Chapter 20: When Paths Take Shape

  The walk to the barracks was simpler than finding Belthar's winding home. By the time they reached the Middle Ring's military quarter, Aeor caught the crisp tang of oiled leather and sun-warmed stone. The streets broadened, flanked by stone buildings set in the clean symmetry of military planning.

  Two towers guarded the main gate, each topped with a broad wooden platform where armored soldiers stood watch beside tethered Sunbound Striders. Leather harnesses hung from the rails, swaying in the breeze like dormant wings.

  From here, sound reached them in steady layers. The measured thud of boots on packed ground, the rasp of steel on whetstone, and the deep, resonant cries of avians wheeling overhead.

  The gate was open, but not unguarded. A pair of soldiers in bronze-etched breastplates spared Aeor and Dregor a glance before focusing on a cart of supplies being hauled inside.

  Inside, the barracks grounds rose in layered tiers. To the left, a training yard churned with motion. Initiates sparring in circles of trampled dirt, archers loosing shafts at moving targets drawn along rope pulleys, and handlers guiding avians through tight aerial turns between wooden posts. Overhead, a Skyburden screeched as it dropped onto a reinforced perch, talons clacking against wooden beams.

  Broad platforms jutted from the far wall’s upper levels, each holding larger mounts in heavy harness. Soldiers scaled rope ladders with feed sacks on their shoulders while stable hands shouted over the rustle of wings and the scrape of talons on wood.

  Aeor leaned slightly toward Dregor. "Seems like their main focus is aerial combat."

  Dregor's gaze tracked a pair of handlers leading a Sunbound Strider toward its perch. "And they’ve built the whole place around it."

  They followed the main path deeper into the grounds, passing locals in simple gear, city guards in uniform, and Otherworld Initiates in mismatched armor.

  The air thickened with the clamor of voices haggling over gear, trading news of risky Threads, or calling for extra hands on a hunt.

  Beyond the clamor of the training yard, the largest building commanded the center. Two stories of stone walls and a steep gabled roof bore the scars of past use. Scorch marks near the upper windows, gouges along the doorway from dragging heavy equipment through. Above the entrance, a faded mural showed a winged beast clutching a sun in its talons, the paint worn to pale gold.

  "This has to be it," Dregor said.

  They stepped through the open doors into the main hall. Warm air carried the smell of parchment, ink, and the faint musk of avian feathers. The ceiling arched high, its beams hung with old banners bearing the crests of long-disbanded aerial divisions. War maps clung to the walls, their curling edges overlapped with the pale sheets of freshly posted Threads.

  Dozens of Initiates crowded the long boards at the center, their voices a low, constant murmur broken by sharp laughs or curses. Beneath each posting, shallow trays held small wooden tokens, to be taken to the counter at the far end where uniformed officials logged names and issued quests.

  Aeor slowed, scanning the hall. Weathered locals with the eyes of veterans, wide-eyed Otherworld Initiates reading the postings like prophecy, and half-armored soldiers moving with the quiet assurance of those who belonged here.

  Near the far wall, a broad-shouldered man leaned against a pillar, dark hair cropped close above a scar that cut along his jaw. A weatherworn cloak hung loose over scuffed leathers, the hilt of a short blade visible at his side. His eyes met Aeor’s for a heartbeat, a faint smile edged with something unspoken, before drifting away.

  They reached the first row of postings. Threads covered everything from rescue missions in the Vaelthar foothills to assisting search teams in locating traces of Ancients. Some were stamped with the deep red mark of urgent priority, the script beneath them noting hostile zones or corrupted beasts.

  "Five to eight, minimum," Dregor murmured, reading the recommended squad size for a caravan rescue. "They must be expecting trouble if they want that many."

  A few more postings made it clear that not every task here was for those chasing combat glory. Some called for skilled hands in carpentry, others for medical aid in districts where healers were scarce. Aeor skimmed them, only half-listening as voices drifted from the crowd.

  Aeor’s gaze caught on a posting. Assistance requested for the construction of refugee shelters in the Outer Ring. The handwriting was neat, the details straightforward: location, materials provided, three to five workers needed.

  "They’ll take anyone who can lift a beam," Dregor said, glancing at the notice. "Makes sense. Half the city’s still looking for a place to sleep."

  "Guess Velora’s status earned us a few more options," Aeor said.

  They continued browsing through the hundred or so postings on display. Snatches of conversation drifted past him from the shifting crowd, talk of crews lost near the ridge, warnings about going without a flier, muttered curses about danger pay.

