke of the fire Zura left behind. How it still warmed the walls.

  "Zura, Barek, and Gurz came to Thar’Ezun about seven years ago," he said, voice low, gesturing to Gurz. "I remember seeing these misfits trying to blend in with their city accents... and failing miserably."

  Soft laughter stirred. Even Gurz looked down, lips tight.

  "And yet, over time, they became part of this place. Integral. What happened in the plaza was a great tragedy. Without you three here, this city won’t be the same."

  He turned fully to Gurz.

  "May Sol guide your path, child."

  Then his gaze moved to the rest.

  "Not just him. You all. Walk with certainty in your steps. And don’t falter."

  No one cheered. No speeches followed.

  Only the sound of raised mugs.

  And the quiet clink of glass and clay.

  The room was warm. Not joyful. But alive.

  Until the door opened again.

  Boots echoed against the stone, heavier than they should have been. Conversations died instantly.

  Two guards stepped inside, cloaks bearing the temple’s insignia, frayed at the hem, travel-worn. Between them walked Alar.

  His presence struck the room like a gust of cold wind. No helmet. No weapon drawn. Just his eyes, tired, wary, fixed on the floor.

  Zoey rose first, jaw tight.

  Dregor followed, his chair scraping back with a sound like stone cracking.

  Aeor didn’t move right away. When he did, it was slow. Deliberate. No weapon in hand, but something sharp in his silence.

  The air changed.

  Gurz stepped forward, quiet but firm, placing himself between them. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

  "Not here," he said.

  Zoey opened her mouth, but he met her gaze and shook his head.

  "I’ll speak to them."

  And just like that, he walked out with Alar and the guards, closing the door behind him with a muted thud.

  No one sat. No one spoke. The fire suddenly felt distant.

  Velora’s hands were folded, still. Dregor’s fingers flexed, then clenched.

  It was a long while before Gurz returned.

  He said nothing at first. Just took his seat again, slower this time, and reached for his cup. The tension didn’t break. It cracked, bit by bit, as the others slowly sat down.

  "They came to apologize," Gurz said finally, voice low but steady. "They were angry. Afraid. They never meant for it to go that far."

  Dregor scoffed, but said nothing.

  "They weren’t looking for forgiveness," Gurz added. "Just acknowledgment."

  The fire snapped again.

  That night, some stayed. A few townsfolk slept by the hearth or leaned over folded arms at the table. The warmth was thin. The beds, too few. But no one complained. No one wanted to let go too soon.

  The wind was icy at first light. Thin, not cruel. It carried the scent of stone and distant snow. The eastern sky had begun its slow shift from silver to pale blush.

  Velora stepped out first. Cloak drawn close, eyes scanning her surroundings. Dregor followed, armor freshly cleaned, every step weighted with purpose. Zoey stumbled out last, hair tousled, squinting at the morning light.

  Aeor stood near the inn’s entrance, one hand resting on the doorframe.

  Gurz emerged behind him. He didn’t speak.

  Outside, a small crowd had gathered. Not as many as the night before, just a handful who had stayed. They said nothing, only offering nods and the occasional hand to shoulder.

  A silent procession.

  When the time came to leave, they didn’t delay.

  No ceremony.

  No speeches.

  Just motion.

  The road coiled down from Thar’Ezun, winding into the slow descent of the mountain. They moved together for hours. Behind them, the peak shrank into memory, nothing more than jagged stone against sky.

  At midday, the trail forked.

  The wind paused.

  The silence returned.

  They stood there for a moment. Five figures in the stillness. The world dividing around them.

  Gurz looked at Dregor. Then stepped forward and pulled him into a rough, brief embrace.

  "Try not to start fires unless you mean to," he muttered. "And stay safe."

  Dregor smiled, and for once, it didn’t reach his eyes.

  He clasped forearms with Gurz. "We’ll see you soon. Take care till then."

  Aeor met Gurz's gaze. "We’ll see each other again."

  "Thank you for everything," Velora said.

  "Stay safe out there," Zoey added.

  And then they parted.

  Velora, Zoey, Dregor, and Aeor took the eastern slope, toward the temple-lined forests of Sar’Vareth.

  Gurz turned west.

  Toward Thar’Iluneth.

  The city of flame and crown.

  The wind rose again.

  And the mountain swallowed their footprints.

  Lyra Ashborne

  Distant bells tolled in a forgotten rhythm.

  "How many has it been?" Lyra asked.

  "Fifth since this morning," Kaeric replied.

  "We should leave soon."

  Kaeric nodded.

  The interior was dim, smoke-lined, and thick with the scent of iron and old flame. Racks of half-forged gear stood like silent sentinels, casting long shadows across the stone floor. A brazier glowed near the back, its orange coals pulsing beneath a cooling blade.

