After the meal, they left the tavern. Cale gave a final wave goodbye to the old man and his niece, the girl smiling warmly as she waved back, flour dust still clinging to her apron.

  The streets were waking up fully now, sunlight crawling over the buildings as merchants raised shutters and children chased each other through alleys. Tiana guided them toward the market square, where she purchased a modest supply of provisions: dried meats, hard cheese, some flatbread, and a skin of water. It all went into a small leather sack that Cale now carried on his back.

  They made their way to the gate through which they had entered the city.

  "Where are we heading?" Cale asked, adjusting the strap across his shoulder.

  Tiana didn’t answer. Her eyes were forward, unreadable.

  He didn’t press her.

  They were just stepping out of the city walls when the sound of clattering hooves and shouting guards drew Cale's attention. An ornate carriage rolled toward them along the cobbled road.

  It was large, draped in deep crimson velvet and trimmed with gold. The wood was polished to a sheen, and the wheels bore the emblem of a black wolf head crowned with laurels—a noble crest. The horses were jet-black, their armor gleaming, and the driver wore a livery coat of green and black. The people in the road quickly parted, bowing their heads or stepping back as the carriage approached.

  As it slowed before the gate, Cale's gaze was drawn to the window.

  Behind the silk curtains, a man sat reclined in comfort. Middle-aged, broad-faced with sagging cheeks and puffy eyes that squinted despite the shade. His lips were thin and glistened with spittle, and his greased-back hair clung to his scalp in oily strands. A fat gold ring wrapped around every other finger, and he toyed with a jeweled cane, a bored expression on his face.

  The man looked out the window with lazy, disinterested eyes.

  And something in Cale’s chest snapped.

  His lips moved without thought.

  "Rothgar Velmier,"

  The name slid from him like a curse.

  Rothgar Velmier—the noble who had condemned Erel Vann to rot in Caldrith Hollow. The man whose greed and pride had been mocked in song, and who had answered with chains and cruelty.

  Cale’s fingers clenched at his sides. His eyes stayed locked on the window long after the carriage passed through the gate and vanished into the city streets.

  Tiana had kept walking, but paused when she realized he was no longer beside her.

  "Cale?" she called gently.

  He turned slowly. "Sorry."

  But the fire in his eyes betrayed him.

  Tiana studied him in silence, then spoke.

  "Do not let the memories of dead people cloud your judgment. Their past is not yours."

  Cale offered a slow nod.

  But the knot in his chest remained.

  Rothgar Velmier hadn’t just killed Erel. He had silenced truth. Buried justice beneath wealth. Erel had been one of many. How many others had died in dungeons, forgotten and broken?

  This city—Valebridge.

  The name now settled in Cale’s heart like a seed of fire.

  He walked beside Tiana, but his mind remained far behind.

  Watching the carriage.

  Watching the man who had never been held accountable.

  Not yet.

  Cale took out his lute and started to play as they walked, the strings humming beneath his fingers, filling the road with gentle melody. It helped the time pass, the weight of silence between them made lighter by the music.

  "We’re heading to an old battlefield," Tiana finally answered.

  Cale’s song faltered.

  That meant spirits—perhaps even cursed ones. Human memories soaked in pain and rage. He took a slow breath, steadying himself.

  Still, he nodded. “Alright.”

  As they continued down the dusty path, a carriage approached from behind. Its wooden wheels creaked and thudded gently over the gravel, the horse’s hooves clopping at a steady rhythm.

  The driver was a middle-aged man, lean and sun-touched, with a straw hat tugged low over weathered features. His clothes were simple but clean—linen shirt, a faded vest patched at the elbows, and boots worn soft from years of use. His hands, calloused and strong, gripped the reins with easy familiarity.

  He gave them a friendly smile. “Nice song you got there, son.”

  “Thanks,” Cale replied, a little surprised, his voice modest.

  The man motioned to the back of the cart. “You can ride with me if you sing a few more of those.”

  Cale glanced at Tiana, uncertain.

  “Where are you headed?” she asked.

  “Back to my village. A few hours down this road. Quiet place, sits by the riverbend.” He spoke like a man at peace with his life, grounded in something steady.

  Tiana studied him a moment, then gave Cale a small nod.

  Cale smiled and stepped forward. He offered his hand. “Deal.”

  The man grasped it with a firm, honest grip. “Carl.”

  “Cale,” he answered.

  Carl turned his eyes to the woman now approaching. “And this beautiful lady?”