  Aeor paused at a smaller notice pinned lower than the rest. The parchment was plain, the letters bold: Smith wanted. Ongoing work. Repairs and crafting for weapon hafts and fittings. Location: an open forge in the Middle Ring, two streets east of the old watchtower. Those without a steady hand or a true eye for the work need not apply. Pay: twenty-five Solari per day.

  His fingers rested on the sword at his hip, but his mind wandered to the weight of his old spear. The balance, the familiar grip worn to fit his hand. He still missed it, more than he cared to admit. The thought of forging another, even if only in passing, had its pull.

  Then, unbidden, another notion crept in.

  What if my class…

  The idea tightened his chest. Smithing had always been a hobby, nothing more. Still, perhaps it would be worth trying once he unlocked his class, if only to be certain.

  "Could be worth helping out if we have the downtime," Aeor said.

  Dregor nodded. "Work’s work. And easier coin than bleeding for it."

  Aeor smirked faintly, moving along the board. High-profile Threads caught his eye. Investigating possible remnants of an Ancient’s lair, escorting supply runs through corrupted regions. Dregor’s gaze lingered beside him.

  "Payouts climb with the danger," Aeor said. "Five hundred, six hundred Solari a head… enough to keep us in the lodge for months."

  Dregor gave a low whistle. "Generous rates. For the ones likely to get you killed."

  By the time they reached the end of the board, Aeor’s mind felt crowded with options. At the counter ahead, an Initiate slid a token across to an official, who recorded the name with brisk strokes of a quill. Another group waited behind, murmuring over their own choices.

  Aeor glanced toward the far desk. "We should ask how all this works before we leave."

  "Agreed," Dregor said, stepping with him toward the counter.

  They drifted toward the far end of the hall, where a long counter divided the crowd from a row of uniformed attendants. The person nearest them was lean and sharp-eyed, her posture straight despite the ledger in front of her. An arming sword rested in its scabbard at her hip, its hilt polished smooth from years of use.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  She looked up as they approached. "Picking a thread?"

  "Not today," Aeor said. "We just arrived in the city. Wanted to see what’s being offered."

  Her quill paused, hovering above the page. "Plenty to choose from. Depends on your strength and how many you plan to bring."

  "That’s something I was going to ask," Aeor said. "How do these size requirements work?"

  She dipped her quill, jotting something quickly before replying. "For group missions, you can ask to be placed in a waiting queue. Once enough Initiates of the right strength have signed on, the thread is offered to everyone on the list. Or…" Her eyes flicked briefly between them. "…you gather your own crew, meet the recommendation, and take it whole. Fewer variables that way."

  "What if we bring more than the recommended number?" Dregor asked.

  "That depends on the thread. Rewards are fixed, so extra bodies mean thinner shares. If the crew’s assembled here from different applicants, we handle the payout to avoid arguments. Some threads allow multiple crews to work at once, but the reward goes to whoever completes it."

  Aeor glanced toward the boards. "What about proof? Do we need to bring something back to show the thread is done?"

  She shook her head. "Not for these. Every thread posted here is recognized by the Archives thanks to the custodians. When the Archives mark it as completed, we’re notified, and the rewards are paid out."

  He hesitated, then said, "Any recommendations?"

  Her answer came without much thought. "If you can handle yourselves, look at the high-priority investigations. We've one in the region of Sil'Karrel, a quiet valley east of here. Travelers reported a strange light and pressure overhead. Could be nothing, but the region has its share of beasts. If they’ve gone corrupted, it’s a problem. Mission’s recon only. Find out what’s stirring there and come back with details. Recommended seven Initiates, two already signed on."

  She pulled a slim token from a tray beneath the counter, turning it over once before setting it on the wood between them. "Pays well. More importantly, the right eyes will notice. Keep your unit tight."

  Aeor’s gaze lingered on the token before he called up Threadgaze.

  Shadows Upon the Moonlit Hollow

  Type: Kindled (D)

  Status: Unclaimed

  Details: "Beyond the silver vale, the air bends under a weight unseen. Step lightly, for not all shadows hide in the dark."

  Kindled. His brow rose slightly. Most threads posted were Flicker.

  "What’s the pay?" he asked, looking up.

  "Two thousand eight hundred Solari in total," the attendant replied without hesitation.

  "For just reconnaissance?" Aeor asked, frowning. "Why’s the rarity that high?"

  "We don’t set that," the attendant said. "The Archives do. If they marked it Kindled, there's a reason for it. Still," a faint shrug, "it's recon. The danger’s not guaranteed, but the pay’s more than fair."

