Page 4

I crouch near the mattress, running my fingertips over the dingy blankets.

A faint prickle of energy sparks under my skin—residual magic, like a fading echo.

Ai’s presence lingers here, fleeting but unmistakable.

She must be scared. Possibly wounded. I shut my eyes, allowing my psionic senses to expand.

Nothing concrete emerges, only the sensation of fear woven into these sheets.

I stand and pace to the window, unlatching the shutter to peer outside. The alley behind the inn is deserted, except for a stray cat rummaging in a refuse pile. Not a single human or dark elf in sight, at least for now. My heart beats louder. I’m close but not close enough.

Footsteps scuffle in the corridor behind me. I stiffen. My hand curls around the hilt of my dagger.

A soft rap on the door, then the innkeeper’s voice trickles in. “Thought you might want this.” She slides a cracked lantern through the gap. “No extra charge, just don’t set my place on fire.”

I release a controlled exhale, accepting the lantern. “I appreciate it.”

She hesitates. “Look, I don’t want trouble. If you’re tangled up in this, do what you must and leave before you bring the elves to my doorstep.”

She’s worried. Rightly so. I give a curt nod. “I’ll be gone soon.”

She retreats, and the corridor falls silent once more. I lift the lantern, illuminating corners of the room. My gaze catches on the chest—old, chipped wood with a rusting lock. Something about it makes me curious. Perhaps Ai left a clue.

The lock yields to a bit of effort with a small pry-tool. Inside, I discover a tattered scrap of parchment and an empty pouch. The parchment bears a jagged symbol: the faint outline of a partial sun, or maybe a stylized crest. Beneath it, scribbled words read: “Under the water wheel. Aiseth. R.”

R. That must stand for the Red Purna contact, or so I assume. My breath stirs. Under the water wheel likely refers to the old mill’s water wheel, which stands on the outskirts of Lowtown, half-broken near a small canal. This clue is enough. Ai must’ve hidden there or planned to meet someone.

I burn with curiosity and apprehension. Why leave a coded note in a place so obvious? Everything about this mission reeks of a trap. But if Ai’s in danger, I have no choice except to proceed.

Lantern in hand, I slip from the room. Once I reach the inn’s main area, I nod at the innkeeper and hurry out.

The street outside is quieter than before.

A group of bleary-eyed humans leans against a wall, muttering about the next day’s labor quotas.

On the horizon, the moon hangs low, painting the rooftops in silver.

I set my course toward the old mill. The path takes me through a winding sequence of narrower alleys.

A cluster of half-collapsed stalls lines the route, remnants of a market that probably thrived decades ago.

Now only splinters remain. My footsteps make almost no sound on the uneven stones—I’ve trained my entire life for stealth like this.

A flicker of movement at the side of my eyes puts me on edge.

I pause behind a stack of rotting crates, focusing my senses.

Two silhouettes appear near a lamppost across the way.

A pair of dark elves, from their height and bearing.

One has a curved blade at his hip, the other extends an elegant staff.

They’re speaking in low tones, scanning the shadows as if searching for something.

My pulse pounds. If these are Orthani soldiers, I’m an instant away from discovery. Quietly, I reduce the light from my lantern, covering it with my cloak. From behind the crates, I can make out fragments of their conversation.

“—told the purna may be prowling these streets. If we find her?—”

“We bring her to the commander. He wants her alive. The others demand a demonstration of loyalty.”

A demonstration of loyalty. My teeth clench.

That means they’re working on orders from someone in Orthani’s chain of command, maybe a high-ranking officer or noble.

Could it be Vaelith, or another figure with enough influence?

I wrestle with the urge to vanish into the night, but I have to get Ai. This complicates everything.

I wait for them to move on, breath held tight, then slip down a sidestreet.

The buildings become more dilapidated, their walls riddled with cracks and scorch marks.

Evidently, Lowtown has endured brutal incidents.

Possibly riots or forced relocations. My boots crunch over broken pottery.

I keep my gaze sharp for any sign of watchers.

Eventually, I spot a squat structure looming at the far edge.

The old mill stands silent, its once-mighty water wheel half-submerged in the stagnant canal.

A rotted walkway stretches toward the wheel’s base.

The entire scene exudes decay, from the slick algae clinging to the wood to the faint smell of mildew saturating the air.

