“Ordelith, the City between crowns,” Azeya murmured as she finally entered the independent city. She quickly navigated the bustling streets, focused on finding an inn near the guild before night fully descended.

  Azeya knew that guilds varied greatly from city to city, depending on their primary offerings. The guild in Ordelith, for example, provided both jobs and lodging, while most in Osthera focused solely on work. Though she was an experienced traveler, Azeya preferred the comfort of an inn over the guild’s accommodations.

  She approached the inn’s front desk, and the receptionist greeted her.

  “Evening, miss,” the receptionist said.

  “Evening,” Azeya replied. “I’d like to book a room for a week.”

  “A single room, I guess,” the receptionist mused. “That’ll be twenty-five silvers for a good one—one that matches your beauty.”

  Azeya was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected compliment.

  “Seems like you know your job,” she said, a slight smile playing on her lips. “I’ll take the room for forty silvers; you can keep the extra.”

  “Thanks, miss—and please, be careful,” the receptionist warned. “With your red hair and that beauty, you might be a target.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Azeya reassured her. “In fact, I have to say, hearing compliments like that makes me jealous. In all truth, you’ve got a lot going on there.” She paused, then added, “We’re of different complexions, but you outdo me in many ways. Live long enough, and I’ll have something better for you.”

  The receptionist offered a genuine smile as she watched Azeya walk away.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  ‘I’ll do my best to stay alive,’ she thought to herself.

  The room was perfect—it had everything a girl needed, from its neatness to the soft scent and the view outside. Azeya sat on the bed, tired, but the urgency to find Sherlyn as fast as possible burned away her exhaustion.

  “If I remember well, it’ll be noisy very soon,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

  A group of four men sat in the guild, cups of alcohol in their hands, chatting their hearts out.

  “What about you, Watson? What’ve you been doing this week?” one friend asked.

  “Just the usual hunting, but…” Watson said, reaching for another cup.

  “But what?” another asked.

  “We need more beer!” someone shouted, drawing laughter.

  After finishing his drink, Watson leaned forward. “Last week, I took a night job—alone.”

  “Alone? That’s on you,” the youngest of them, Gordon, said immediately.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to agree with Gordon on this,” a third man added, nodding.

  “I’ve been in Ordelith most of my life. From time to time, I can run solo,” Watson replied in defense.

  “It’s not like we haven’t seen it all,” said the loud one, now holding two fresh cups.

  “That’s what I thought—until I saw someone floating over dead bodies,” Watson whispered, his tone suddenly serious.

  Gordon took a long gulp, drained his cup, and followed with another. Then he looked straight at Watson.

  “Watson… tell me, did you wet yourself?” he asked.

  “No, no,” Watson replied quickly. “I kept it in—until morning, when he left.”

  “That’s disturbing in so many ways… a spirit, maybe?” one of them suggested.

  “That’s not it, Ginnie. Spirits are hard to see. At our level, we can’t see them unless they want us to,” another replied.

  “That I know,” Ginnie muttered, “but what if—”

  “Excuse me,” a deep voice interrupted. “I’ve been listening from the next table, and I have to say—I’m fascinated.”

  The group exchanged glances before one spoke.

  “I’m Frank, and this is the crew,” he said. “What do you think—was it one of the realms? They’re closer to us than spirits.”

  “I don’t know,” the stranger replied evenly. “That’s why I’m tempted. Would you like to escort me to the place? I’ll pay if needed.”

  The group burst into laughter, each grabbing a cup and draining it.

  “Another round!” Gordon shouted.

  After the laughter faded, Gordon leaned forward. “Please forgive us, but we’re not crazy adventurers. We ain’t going there at night.”

  “And if you want the job to search for the ten men killed last week—we saw nothing, spoke nothing, and heard nothing,” Watson added firmly.

  “That’s unfortunate,” the man said calmly, rising from his chair. “But thanks for the advice. I’ll do that.”

  He was dark in complexion, almost the same height as Gordon, bald-headed, and carried a solid, masculine build—yet there was something unnatural about the way he moved.

  “Good luck on your journey!” Frank shouted, watching the man leave the guild.

  When the door closed, Watson asked, “What were your first instincts?”

  “Shit.”

  “Run.”

  “Fuck.”

  “And mine,” Watson said, lifting his cup, “was swords.”