  They thanked the attendant and crossed back through the hall toward the posting. Aeor read the words once more, the token cool in his hand, then slipped it back into its tray. They'd decide together.

  The crowd seemed louder now, its clamor chasing them into the daylight.

  Sunlight hit his eyes, sharp and warm after the dim interior, and the scent of oiled leather and avian musk clung faintly to his clothes as they stepped into the street.

  By the time they made their way back, the sun had dipped lower, casting long bands of gold between the rooftops. The streets had quieted, vendors folding canvas awnings and stacking crates for the night. The scent of cooling bread and spiced meat drifted from the last few food stalls.

  Their lodge came into view at the end of the lane, its door already ajar. From within came the scrape of furniture and the low murmur of voices, spilling softly into the street. Aeor exchanged a glance with Dregor, then stepped forward and pushed the door open.

  Inside, the place was in disarray. Curtains were draped across chairs, folded rugs leaned against the walls, and a faint cloud of dust swirled lazily through the air.

  Velora stood at the far end of the room, smoothing a length of fabric with meticulous precision. Zoey, a cloth mask tied over her nose and mouth, swept the floor in wide, energetic arcs. The broom’s bristles quivered with each thrust, sending little puffs of dust tumbling into the sunlight.

  She spotted them instantly and pointed the broom like a spear.

  "You two. Grab a rag. You live here now, so you help."

  Aeor raised a brow. "We just walked in."

  Zoey flicked the broom’s bristles toward him, another small cloud scattering. "Then you’re already late."

  Dregor grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. They set their packs aside and joined in. Chairs scraped across the floor, curtains were lifted into place, and folded blankets were stacked in neat piles. The rhythm of work settled in, marked by quiet chatter and the occasional bark of mock instruction from Zoey.

  Night had settled over the city by the time they finished. The lodge felt subtly transformed. New curtains softened the light filtering in from the street. A few extra chairs now flanked the central table, their wood polished clean, and a small side table had been set beneath the window with a simple clay vase waiting for flowers. Two brass lanterns, polished to a soft gleam, spilled steady warmth across the room, driving back the last of the dim corners.

  The changes carried through to the rest of the lodge. In each sleeping chamber, fresh bedding had been laid out. Plump pillows, very much to Aeor's delight, were placed on the beds. Even the shelves, once home to dust and cobwebs, now stood clear, some holding folded towels or small clay jars for storage.

  Aeor had expected something flashier from Zoey: bright fabrics, loud colors, mismatched furniture, but the result was understated and comfortable.

  Dregor set down a bundle from a vendor, baked bread wrapped around spiced meat, hand-sized rolls with crisped edges and seasoned vegetables, and a clay jar of dark, sweet-brewed drink. The food had cooled, but its scent still lingered, carrying the memory of open flames and fresh spice. Zoey dropped into a chair with an easy grin, clearly pleased with the lodge’s transformation and the modest spread.

  Aeor’s gaze drifted to Velora, wondering not for the first time how someone without flesh or blood could eat at all. The question stayed in his mind but never reached his lips.

  He turned to Zoey instead.

  "How did the two of you manage to haul all this back by yourselves?"

  Zoey smirked over the rim of her cup. "Didn’t. The shop hands brought most of it here. I just told them where to put it."

  Dregor’s brow lifted. "And you paid them for the delivery… and for all this furniture, I assume?"

  "Of course I did," Zoey said, gesturing at the chairs, side table, and lanterns. "What did you think? That I convinced them to hand it over for free?"

  Dregor grunted. "Then we split it four ways. Fair’s fair."

  Aeor glanced at Velora. She gave a faint, noncommittal shrug. A few quick numbers passed between them, and the matter was settled.

  The meal had settled into an easy rhythm, the scrape of wooden utensils, the faint creak of chairs, the low hum of voices outside drifting through the half-open window. Aeor let the warmth of the room sink in, the steady glow of the lanterns pushing back the night beyond their walls.

  A faint sound broke the quiet. At first, it was barely noticeable, a soft, irregular scratching near the door. Then it came again, followed by the lightest thump, as if something small had brushed against the frame.

  Zoey’s head tilted toward the noise, curiosity sparking in her eyes. Without a word, she pushed back her chair and crossed the room, her steps quiet against the floorboards. Aeor heard the soft creak of hinges, the cool breath of night slipping in, and then her muffled laugh.

  She returned, closing the door with her hip, her grin somehow wider now. In her arms, a small creature blinked at the room, fur ash-gray, with a faint silver sheen that caught every flicker of lantern light. Long whiskers twitched as its plumed tail curled lazily, the tip twitching as if testing the air.