I approach warily, each step on the walkway eliciting a groan from the boards.

A single moonstruck reflection glistens off the canal’s murky surface, revealing the slow swirl of debris below.

I pause at the spot where water spills lazily over broken sluices.

The wheel sags, creaking with each erratic rotation.

Something moves beneath the water wheel—a flicker of motion. My heart stutters. I edge closer, careful not to let my boots slip. The stench of wet rot intensifies, but I push beyond it. If Ai’s hiding here, I need to confirm she’s alive.

Leaning over the railing, I see a small figure crouched on a ledge just above the waterline. Too dark to discern details, but I sense a presence that sparks faint ripples in my psionic awareness—like a muffled echo that calls to me. It must be Ai.

“Hey,” I whisper, voice as soft as I can manage.

She jolts, pressing back into the shadows. In the dim light, I catch the pale glint of her eyes.

“It’s alright.” I try to infuse calm into my tone. “I’m here to help.”

A tremor shudders through her slight frame. “Stay back,” she rasps. Her voice is high, pitched with a swirl of terror. “The elves—they’re hunting me.”

I set the lantern on the walkway, the flame turned low, then show my hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m not with them. I promise. I heard you might be in trouble.”

She blinks, possibly weighing whether to trust me. “Are... are you like me?”

My throat constricts. “Yes. In more ways than you know.” I check over my shoulder to ensure no one looms behind me. Then I kneel on the decrepit boards, bringing myself closer to her level. “We don’t have much time, Ai. The elves are searching these streets. If we stay here, they’ll find us.”

She swallows, eyes darting to the canal’s surface. “I can’t control my power. It flares up. I almost burned a house the other night. Now they want to lock me away... or worse.”

I reach out mentally, brushing just a whisper of reassurance over her mind. She startles but doesn’t recoil completely. “I can help you,” I say. “We can get out of Orthani—somewhere safer than Lowtown. But we have to leave now.”

A gust of wind rattles the walkway. I hear distant shouting, and my chest tightens.

Over the rooftops, a faint orange glow hints at torches or magefire approaching from the main thoroughfare.

A raid, perhaps. Exactly the kind of large-scale sweep Orthani loves to unleash whenever they suspect rebellious activity.

Ai’s eyes mirror my alarm. “They’re coming.”

I rise and offer her my hand. “Come on. We’ll go through the back alleys, avoid the main roads.”

She hesitates a second, then seizes my hand with trembling fingers. Her grip is so frail it tugs at my heart. No child—no one—deserves to live with this level of terror. I help her onto the walkway, steadying her as the rotted planks sway beneath us.

The flicker of torchlight glimmers ominously against the night sky. Shouts ring out: coarse orders from dark elf soldiers, the pounding of boots on cobblestone. Ai looks at me, panic etched across her features.

I set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Stay behind me, keep low, and run when I tell you.”

She nods, hugging her scrawny arms to her chest.

We creep toward the far side of the mill, where a crumbling gate leads to a tight side lane.

Each footstep feels like a thunderclap in this tense hush.

My gaze darts around, searching for silhouettes or flickers of movement.

The world contracts into a condensed swirl of moonglow and dread. Ai’s breathing stutters.

Suddenly, a male voice barks from the main street, “Spread out! She must be near!”

I grind my teeth in frustration. The city guard, or perhaps a specialized unit, is far too close.

My mind replays the suspicion: that the Red Purna intended for me to be caught, or at least tested.

This is too convenient, the timing too perfect.

We’re cornered between the canal and a band of ruthless elves.

Ai’s hand grips the back of my shirt as she tries to keep up.

I lead her deeper into the side lane, away from the shouts.

A tangle of crates and debris blocks a direct path, forcing us to navigate around obstacles.

Our pace quickens, fear fueling every step.

The torque of adrenaline heightens my senses—my psionic awareness prickles the air, searching for minds that might be scanning for us.

A sharper cry echoes from behind. I glimpse the bounce of torchlight.

Dark shadows flit across walls. Ai looks at me with wide, terror-stricken eyes.

My instincts scream at me to cloak us in illusions, but conjuring that kind of transformative magic right now could act like a beacon to any psionic hound they might have with them.

Another voice slices the air, deeper and more commanding, “We know you’re here, purna. Surrender and we’ll let the child live.”