Shortly after Faelan left, the clerk at the reception came to meet the mayor.
"Sir, I noticed the messenger left with the package," he said, worry creeping into his voice.
"Yes, he'll deliver it to Harzia per my request," the mayor replied with out looking up from the documents on his desk.
"Sir, forgive me, but having him deliver it without the guild's involvement may cause complications."
"I appreciate your concern," the mayor said, lifting his head, "but that is not your job."
His gaze hardened. "We can't risk more people finding out. That's why I ordered him to deliver it personally to Harzia. Now return to your station."
The clerk nodded and excused himself.
****
Faelan headed out to get supplies from the market.
Just as Faelan was about to leave the market district, a commotion erupted nearby. Town guards rushed past him, weapons drawn.
He followed—only to stop short.
A young woman, barely into her twenties, stood alone amid the chaos, laying out the guards one after another with terrifying ease. When the last of them hit the ground, she turned to a trembling merchant.
"Take it… please," the man begged, thrusting a crate of fruit toward her.
She accepted it with a smile and walked away, biting into an apple as she passed Faelan. He stood frozen, his mind reeling—he had never seen skill like that.
"Hey."
The voice snapped him back. She glanced at him mid-bite. "You one of those messenger types?"
Faelan blinked, his thoughts scattered, still processing the scene he had just witnessed. The girl before him—looked almost unreal under the afternoon sun. Her cloak was dark, simple, worn more for function than fashion, draping over a light tunic and fitted trousers that allowed for unrestricted movement. Sturdy boots covered her feet, scuffed and dusty from travel, and a simple leather belt cinched at her waist. Nothing flashy, nothing extravagant—just practical clothing for someone constantly on the move.
Her radiant, off-color eyes flicked to him, sharp and curious, and her smile hinted at a confidence that made his own skills feel laughable in comparison.
"Uh… yeah, I'm a messenger," he replied cautiously, still gripping the strap of his heavy package.
She tilted her head, chewing on a piece of fruit with an almost childish abandon. "Cool! You look… serious. Are you fast?" she asked, voice light and teasing, though her eyes were sharp, assessing him like she could see right through him.
Faelan hesitated, glancing down at the package on his back. "I… try to be. Depends on what I'm carrying."
Ria's grin widened, a flash of mischief in her gaze. "Huh. Bet you're still slower than me though." She tossed the fruit core aside, already halfway to leaving before he could respond.
Faelan's gaze followed her as she moved through the crowd, casual confidence smoothing over the chaos she'd caused moments before. She carried the crate of fruit with ease, her cloak swaying as sunlight caught strands of her dark hair.
Her off-color eyes missed nothing. Every step was fluid, coiled—ready to strike or vanish in an instant. People parted instinctively, whispers trailing behind her, but she walked on, absorbed in her own rhythm.
He could only watch as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a quiet ache of awe and unease.
Faelan hoisted the heavy package onto his back, the leather straps digging slightly into his shoulders. The streets of Grarg's Keep were already bustling with morning activity—merchants calling out, carts rattling over stone, children darting between legs—but he moved with purpose, weaving carefully through the crowd.
The path ahead led out of the city, past the fortified gates and into the open lands that stretched toward Harzia. The sun was high, beating down on him relentlessly, and every step reminded him of the fragile balance between speed and endurance that a messenger had to maintain.
He stuck to the main road at first, the terrain familiar and predictable, but as he moved farther from Grarg's Keep, the landscape began to shift. The savannah gave way to scattered hills and rocky outcrops, patches of scrubland breaking the monotony of tall, dry grass. Wildlife began to appear more frequently—twisted creatures, their forms unfamiliar yet instinctively recognizable as predators or prey. Faelan kept his pace steady, scanning constantly, wary of any sudden movement.
By midday, he reached the first waypoint marked on the mayor's map: an old, abandoned outpost halfway to Harzia. The building was weathered and half-collapsed, but it provided some shelter from the sun. Faelan set the package down carefully, taking a moment to drink water and check his supplies. Every detail—where to rest, what paths to avoid, the behavior of the local wildlife—had to be memorized. Mistakes could cost him more than just time; they could cost him his life.
The afternoon sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the uneven terrain. Faelan adjusted the straps of the package, feeling the strain on his shoulders and lower back. The wind carried scents of unfamiliar plants and animals, a mix of sweet, bitter, and musky odors that marked the evolving landscape.
He moved carefully now, alert to every rustle in the grass and every shadow shifting across the rocks. The farther he traveled, the more the land seemed to change: sparse trees with thick, knotted roots, jagged cliffs rising from the plains, and occasional glimpses of various creatures. Some had elongated limbs, others sported strange armored plating, and all moved with a cautious intelligence that suggested they were predators of a different kind.
As evening approached, he spotted a shallow creek cutting through the hills—a small opportunity to rest and refill his water. He paused at the edge, bending down to drink, careful to keep his ears open for any hint of danger. The sound of water running over rocks was oddly soothing after the relentless tension of the day.