  “Tiana,” she said evenly, her voice calm but watchful.

  “Pleasure to meet you both,” Carl said with a tilt of his hat. “Hop on. Sun’s not waiting.”

  Cale climbed onto the seat beside Carl, while Tiana made her way into the back of the cart. She settled among the bundles of hay and cloth sacks, pulled out a weathered book, and began reading in silence.

  Cale cradled the lute in his lap. He strummed lightly, letting the music return.

  The road stretched before them. The breeze carried the scent of dust and distant flowers.

  After some time, Carl leaned in, lowering his voice. “Is she your wife?”

  Cale froze. His fingers faltered on the strings.

  “No... she’s...” he hesitated, cheeks flushing red, “my lover.” The last word left his mouth in a whisper.

  Carl chuckled. “With a woman like that at my side, I’d have married her by now. But—” he winked, “don’t let my wife hear me say that.”

  Cale laughed softly, nervous and flattered. He looked back at Tiana—still reading, her expression unreadable.

  “Where are you two headed?” Carl asked.

  Tiana answered before Cale could. “I’m a cartographer. I make maps. Cale’s a bard. We go where the roads take us. No fixed path.”

  Carl was quiet for a moment, his eyes on the horizon.

  “Sounds like freedom,” he said at last. “A rare thing in this world.”

  Cale played a quiet, contemplative tune, letting the music speak for him.

  The cart rolled on beneath the sun, carrying with it three souls—strangers, perhaps—but for a time, traveling the same road. Bound not by fate, but by the quiet power of song.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The smell hit Cale like a slap. Acrid, bitter, thick with something that clawed at his lungs.

  Smoke.

  He tensed, glancing toward the horizon just as the wind shifted again. It wasn't the clean scent of wood fire. It was heavier. Oily. Wrong.

  Carl noticed it too. His hands tightened on the reins. "That ain't right."

  "Carl," Cale said, his voice tight, "push the horse. Fast."

  Carl didn’t hesitate. He snapped the reins, and the horse broke into a gallop.

  As they neared the village, the smoke thickened. People were gathered in a wide circle near the village square, their faces grim, some whispering, others watching in silence.

  And at the center of it all—

  A girl.

  She was tied to a wooden stake.

  A pile of firewood had already been lit at her feet. Flames licked at her ankles, creeping upward with slow cruelty. The heat shimmered in the air. Her legs kicked instinctively, but the ropes held her fast. Smoke clung to her, thick as fog.

  "What the—?" Carl gasped, eyes wide.

  But Cale was already moving.

  He jumped from the cart before it had even come to a full stop. The crowd gasped as he sprinted toward the blaze. He didn't slow.

  In a single motion, he leapt through the fireline, the heat searing around him, threatening to burn—

  But it didn't.

  Cale moved through flame as if it were wind.

  Screams erupted. Panic swept through the onlookers as they stumbled back, unsure of what they were witnessing.

  The girl's eyes were wide, wild with terror. Her arms pulled against the bindings in vain, her cries hoarse from smoke.

  Cale reached her. His fingers shifted—metal forming at his fingertips, sharp as blades.

  With a single swipe, the ropes snapped.

  She collapsed into him, and he caught her.

  Smoke curled around them as he stepped back through the fire, the girl cradled in his arms. Her skin was pale beneath streaks of soot, her dark hair tangled and singed at the ends. She wore a simple gray dress torn at the sleeves, the hem blackened by flame. Her eyes were haunting—a strange, shimmering silver, almost too bright, like moonlight trapped in water.

  She looked otherworldly.

  But she was also... beautiful. Unusually so. Not just in her features—but in her presence. She looked young. Seventeen, maybe eighteen.

  "Are you hurt?" Cale asked, his voice low, urgent.

  She looked up at him, trembling. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her eyes welled.

  And then she clung to him.

  Her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her body shaking.

  She began to sob.

  Cale held her close, letting her cry. The weight of her pain seeped into him like rain soaking into dry earth. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

  Around them, the villagers watched, stunned.

  No one moved.

  Tiana stood at the edge of the square, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

  Carl slowly stepped forward from the crowd, his hat clutched to his chest.

  "What is going on here?" he asked, voice tight with disbelief.

  From the crowd, an old man emerged, leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden cane. His robes were patched but clean, his thin frame hunched under the weight of age and fear. Deep wrinkles cut across his face like dried riverbeds, and his eyes—milky with age but sharp with resolve—fixed on Cale.

