For eight days, they rode before finally reaching the capital. Clinging to the mountainside, Valoria rose above the clouds, its crenelated walls tearing through the heights and its watchtowers seeming carved from the very rock.

  At the main gate, guards stood with halberds in hand, sweeping the crowd with watchful eyes. Peasants bent beneath baskets overflowing with fruits and vegetables, while merchants struggled to steer carts sagging under heavy bundles. Farther along, nobles advanced in carriages, attended by their servants.

  As they passed through the gate, houses and shops revealed themselves, lined neatly along the streets.

  Rouis and Ambre stopped in front of a stone house. Green shutters framed the windows, and flower boxes overflowing with blooms spilled over the ledges. A staircase bordered by wrought-iron railings led up to a heavy wooden door reinforced with brass fittings.

  As they crossed the threshold, the houses and shops stretched out before them, aligned along the avenues.

  Rouis and Ambre stopped in front of a stone house. Green shutters framed the windows, and flower boxes heavy with blossoms spilled over the ledges. A staircase lined with wrought-iron railings led to a solid wooden door reinforced with brass fittings.

  Ambre held him close for a few seconds.

  “Take care of yourself,” she whispered.

  She climbed the steps one by one. When she reached the top, she turned back, a faint smile on her lips, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Rouis remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the fa?ade. His shoulders sagged. A sigh escaped him. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: what if he knocked on the door?

  But in the end, he turned away. His boots crunched against the gravel.

  He walked away, his jaw clenched. After a few steps, he turned off the main street and slipped into a narrow alley. Farther ahead, a sign creaked in the wind: a dragon with engraved scales, its claws wrapped around a tankard overflowing with foam.

  He pushed the door open. A rush of warm air hit his face at once, thick with the smell of beer and smoke.

  “To the Empire!” a man shouted, arm outstretched, tankard raised.

  “To war!” another added with a laugh, spilling half his drink down his tunic.

  A third, broader and heavier, staggered to his feet.

  “And to our damned enemies, may they die with their mouths open!”

  Cheers burst out in response. A fist slammed onto a table, followed at once by boots pounding against the floorboards, making the planks tremble.

  In a darker corner of the room, mages in robes of questionable luxury murmured among themselves, bent over wrinkled maps and old grimoires.

  “That symbol isn’t on any of the Guild’s copies.”

  “An oversight, perhaps,” another suggested quietly.

  “Either way, it changes everything.”

  “If they think they can open that seal with a simple catalyst, they’re even more foolish than I feared.”

  A snicker slipped from beneath a lowered hood.

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  At the counter, a broad-chested tavern keeper watched over his domain. Behind him, shelves sagged beneath an array of bottles in all shapes and sizes, while at the base of the wall, barrels exhaled the sweet scent of beer and yeast.

  Servers wove between the tables, arms laden with tankards and steaming plates. Conversations, fueled by heat and alcohol, nearly drowned out the clatter of glasses.

  Meanwhile, at the back of the room, a stone fireplace crackled, surrounded by leather armchairs where a few regulars had settled. Some lounged there, their gazes lost in the embers, while others exchanged quiet words.

  Rouis leaned back against one of the empty chairs, his gaze fixed on the entrance. The door opened with a long groan, revealing a figure draped in a dark cloak, the face hidden beneath a hood.

  His heart leapt. It was him, he was almost certain of it. He straightened, fingers gripping the edge of the table as a bead of sweat formed at his temple and slid down his cheek.

  For a moment, the bustle of the tavern faded around him, leaving behind a deafening silence. Then, in the glow of a lantern, the man lifted his head, revealing a patchy beard, tired eyes, a prominent nose… nothing like the hunchback.

  He looked away, his breathing uneven; the hope that had kept him suspended collapsed, leaving him hollow and frustrated. He sank deeper into his seat, a sigh slipping from his lips. Around him, the sounds of the tavern reclaimed their place.

  He ran a hand over his face, then lifted his head as a waitress passed by his table.

  “A beer,” he said, his voice rougher than he had intended.

  She nodded without slowing and disappeared into the crowd. A few moments later, she returned and set a tankard in front of him, the wood of the table giving a faint thud beneath the impact before she moved on to other customers.

  The tankard lay before him, lukewarm and flat. He brought it to his lips, but the dull bitterness of the drink only deepened his irritation.

  He set it down slowly, his fingers still tight around the handle. Around him, voices rose and fell in uneven waves, indifferent to his disappointment.

  They tangled into a harsh cacophony, while the clatter of boots struck like hammer blows inside his skull. Trapped in the noise, he could not leave, not yet. The man he was waiting for still had not appeared.

  As he looked away, hoping for a brief moment of relief, a high, sing-song voice rose beside him:

  “Are you planning to swirl that beer around all day, or should I bring you a fresh one?”

  Rouis looked up at a waitress leaning against his table. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, a few stray strands framing her face; a stained apron hung over her wrinkled dress.

  “Need anything else, maybe? Something to put a smile back on that gloomy face?” she went on.

  “No, thank you,” he replied.

  She set down her tray and tapped the wood with her fingertips.

  “You’re waiting for someone, aren’t you? Or am I wrong? It shows. You look like the kind of man who’d bite his nails if he could.”

  “I’m not waiting for anyone,” Rouis muttered.

  “If you say so. If you want a beer, or anything else, I’m not far.”

  She gave him one last sideways glance, a hint of a smile on her lips, then walked away.

  This place, this city, this atmosphere everything felt foreign to him. Even the lightness of a simple waitress was enough to stir up what he felt toward the capital.

  As he left the tavern, the cool air greeted him, washing away the lingering stench of beer and sweat. He followed a tree-lined path whose branches arched overhead like a vaulted ceiling. The darkness deepened as he moved farther from the lanterns. Soon, within the park, the agitation of the outside world faded away.

  He stopped beside a moss-covered trunk and leaned against it. He pulled a flask from his bag, removed the cap, and brought it to his lips, feeling the warmth spread through his body.

  Suddenly, a crack echoed nearby, and he lifted his head, staring at an unseen point between the trees.

  Danger.

  A shiver ran down his spine, a sensation he knew all too well; it never lied. He straightened, his breathing quickening, each breath harder than the last as his heart pounded against his chest. A drop of sweat slid down his temple.

  Suddenly, a mist rose from the ground, weaving between the trees, and within moments Morven emerged. His lowered hat revealed nothing but two dark slits. Behind him, his silhouette cast a warped shadow over the pavement, twisting within the fog. He tossed a pouch toward Rouis, the object spinning through the air before landing at his feet.

  “It didn’t go as planned,” Morven said.

  “Give me another mission,” Rouis replied.

  Morven inclined his head slightly.

  “It will be more difficult than escorting a little girl.”

  “I’m capable.”

  “Stay in the city. I’ll return.”

  At those words, the mist coiled around Morven, tracing spirals that stretched outward before folding back in on themselves. He lifted his gaze toward the sky, and his hat tilted, revealing a cheek marked by swirling patterns, a pale vapor trapped beneath the skin, trembling with each pulse.

  The thickening veil wrapped around his figure, slowly erasing his outline until silence fell once more, leaving nothing behind.