Page 5

Nrommo nodded without hesitation. “As you command, my king.”

“Oppo, Prillu, come with me. We’ll approach Otenyo’s district with caution.”

As Nrommo departed with the bulk of their forces, Akoro turned his nnirae back toward their destination. His mind had cleared, though determination burned no less fiercely. He needed results more than he needed destruction.

At least for now.

Within hours, the gates of Ntorkkan district came into view.

The massive stone archway bore the district's insignia: a hawk with outstretched wings, clutching wheat in its talons.

A symbol of prosperity and vigilance. They guided their mounts to a stop, the small contingent of soldiers moving to a protective formation at their rear.

The central town sprawled before them—a cluster of red and brown buildings jutting out like jagged cliffs against the pale sky.

Unlike Onn Kkulma’s orderly streets and towering architecture, Ntorkkan had grown organically, structures pressed against each other in haphazard clusters, narrow alleys snaking between them.

Still, there was wealth here, evident in the polished stone facades of the larger buildings and the gleaming metal adornments that caught the harsh sunlight.

Of course, this wasn’t a normal day in the district.

Colorful banners hung from windows and doorways, their rich fabrics stirring in the breeze.

The scent of spiced food drifted from open doorways, and soft melodies floated on the air, voices raised in reverent songs.

People moved through the streets with purpose, but their steps carried the unhurried grace of sacred observance.

Many wore their finest garments, the deep jewel tones and metallic threads catching the light as they passed.

The Day of Voices. Even here, in a district he suspected of treachery, Otenyo's people honored the sacred observance.

As they approached, guards rushed forward, weapons half-drawn, but their movements seemed reluctant, torn between duty and the solemnity of the day.

At their center strode Soge Otenyo, his tall frame moving with fluid power.

Otenyo's sharp features remained impassive—heavy brows set in their natural scowl, jaw locked in perpetual sternness.

Dark eyes assessed Akoro with calculation, revealing nothing.

Unlike most soges who carried the soft roundness of comfortable living, Otenyo maintained a warrior's hardened physique.

Scars marked his arms—old blade wounds that spoke of genuine combat experience.

"King Sy." Otenyo's voice carried no surprise or shock at their unexpected arrival. The words were measured, controlled. "I trust you're well. Though I confess surprise at your visit on this most holy of days."

"Soge Otenyo." Akoro remained mounted, a subtle reminder of their difference in status.

Otenyo inclined his head—not quite a bow, but acknowledgment enough to avoid open disrespect. “My district serves at your pleasure, zmola .” His words carried no warmth. "Though surely pressing business must have drawn you from your own observances?"

Prillu nudged her nnirae forward, her diplomatic instincts sharp. "The zmola honors all districts equally on sacred days. His presence here shows the Voices guide him to serve every ssukkǔrian ."

"How... thoughtful." Otenyo's pause carried subtle challenge. "Though I suspect this visit serves purposes beyond spiritual observance. I wonder what concerns might drive such urgent attention to my humble district.”

"Nothing is urgent." Akoro's voice cut through the diplomatic dance like an arrow. "Today is simply a day I visit Ntorkkan. Will you move aside or do you wish to continue wasting our time with your questions?"

Otenyo's eyes narrowed, the first crack in his composure.

Citizens had begun to gather at a respectful distance, drawn by the royal presence.

"Surely you don't intend to roam the district unattended, my king?

I must insist you're accompanied by someone from my guard.

" He gestured toward a weathered warrior.

"Captain Brakor possesses intimate knowledge that may?—"

"No." The word rang with absolute finality. "We need no escort." Without waiting for a response, he spurred his mount toward the gates, and his entourage followed. Otenyo guards were forced to pull back.

The streets of Ntorkkan opened before them, transformed by sacred observance.

Despite the apparent normalcy of commerce and daily life, an underlying reverence permeated everything.

Conversations were quieter, movements more deliberate.

Even the children who darted between adults did so with unusual quiet, as if aware of the day's significance.

As they turned down a side street, Prillu suddenly straightened in her saddle. "That building."

She pointed to a squat structure set back from the road, its walls stained with soot, small windows emitting a dull orange glow. Unlike the polished facades of administrative buildings, this place bore the marks of hard use.