Faelan stood, tightened the straps on the package, and continued on, his resolve hardening. Each mile brought him closer to Harzia—and to whatever challenges awaited beyond the horizon.
The sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple. Shadows lengthened, and the world took on a muted, almost surreal quality. Faelan pressed on, the weight of the package on his back growing heavier with each step, but he refused to slow down too much; staying ahead of whatever might be lurking in the dark was more important than comfort.
The terrain had become uneven, jagged rocks jutting out of the earth and twisted patches of grass making footing treacherous. Every step required concentration, and every sound—a snapping twig, a rustle of leaves—set his nerves on edge. The wildlife around him had shifted again: he glimpsed creatures with elongated limbs and glowing eyes, their movements precise and calculated, keeping him constantly alert.
Eventually, he spotted a natural alcove tucked against a low cliff. It was small but offered shelter from the wind and a vantage point to see anyone approaching. Faelan set the package down carefully, checked it to make sure it was still intact, and sank to his knees, catching his breath. The chill of the evening air made his skin prickle, but it was a welcome relief from the relentless heat of the day.
As darkness fully enveloped the land, the sounds of nocturnal predators began to rise. Faelan kept his eyes and ears sharp, occasionally glimpsing glowing reflections that vanished when he turned his head. He reminded himself that resting was essential, that surviving wasn't just about moving fast—it was about knowing when to pause.
Settling against the rocky wall, he unwrapped some of his rations and ate slowly, every bite measured. The night stretched on, the stars emerging one by one, distant and cold.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, but his senses never fully relaxed. He slept lightly, one hand resting on the package, ready to spring into action at the slightest threat.
By noon the following day, Faelan arrived in Naliex, another town of Solax along the road to Harzia. It wasn't as refined as Grarg's Keep, but it was sturdy, lived-in, and welcoming enough.
Naliex felt more grounded than Grarg's Keep. Stone-paved streets ran between modest homes and shops, small market stalls alive with shouting merchants, the occasional battered cart rattling over uneven stone.
The people moved with purpose. Faces were weathered, clothes patched and worn, every step carrying the quiet resilience of those who worked to live rather than lived to be seen.
Faelan navigated the main street, noting inns, supply shops, and landmarks he might need on the return journey. At a water fountain in the town's center, he paused to drink, the cool water and soft trickle easing his nerves. Nearby, children chased one another, a blacksmith hammered glowing metal, and traders argued over grain prices. Life here followed its own rhythm, untouched by the dangers Faelan had begun to expect.
As he turned toward the outskirts of Naliex, he marked the narrow alleys and the alert guards at the gates—and caught a fleeting sense of being watched. The presence vanished as quickly as it came. Faelan dismissed it, though he knew from experience that attention often led to trouble.
Faelan left the heart of Naliex behind, following a worn dirt road that wound toward the rolling hills between the town and Harzia. Here the path narrowed, hemmed in by scraggly trees and rough grass that bent beneath the wind. The sun beat down, drawing out the earthy reds of the soil, muted greens of brush, and the pale gray of distant stone.
The wildlife grew stranger with each mile. Small, nimble creatures chittered through the undergrowth, and once he glimpsed something larger—a long-necked, armored herbivore grazing without concern. Its scales shimmered in blues and greens as they caught the light. Faelan kept his pace steady. Even docile creatures could turn unpredictable in the wild.
By mid-afternoon, signs of life returned. Isolated farmsteads dotted the land, smoke curling from chimneys, crops hardened against poor soil and fickle rain. Children ran barefoot between the rows while adults worked, some pausing to wave as he passed.
The farther he traveled, the more the land changed. The hills sharpened, the wind carried a faint metallic scent, and the ground felt heavier beneath his boots. The guild had trained him to notice such things—to remember routes, dangers, and details—and now the habit came naturally.
As the sun dipped low, Faelan reached a narrow ravine that marked the main route to Harzia. After checking the area for predators and signs of danger, he settled in for the night.
****
Footsteps echoed through a narrow corridor deep beneath the building. Dim lanterns cast weak pools of light along the stone path.
A man stepped forward—the same assassin who had tried to kill Faelan in Maulec—and knocked once on a heavy door.
"Come in."
The voice inside was calm. Cold.
The assassin entered and bowed.
"Have you found him?"
The assassin shook his head.
Silence followed. Then—"Then why are you here?"
"Dorvel has acquired something… valuable," the assassin said. A smirk tugged at his lips. "Their obedient little chief is sending it to Solax. Someone spotted the courier in Naliex—likely heading for Harzia. If you permit it, I'll lie in wait and silence him. Just as you wanted."
The man behind the desk leaned back.
"Bring me what he carries," he said at last. "And do not fail me again. We cannot afford witnesses."
****
Harzia rose from the horizon like a jewel set in the dry hills—a sprawling city of stone reinforced with steel, its towering walls laced with glowing conduits that pulsed faintly with stored energy. Iron-braced gates slid open with a low mechanical groan as rune-lit mechanisms adjusted to the flow of traffic.