  “Put the girl down,” he said, his voice cracking like brittle parchment. “She needs to die.”

  Cale didn’t flinch. His arms tightened protectively around the girl, whose breath was shallow and rapid against his chest. His blue eyes, glowing faintly in the sunlight filtered through smoke, locked with the elder’s. There was no hesitation—only steel.

  “No,” Cale said.

  The old man took a shuddering breath. His gnarled hand trembled around the head of his cane, but he didn’t look away.

  “If that girl doesn’t die… all of us will.”

  Cale glanced down at the girl. Her face was streaked with soot and tears, her silver eyes wide and terrified. She shook her head, wordless, her fingers digging into his coat as if he were her last anchor to life.

  “She brought a curse to our village,” the old man continued, raising his voice so all could hear. “Since she arrived—animals have fallen sick, crops have withered, children wake screaming with fevers. She draws death with her, boy! If we do nothing… it will take us all.”

  The crowd behind him began to murmur again. Panic rippled like wind through tall grass—fear on every face. Some clutched their children. Others backed away from Cale, from the girl. Their eyes were wild, searching for someone to tell them what to believe.

  Tiana stepped through the parting crowd, her robes brushing the ash-covered ground. Her expression was unreadable, but her presence was like the eye of a storm—calm, unshaken.

  “Wait,” she said, raising a hand. “You said a curse. But has anyone truly investigated its nature?”

  The old man narrowed his eyes. “We know enough. What else could it be?”

  “Superstition isn’t truth,” Tiana replied coldly. “Let me see for myself. If it is a curse, I’ll confirm it. If not… you’ll know before you kill an innocent girl.”

  The crowd stirred again—less fear now, more doubt. Some nodded, others looked away shamefully.

  The old man hesitated. His gaze drifted over the villagers. Eyes were on him. Doubt was spreading like cracks in stone.

  “…So be it,” he muttered, after a long silence. “But if you bring no answers, the fire will.”

  He turned, waving them after him. “Follow me. I’ll take you to where it all began.”

  Cale looked down at the girl in his arms, who clung to him like a lifeline.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

  They walked in silence as the elder led them away from the village square. The tension clung to the air like fog, thick and unyielding. Cale could hear the girl breathing beside him, still shaky, still clinging to him with a grip far too tight for someone so thin.

  They passed rows of crooked houses, their thatched roofs sagging under time. People watched from behind doors and windows—silent, wary. A mother pulled her child back by the collar when she saw the girl in Cale’s arms. A man spat on the dirt and looked away.

  "Where are we going now?" he asked softly.

  "The fields," the elder grumbled. "Where we kept our animals."

  They passed through low fences and crumbling stone markers until they reached a stretch of dry, overgrown grass. The stench hit them before the sight did.

  A dozen animals—sheep, goats, even two oxen—lay motionless across the field. There were no wounds. No signs of violence. Just bloated, still bodies, their eyes dull and glassy. Flies buzzed around them in a lazy, endless cloud.

  Cale turned to the elder. "Why haven’t you buried them?"

  The old man looked down, shame on his face. "No one dares to. The last boy who tried... he got sick within hours. Fever. Rambling about shadows. We thought it was a sign."

  Tiana stepped forward, her eyes scanning the scene with sharp precision. "You said the children wake up screaming? Fevered dreams?"

  The elder nodded. "Yes. We thought it was just the sickness. But they all say the same thing. They see shadows in their sleep. Wrapping around them. They say... they saw themselves withering away."

  Tiana frowned, her gaze thoughtful. "And the adults?"

  "Some of them are sick too. Not all. But the ones that are... they don’t speak. Barely eat. They sweat through the night and shiver in the day."

  "Take us to one of them," she said.

  The elder hesitated. "They are barely hanging on to consciousness. We shouldn’t disturb them."

  Tiana hummed to herself and turned away, her voice cold and sharp. "If you won’t, I’ll find someone who will."

  "Fine," the elder muttered, clearly reluctant. "I will show you."

  Cale gently lowered the girl to her feet. She swayed, but remained upright. He knelt slightly to meet her gaze. "Can you walk?"

  She nodded, silent, her hand clinging to his sleeve.

  They approached a small home like many others in the village—timber-framed with a thatched roof. In the yard, a woman was sweeping the dirt with a broom of tied reeds. She paused when she saw them, her face hardening.

  "Mr. Elden," she said with a bow of her head.