  She turned a piece of plating in her hand, elegant, reinforced at the edges, threaded with faint etchings she didn’t recognize.

  "We’ve been waiting a while," she murmured, setting it down.

  Kaeric raised an eyebrow. "You insisted on this timing."

  "She was said to be more available during these hours."

  He didn’t argue. Just leaned against a nearby rack, arms crossed.

  For a moment, the forge filled with nothing but the low crackle of embers and the occasional clang of metal beyond the back wall. Not rhythmic. Irregular. Like something had slipped.

  Then Kaeric spoke, his voice quiet. "Do you still think he’s alive?"

  Lyra didn’t answer immediately. She picked up a smaller vambrace, running her thumb along the inner grooves. The question needed no clarification.

  "Aeor always had a habit of walking into things he shouldn’t," she said softly. "But the ruins... whoever looked through those violet eyes didn’t seem like him."

  "He didn’t attack us, Lyra," Kaeric said. "I don’t know what his father did, if that even was his father. But I’m certain Aeor is still Aeor."

  Lyra looked at him and gave a slight smile. "I hope you’re right."

  She set the vambrace down slowly. Her reflection wavered on its surface, blurred by heat and polish. Unclaimed metal.

  Before Kaeric could respond, heavy boots scraped against the stone.

  The blacksmith emerged from the back, arms streaked with soot, apron still smoldering faintly at the hem. She didn’t smile. She didn’t need to.

  "Your order's ready," the woman said, her voice like gravel through smoke. "I repaired it as best I could. But the steel is giving. It won't last much longer."

  Lyra stepped forward and took the wrapped bundle, nodding her thanks.

  "Payment?"

  Lyra handed over a small pouch. Not many coins, but they rang sharply in the stillness.

  The blacksmith gave them a final look before turning back to the heat. "Be careful who you show that to. Times are shifting. People are watching."

  The street outside the forge opened into a narrow corridor of uneven stone, the buildings stacked in close tiers like they had grown together over time, broad-shouldered tenements pressed beside worn shrines, balconies stitched in wood and brass overlooking narrow canals.

  Merchants called out offers half-heartedly, their eyes shifting more than their prices.

  Lyra adjusted the weight of the wrapped bundle under her arm as they stepped into the market square proper.

  The tension was palpable here. Not overt, no soldiers barking orders, but in the way voices fell when strangers passed. In the way, people moved just a little faster than necessary. In the way, no one quite met another’s gaze.

  They passed a cart selling glass-threaded charms meant to ward off evil spirits. Another vendor served thin soups in hollowed stone bowls, the kind meant for travelers who’d burned too many coins too fast. Children played near a fountain carved in the likeness of an old saint, but even their laughter felt subdued, shaped by the quiet strain in the air.

  A pair of guards turned the corner ahead. They both bore the insignia of the flame-bound order.The crowd parted slightly, enough to avoid notice, not enough to show fear.

  Kaeric kept his voice low. "This place is cracking."

  "It was already cracked," Lyra said. "They’ve just stopped pretending it wasn’t."

  They passed another wall, painted in pale chalk. A sunburst symbol had been smeared out with a wet cloth. Its remnants were barely visible beneath newer scrawls. Someone had written a name and crossed it out. Then another. And another.

  No one looked at it.

  Everyone had seen it.

  They slowed near a guild station tucked beneath a covered archway. A courier shouted names in clipped bursts while runners exchanged scrolls and stamped mission markers against a humming stone tablet. The line to submit reports wound twice around the courtyard, ending in a muttering crowd.

  Lyra didn’t stop. She didn’t need to read the contracts.

  She already knew what they were for.

  They reached the lower bridge, where a canal ran sluggishly. The towers above fractured the light, reflected in the water like jagged gold teeth.

  Lyra turned to face Kaeric, voice barely above the trickling current. "You think we did the right thing?"

  Kaeric didn’t answer immediately. He was watching two priests escort a cloaked figure into a side alley. The figure didn’t resist. No one followed.

  "We didn’t do anything Lyra," he said. "We just stayed alive."

  Lyra looked at him. "And now?"

  She turned toward the banners hanging from the towers, a burning sun, the emblem of a monotheistic belief, swaying gently in the breeze.

  The upper district of Thar’Iluneth loomed ahead.

  She reached into her coat and pulled out the parchment.

  Her archive status.

  Allegiance: The Reigning Crown

  The wind shifted, pulling the scent of forge-smoke and distant incense through the alley behind them.

  They stood in silence, watching the towers cast a suffocating shadow across the city below.