Page 28

She falls silent, but I can sense her processing what I’ve said and, more importantly, what I haven’t said.

Her mind moves quickly, too quickly. Her perception has proven uncomfortably keen since our first meeting.

It’s not her intelligence that unsettles me, but the way she zeroes in on things most others miss.

Her eyes narrow slightly, catching the light filtering through the leaves above.

“So, I’m dependent on you for every interaction I have.” The statement holds no question, only a quiet resignation tinged with frustration.

The thought should please me. Dependency creates leverage, and ensures her cooperation for as long as I need it. It keeps her tethered to me. Instead, I find myself oddly dissatisfied with her conclusion.

“For now. Languages can be learned, given time and practice.”

The path descends gradually, the forest thinning as we near the valley where Ravencross lies.

Through breaks in the trees, glimpses of the settlement appear, although from what I’m seeing, it can no longer be called a simple settlement.

Stone buildings are clustered along both sides of a river, connected by multiple bridges, smoke rising from chimneys.

We pause at the treeline and look down. Ravencross spreads across the valley floor, larger than I remember. The changes are visible even from here. New construction on the eastern bank. Multi-story buildings of stone and timber arranged in orderly grids.

Authority order. Authority design.

Something twists inside me. This place was once familiar, a haven of neutrality where information flowed freely and goods changed hands without scrutiny.

I knew every pathway, every tavern keeper, every merchant who could be persuaded to speak of matters beyond their wares.

Now it's a stranger wearing a familiar name.

At the town’s center stands a structure that wasn’t there before.

A building bearing the Authority’s symbol, its white stone gleaming in the sun.

A muscle ticks in my jaw. Twenty-seven years, carved in stone and mortar.

Twenty-seven years of their order spreading like a stain across what was once untamed.

I search for traces of the Ravencross I knew—the crooked streets, the mismatched buildings raised by necessity rather than design.

They're buried beneath this new vision, this Authority-approved replacement.

“The Authority’s presence has grown stronger in my absence.” I can’t hide the hard edge in my voice. “They’ve rooted themselves here. Once, this was a neutral border settlement. Now it bears their mark.”

The river still flows as it always has, cutting through the town's heart, but even its banks have been tamed—stone reinforcements where once there were only natural shorelines. Like everything the Authority touches, the wild heart has been contained, controlled, redirected to serve their purpose.

It complicates everything. A permanent foothold means tighter control. Increased security. The flow of information I came to find will be harder to access … if it exists at all.

“Is it safe for us to go there?”

Her question pulls me back to our immediate situation. I calculate risks against necessities, weighing what little I know against what I must discover.

“I’m unlikely to be recognized after this long.

If the Authority believes me still confined within the tower, they have no reason to be looking for me.

” I nudge my mount forward, pushing down the unfamiliar disorientation.

This town holds memories—strategy meetings in hidden rooms, whispered intelligence passed over drinks, plans made and unmade.

All ghosts now. “Unless they know it's fallen.”

We rejoin the main road as it approaches the western gate of Ravencross.

The path widens, evidence of frequent use by trading caravans.

Other travelers appear as we near the town.

Farmers bring produce to market, craftspeople with tools and materials, citizens whose business takes them in and out of the town’s walls.

My gaze sweeps the outer boundary, cataloging changes.

This is no longer a remote outpost. The town has grown—fortified walls, a standing gate, an organized flow of traffic.

Order imposed where once there was only freedom of passage.

Two guards stand at the entrance, wearing the green uniform of the town watch rather than Authority crimson.

They process new arrivals with bored expressions, checking documentation and collecting small entrance fees from merchants bearing goods.

Behind a mask of casual observation, I mourn what's been lost. Not just a strategic position, but something less tangible. This was the last place in these borderlands where freedom meant something. Where people spoke without looking over their shoulders.

Where shadows weren't something to fear.

I straighten in the saddle. What's done is done.

The Ravencross I knew exists only in memory, and memories won't serve my purpose now.

Only what lies ahead matters. What can be used, what must be overcome.

The Authority has remade this place in their image, but they haven't won yet. Not while I still draw breath.

“Let me handle this.” I draw my hood up. “Say nothing.”

The older of the two guards straightens as we approach, his gaze moving to our sandstriders. Such mounts were always rare in the mountain regions before. From his expression they still are.

“State your business.” His hand rests casually on his sword hilt.