  "Good evening, Marella. We’d like to see your husband," Elden said.

  Her eyes narrowed as they flicked to Tiana, then Cale, then finally the girl beside him.

  "What is that cursed girl doing here?" she spat.

  The girl shrank behind Cale. His jaw tightened, and his blue eyes lit with a cold, sharp edge.

  Marella stepped back slightly, her expression flickering with fear, but her anger didn’t fade.

  "Calm down," Elden said quickly. "These people want to help your husband."

  "Fine," Marella snapped. "But she’s not setting foot in my house."

  Tiana turned to Cale. "Wait outside."

  He nodded and stepped back, wrapping an arm around the girl as they watched Tiana enter the house.

  Inside, the air was stifling. A man lay on a straw-stuffed mattress, sweat drenching his skin. His complexion was pale, almost grey, and his veins stood out dark and unnatural beneath his skin. His breathing was shallow.

  Tiana knelt beside him, took his wrist, and felt his pulse. Weak. Faint. Her eyes scanned the small room—a bowl of untouched water, dried herbs hanging above the door, the faint flicker of a candle barely keeping the shadows at bay.

  "I need to check my notes," she murmured, "but I think I know how to help him."

  Marella’s mask of anger cracked.

  "Really? You can help him?"

  Tiana stood and faced her. The woman’s eyes were glassy.

  "Please... heal him. If he doesn’t wake up, I don’t know what I’ll do."

  Tiana gave a single nod, then turned to Elden. "Do you have somewhere we can stay for the night? Somewhere quiet."

  "All we have are the empty barns," he said.

  Tiana didn’t flinch. "That will do."

  She stepped outside, Elden following close behind.

  The sun had begun to set, casting long shadows across the village. Cale looked up as she approached, and Tiana met his gaze.

  "Let’s go," she said.

  Without a word, they were escorted toward the barn.

  And somewhere in the village, the shadows stretched just a little longer.

  The barn stood at the edge of the village, old and leaning with age. Its wooden frame was sun-bleached and cracked, the gray boards warped from years of storms and scorching summers. Gaps in the slanted roof let moonlight pour through in quiet beams, cutting the darkness with silver. Dust swirled in the still air, stirred only by their footsteps. The scent of hay and faded animal musk lingered like a memory.

  Inside, rusted tools hung from crooked nails, and remnants of straw littered the ground in damp patches. A forgotten scythe lay propped against a splintered beam, its blade dulled by time. It was quiet—too quiet. A kind of hush that felt unnatural, as if the barn itself was holding its breath.

  Elden led them in and gave a slow nod. "It ain’t much," he said, voice low, as though afraid to disturb the air. "But it’s dry. And safe. Good night."

  He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the hush.

  A soft flutter stirred above. Archimedes descended through a break in the roof, his wings outstretched in silence. The white owl landed on a thick wooden beam, talons scraping against the old wood. Moonlight shimmered across his feathers, giving him an almost ethereal glow. His pale blue eyes locked with Tiana’s green, and for a moment, they simply stared at each other.

  Tiana moved to a nearby bench and sank onto it, her movements slow and thoughtful. The wood creaked beneath her. She patted the space beside her.

  Cale sat down. The girl followed and settled next to him, her silver eyes catching the light. She looked exhausted, but still clung to a quiet strength.

  For a while, they said nothing. The silence hung like fog, thick and uncertain.

  Tiana’s voice finally broke it.

  "What’s happening in this village... it’s not a curse."

  Cale turned to her, brows furrowed.

  "These are the signs of necromancy," she continued. Her tone was low but certain. "The sudden death of the livestock, the sick villagers, the nightmares... They’re symptoms of a ritual that draws life from the living. A siphon, slow and invisible. Someone—somewhere—is feeding off this place."

  The girl beside Cale shivered.

  Without thinking, Cale wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders. She leaned into him, silent, but her fingers curled into his sleeve.

  Tiana didn’t look at them. She was staring at the ground, her expression distant,

  Outside, a gust of wind howled past the barn, rattling the wood.

  Cale looked at Tiana. "Can we stop it?"

  She nodded, though her face was grim. "Maybe. But first... We’ll have to find the source... and sever it. Completely."

  Archimedes gave a low hoot from the rafters, a solemn sound that echoed in the quiet barn.

  No one spoke after that.

  The three of them sat together in the barn's stillness—beneath the watchful owl, beneath the stars, and beneath the growing weight of a mystery that now clung to the village like rot to roots.