"It's the factory where I obtained the stone, my king."

Heat surged through Akoro's veins as he smoothly dismounted.

They entered through heavy wooden doors that groaned in protest on their iron hinges.

Darkness broken only by the glow of multiple furnaces greeted them, each radiated waves of intense heat.

The air hung thick with smoke and the acrid bite of molten metal, while hammers striking anvils created a chaotic yet orderly rhythm.

The factory floor stretched into shadowy recesses, divided into workstations where laborers toiled.

Some fed raw materials into glowing furnaces, bodies glistening in the firelight.

Others shaped heated metal with practiced blows, muscles straining beneath soot-stained skin.

In the far corner, more delicate work was underway: artisans assembling smaller components with meticulous precision, their fingers moving with grace.

Prillu moved further into the space, her attention fixed on the workers. Her brow furrowed slightly. “The personnel has changed since my last visit.”

She approached a burly man who appeared to be overseeing operations, his thick arms crossed over a barrel chest, a heavy leather apron hanging from his shoulders. "Master Forger, I see your factory is open on the Day of Voices.”

The Master Forger started when he saw her, his face flustered as he rose to stand. “Er.. Yes, Kammara ǒllehh… I offer extra pay on er… sacred days. The workers are grateful for the—” He stopped abruptly when he saw Akoro, his eyes widening. He lowered his head awkwardly. “My king.”

“Have you've taken on new workers?" Prillu asked.

The master forger swallowed. "Yes. Er.. We rotate our workforce seasonally. Different projects require different skills."

"What do you produce here?" Akoro asked.

"Various implements. Tools for agriculture, components for construction, decorative metalwork. Most go to Onn Kkulma in organized batches."

Prillu suddenly straightened. "That woman there. I recognize her from my last visit."

The woman in question was unlike most laborers—though clearly powerful, with shoulders sculpted by hard labor, there was graceful economy to her movements. Sweat had plastered her hair to her scalp, and soot streaked her face, but it did nothing to disguise her strong features.

The master forger called to her, and she looked up, wariness immediately settled over her features. She set down her tools and approached, wiping her hands on her apron, and the master forger stepped back to keep an eye on the rest of the workers without leaving the conversation.

“Kammara ǒllehh,” she acknowledged with a nod. “Good to see you again.”

“And you.” Prillu smiled. “Your work was impressive. There were two other women working here as well, as I recall. Unusual to see three women in a factory like this.”

“Yes, I remember,” she said, nodding slowly. “They’ve moved on.”

“So soon after my visit?” Prillu’s tone was casual, but Akoro caught the sharp focus in her gaze.

The woman shrugged. "They shouldn't have been here to begin with. Too small for this work. They only joined a few weeks before your visit. Hadn't even gone through the full training for the more physical work."

"Yet they were hired?" Akoro asked

The woman pursed her lips. “The master forger has an eye for a pretty face,” she said bluntly. “Turning away two of them would’ve been impossible for him. But they were quiet. Did as they were told. Kept to themselves.”

"And why did they leave?"

"I assumed they found something better suited. Something that wouldn't burn their soft skin or break their slender fingers."

"What exactly did they work on while they were here?"

"Hard to say. Bit of everything. They moved between stations."

Prillu turned back to the master forger, who had been watching their exchange with poorly concealed unease. "One of those women worked directly with a batch of stones I inspected and bought on behalf of the Sy Dynasty. Where can we find them?"

Sweat beaded on the man's brow. "They came looking for work. Said they were from the eastern quarter. Shared lodgings near the water cistern."

"Names?" Oppo asked.

"Rikka and Sshenna. Said they were sisters."

Akoro turned to Oppo and Prillu, signaling their departure with a curt nod. “I want to see these lodgings.”

The eastern quarter proved to be one of the poorer sections—narrow streets lined with modest dwellings packed tightly together. Even here, signs of sacred observance were evident: small shrines in doorways, the soft murmur of prayers from within homes.

But their inquiries proved fruitless. No one recalled tenants matching the descriptions. No one remembered seeing two young women working at the metal factory.