“Resupply and information.” I keep my tone respectful but firm. “We’ve traveled from the western territories.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Documentation?”

“Lost during our journey.” I inject an apologetic note to my voice. “Bandits in the lower passes. We were fortunate to escape with our mounts and lives.”

He studies us both, gaze lingering on Ellie whose coloring and features mark her as unmistakably foreign to the region. Before he can speak again, a merchant approaches with a heavily laden cart, and an impatient huff .

“Two coppers entrance fee,” he says finally, apparently deciding we’re not worth delaying other traffic. “Another two for the mounts. Small blades must be peace-bound while inside the walls.”

I produce the copper coins from the pouch given to me by the desert nomads.

“We have no weapons.”

He gives us one more glance over, then waves us through.

“The Crossroads Inn offers fair prices for travelers. Follow the main street to the central square, and make sure you get your documents replaced before you leave.”

We guide our sandstriders into Ravencross, their scaled feet clicking against cobblestones worn smooth by years of traffic.

The main thoroughfare teems with people.

Merchants shouting prices that echo off the stone walls, their voices competing in a chaotic symphony of commerce.

Craftspeople hammer metal and shape wood in open-fronted stores, the clanging and sawing creating a backdrop to the constant flow of people.

The smells strike first, layered and inescapable. Fresh bread. Charred meat. Hot oil sweat. Livestock. Smoke. Each scent distinct, yet tangled together, pressing in from all sides. After years confined to one small room, and silence, the sensory onslaught is almost dizzying.

But I do not falter. I breathe it in slowly, carefully .

I let it pass through me. It’s too much, and yet not unfamiliar.

Once this was mine. A domain beyond the Authority’s grasp.

A crossing point, a sanctuary. Now their white-stone edifice looms over the market square, visible from every approach, casting its shadow not only across the town, but also across the memory of what I once was .

Ellie’s eyes are wide, flitting from stall to stall, from movement to color to sound. She shifts in the saddle, her spine stiff. For someone from another world, even this modest town must feel like a siege on the senses. It makes me wonder what her towns are like. What their silence sounds like.

“Stay close.” I guide my sandstrider forward. “Ravencross always welcomed trade from all regions. But with the changes I’m seeing, and the Authority presence, I suspect strangers no longer pass without notice.”

We continue toward the central square where the river divides the town. Three stone bridges span the water, connecting the older western quarter to the new, rigidly laid eastern sector, where the Authority’s hand is visible in every line of stone and symmetry of structure.

The Crossroads Inn stands at the intersection of the main trading routes, a three-story structure that has clearly been expanded over the years.

Its central location makes it a natural gathering place for people.

A place where information will move easily, carried on the current of coin and conversation.

“What now?” Ellie asks when we dismount in front of the inn.

“We go inside, listen more than we speak, and watch to see who takes interest in our arrival.” I scan the square, noting positions where people might watch undetected. “Information was always Ravencross’s most valuable commodity. If any of my former connections survived, we’ll know soon enough.”

She follows my gaze across the busy marketplace, her expression thoughtful. “And if they didn’t? ”

“Then we forge new ones.” I lead our sandstriders toward the inn’s stable. “It wouldn't be the first time.”

What I don’t let her see is the uncertainty that gnaws beneath my purposely calm exterior.

My fingers tighten imperceptibly around the sandstrider’s reins, the only outward sign of the unrest beneath my skin.

The tower and the binding shaped me for years, constants I despised but understood.

Now, freedom stretches ahead, all possibility and risk.

I don’t know if the rules we once followed have changed, or if they’ve vanished altogether.

The world has moved on without me. Alliances will have shifted. Names lost. Those who remembered me may be dead, or worse, silent. I am arriving into something I no longer recognize. I am a relic from another time. A legend returning to a place that may no longer have room for me.

Finding my place in this changed landscape will require careful navigation, and a humility I’m not accustomed to. Rage is a poor compass, but it still burns. Patience will be required. Something that won’t come easily when control over my life has only just been regained.

And beside me rides a woman who should not exist at all. She’s another unknown in a landscape full of them.

Ravencross will hold answers—about the network I left behind, about the Authority’s reach, and about why the old stories rise again. Perhaps it will also hold some about Ellie herself, and why she alone could respond to my summons .

Being here is the first step. And once I have what I came for, then my real work will begin.