The Road


    The road was a river of dust and loose stones.


    Lucas walked unhurriedly. But he was not alone.


    "Keep moving forward."


    The whisper slid through his mind like a wisp of fog, soft and enticing.


    "The path lies ahead of you."


    He did not answer. He could not answer.


    On the horizon, the city emerged like a scar on the landscape, its high, time-darkened walls reminiscent of the charred remains of an ancient beast.


    Lucas paused for a moment, scrutinizing the entrance. The wind blew dust through the ajar gates, as if the very earth were trying to avoid that place.


    He knew he was not welcome there.


    But that had never stopped him before.


    <hr>


    The City of Shadows


    Lucas crossed the gates.


    The smell was the first thing to hit him—a mixture of rotten spices, rust, and dry sweat, steeped in the hot, stifling air. The city was a living organism, but nothing about it was healthy.


    The streets were a suffocating chaos, with grimy canvas stalls vying for every inch of space. Vendors shouted their offers in different dialects, while beggars crawled along the muddy ground, extending their bony hands for any scrap of food.


    The aroma of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, but it was drowned out by the smell of dried blood and accumulated grime on the stones.


    Lucas passed by a butcher shop where chunks of dark meat hung from rusty hooks, with flies swirling around the cuts.


    A group of men played dice on an improvised table, drunken laughter filling the air. The game lasted little—an adaga gleamed and one of the players fell backward, a red streak of blood trailing from his throat.


    No one reacted.


    The body remained there, forgotten on the stone ground, as the others continued playing.


    "This is the kind of place where death means nothing."


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Lucas kept walking.


    He felt the stares. Dirty, haggard faces watched him from the shadows.


    The city recognized predators.


    And Lucas was one of them.


    <hr>


    The Tavern of the Damned


    The wooden door creaked open with a dry groan.


    The air inside was dense, heavy with smoke and secrets. Faint lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting trembling shadows over grimy tables.


    The conversation ceased for a moment when Lucas entered. That was enough.


    They felt it.


    He walked to the counter without haste. He ordered a drink—a mechanical gesture, a social ritual.


    A voice came before the man behind the counter:


    "Are you looking for something, stranger?"


    Lucas did not turn around.


    The smell of cheap wine and grease indicated that the man behind him made his living by selling information and betraying promises.


    "Information," Lucas replied. "About... powerful figures."


    The laugh was short.


    "Power comes at a price. And you don’t seem to have enough gold."


    "You don’t need to pay. Just take."


    Lucas tilted his head just enough for the man to glimpse the strange gleam in his eyes.


    The informant’s breath faltered. He stepped back. But then, he smiled.


    "If it’s power you seek..."


    he pointed to a dark corner of the tavern, "...perhaps that man can help you."


    In the depths, where darkness seemed to devour the lanterns’ light, a hooded figure waited.


    Lucas walked over to him.


    <hr>


    Kael, the Negotiator


    "My name is not important," the man said calmly. "But if you need one, call me Kael."


    Lucas sat down. The game had begun.


    "I''m looking for a way to recover something lost," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I need to find the Demon King."


    Kael fell silent.


    "He''s testing you."


    Lucas ignored the voice.


    Kael leaned forward. "There is a legend... about a power that can bend the laws of existence. But, as with everything involving power..."


    He smiled.


    "...there is a price."


    Lucas did not blink.


    "What kind?"


    Kael placed his hands on the table. "For me to give you the map to this temple, I need a symbol. Something to prove that you understand what you are about to undertake."


    Lucas remained still.


    "What kind of symbol?"


    Kael leaned even closer, his piercing gaze seeming to look right through Lucas.


    "Every man has something that binds him to the past."


    Lucas did not answer.


    Kael continued, a slight smile on his lips.


    "If you had to choose between moving on or clinging to the last remnant of your past..."


    He looked at the bracelet.


    "...what would you choose?"


    The air grew heavier.


    "He shouldn’t know."


    Lucas swallowed hard.


    "Does he know?"


    Kael did not avert his gaze. He waited.


    Lucas looked at the bracelet.


    Clara’s laughter. Her eyes shining. The warmth of her small hand in his.


    "Surrender."


    Lucas gripped the bracelet tightly.


    "She has already forgotten you."


    He closed his eyes.


    And then, he opened his hand.


    The bracelet slipped from his fingers and fell onto the table.


    Kael picked up the object carefully, as if holding something sacred.


    Lucas said nothing.


    But something within him broke.


    Kael smiled.


    "May this sacrifice grant you the clarity necessary for what is to come."


    Lucas took the map. He stood up.


    And left the tavern without looking back.


    Each step he took grew heavier.


    More empty.


    And then, he heard:


    "Now you belong to us."


    The voice no longer whispered.


    It laughed.


    And Lucas laughed along.