Steam carts and compact motor-carriages rumbled over cobblestones worn smooth by centuries of use, their engines hissing as merchants shouted over the noise. Arc-lamps flickered to life along the main roads despite the rising sun, casting a pale blue glow over the morning crowds.
Faelan passed through the gates and felt it immediately—the density, the pressure, the sense that everything here moved faster. Smelled sharper. Watched closer.
He stayed off the main roads. Tech concentrated near the center; the side streets lagged behind, lit by sputtering lamps and jury-rigged power lines. Guards carried standard steel—but some wore powered gauntlets, fingers humming faintly with stored charge.
Rumors clung to Harzia like smoke. People who moved faster than human. Shadows that slipped between light and steel.
His destination lay near the city's core, where governance and commerce overlapped—the administrative district.
The mayor's building loomed ahead, a massive stone and steel structure rising three stories high, its façade carved with intricate reliefs depicting Harzia's history—trade, conquest, and alliances with neighboring towns. Heavy doors, banded with iron, stood at the entrance, and a pair of guards flanked the doorway.
Faelan approached cautiously, taking note of the guards' posture, the way they scanned the streets, and the subtle tension in their movements. Even in a city bustling with life, the mayor's building exuded authority and control, a small fortress amid the chaos.
"State your business," one guard barked, stepping slightly forward.
"I'm a messenger from Dorvel," Faelan replied, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing from the road. He produced the package, heavy but well-secured, and held it out. "Delivery for the mayor."
The guard's eyes flicked to the package and back to him, assessing. "Follow me," he said finally, motioning toward the doors. Faelan's boots echoed on the polished stone floor as they led him inside.
The interior was a stark contrast to the crowded streets outside—high ceilings, sunlight streaming through tall windows, and the faint scent of ink and parchment. Scribes moved efficiently along corridors, some pausing to nod respectfully, others focused entirely on their work. At the far end, the mayor sat behind a broad desk, reviewing documents.
"Ah," the mayor said without looking up, "a messenger from Dorvel. Let's see what you've brought." Faelan approached and carefully placed the package on the desk, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of hidden dangers, traps, or overhearing ears.
"Name?" the mayor asked, finally lifting his gaze.
"Faelan," he replied, steady and confident despite the weariness of travel.
The mayor nodded once, reaching for the package. "Very well. Your journey was worth it. Sit, rest."
Faelan exhaled quietly, tension easing slightly.
He sat and waited for what seemed like hours,he expected to be given a return package as quickly as possible or maybe the mayor wanted him to stay the night like the mayor from Grarg's keep, he wondered, but the mayor simply continued sorting papers, occasionally glancing at Faelan with a detached curiosity. The minutes stretched into hours, sunlight shifting through the tall windows and casting long, angular shadows across the room. Faelan's fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the desk, his mind wandering.
Why the delay? he thought. He had expected efficiency—messengers weren't kept waiting unless something unusual was at play. Perhaps the package he delivered was the cause.
A pair of aides moved quietly behind the mayor, whispering to one another, their gazes flicking toward Faelan occasionally. He couldn't read their expressions; their neutrality was well-trained, but the way they lingered near the mayor hinted at something more.
Finally, the mayor leaned back in his chair and spoke, voice measured. "You've done your duty, Faelan. But Dorvel's business isn't the only concern here. There are… other matters, ones I cannot simply hand off to you. Yet there's someone who could use your skills. Prepare yourself for a new assignment."
Faelan stiffened, curiosity piqued. Another assignment so soon? And yet, a part of him sensed the weight behind the mayor's words—this was no ordinary delivery.
The mayor's gaze lingered on Faelan a moment longer, as if weighing his resolve. Then he stood, pushing back his chair with a quiet scrape that echoed through the chamber.
"Follow me."
He led Faelan down a narrow corridor into a smaller, secluded office. Maps and charts covered the walls, documents stacked in careful disorder—chaotic at a glance, deliberate on closer inspection.
"You see, messenger," the mayor said, gesturing for Faelan to sit, "what you deliver matters. But what you observe can be far more valuable."
He tapped a map with a gloved finger. "Solax has shadows. Things that move beyond the reach of ordinary guards. Disappearances. Creatures that defy classification. Some whisper of Azryx sightings—unconfirmed, but persistent."
Faelan leaned forward despite himself. "So you want me to deliver something… or investigate?"
The mayor smiled thinly. "Both."
Faelan's jaw tightened. "That's not a messenger's job."
"True," the mayor replied calmly. "But you'll be heading there regardless."
"What does that mean?"
"You'll deliver your package to its final destination. Like a messenger should."
"I don't like this."
"I don't care," the mayor said flatly. "Just get it where it needs to go."
Faelan nodded, resignation settling in his chest.
"Good. You leave at first light. One last task before you head home." The mayor paused. "And Faelan—be vigilant. Anything could be out there."
Faelan's hands clenched at his sides.
Outside the window, sunlight gleamed off Harzia's walls, warm and inviting—at odds with the unease coiling in his gut.