  Aeor’s eyes narrowed as he used Threadgaze.

  Race: Dusktail

  Essence Tier: Awakened (E)

  Essence Stability: Flickering

  Status: Normal

  The light in Zoey’s eyes was almost as bright as the creature’s. "Look at her," she said, lowering the Dusktail just enough for them to see its face. "You can practically hear her stomach growling."

  Dregor frowned. "You just found that wandering around our door?"

  "In the courtyard," Zoey said. "She came right up to me. Poor thing’s half-starved."

  Velora’s gaze was cool, but not unkind. "And what exactly do you plan to do with it?"

  Zoey tilted her head, lips curling into a half-smile. "For now? Feed her. We’ll see about the rest later."

  Before anyone could protest, she broke off a piece of her bread and held it out. The Dusktail sniffed once, then began eating with small, delicate bites. Its ears flicked forward, and when the bread was gone, it pressed its head against Zoey’s arm, a low trill rumbling in its chest.

  "Definitely not afraid of you," Aeor said.

  "Obviously," Zoey replied, stroking its back. "She knows I’m trustworthy."

  Dregor snorted. "Or she knows you’ve got food."

  Zoey grinned as if she hadn’t heard him, her tone turning mock-serious. "Alright, people. This calls for a name. I’m thinking something dignified, something that says importance. First option—Sir Whiskerface the Third."

  "That sounds ridiculous," Velora said flatly.

  "Ridiculous? It’s distinguished." Zoey turned to Aeor. "Fine. How about Admiral Biscuit?"

  Aeor raised a brow. "That’s… not better."

  "Alright, tough crowd," Zoey said, undeterred. "Baron Von Floof?"

  Dregor grunted. "That one actually fits. Looks like a little puff of fur."

  Zoey’s grin widened. "See? Dregor's got taste." She gave the Dusktail an appraising look. "Baron Von Floof it is."

  The Dusktail licked the last crumbs from her fingers, gave a slow blink, and then padded to the open window. With one last flick of its plumed tail, it leaped into the night beyond.

  Zoey watched it go, still smiling. "Guess she’s got business elsewhere. She'll be back."

  She flopped back into her seat. "Alright, where were we?"

  "Our visit to the barracks," Aeor said, setting his cup aside. "You might want to hear about some of the Threads we saw."

  That earned him Zoey’s full attention. Velora shifted slightly in her chair, while Dregor leaned back.

  He described the boards, the sheer number of postings, the mix of urgent calls for armed escorts and smaller, practical work. "It’s not all fighting corrupted beasts or chasing traces of the Ancients," Aeor said. "Some of it’s building shelters, hauling supplies, even smithing jobs. Not much coin in those, but they're safer."

  "Not much coin doesn't sound appealing," Zoey said.

  "True, but the ones that do pay well are usually the ones where you don't come back from," Dregor said, taking a sip from his cup. "Still, there was one that looked promising. Recon job in Sil’Karrel, east of the city. Pays well enough, and the risk’s lower than marching straight at corrupted beasts."

  "How much?"

  "Two thousand eight hundred Solari."

  Velora’s gaze sharpened. "For reconnaissance?"

  Aeor nodded. "Kindled rarity. The Archives set that, not the barracks. From what they told us, there’s something… off in the area. Enough to warrant this thread."

  "What’s the catch?" Zoey asked.

  "Beasts in the region," Aeor said. "If they’re corrupted, it could turn ugly, but the thread isn't asking us to fight them. Just to find out what's there."

  Zoey leaned back, relief in her eyes. "So, we skip the part where we charge into a fight we can't win… and still end up doing something that matters."

  "Exactly," Aeor said.

  Velora's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she spoke. "Information can be worth more than steel in the right hands. And it will give us time to take the measure of this city and its dangers before we commit to anything larger."

  Dregor crossed his arms, gaze steady. "If we’re doing it, we decide now. Two spots are already taken. If we wait too long, someone else will claim the rest."

  Aeor’s eyes moved from face to face. Velora’s stillness carried quiet resolve, Zoey’s smile was edged with anticipation, and Dregor’s stance was as solid as stone.

  "Then we take it," Aeor said. "It’s safer than facing those corrupted beasts, it pays well… and it gets us moving."

  No one argued. A single nod passed between them, the unspoken pact settling in the space between. Outside, wind brushed the shutters, carrying the faint hum of the city.

  A quiet reminder that their path was chosen.