Early in the grey tendrils of dawn, Amukelo methodically packed the remnants of his life into a big worn backpack, his movements deliberate and silent. His financial reserves had dwindled—two bags of gold coins remained. He spent four full bags of coins the day before a full bag on essential supplies and three on the artifact.
With a deep breath, Amukelo turned his attention to the artifact, a complex and enigmatic device that promised to track his enemies. Choosing a dagger for the fusion, he initiated the process. The artifact opened like a clam revealing its pearl, a luminescent stone at its heart that began to glow with a preternatural light. As he brought the artifact closer, the stone emitted a liquid light that enveloped the dagger, transforming it, melding with it emitting a strong light until it finally died down, and a small gem-like residue at the hilt.
Carefully, he wrapped the dagger in a cloth, ensuring it was secure yet accessible, hidden yet ready. His preparations complete, Amukelo slung the backpack over his shoulder, the weight of his resolve as heavy as the gear he carried.
Stepping out of his room, Amukelo paused, allowing himself one final moment in the space that had been a sanctuary of friendship and laughter for so long. His eyes lingered on each corner, each shadow that seemed to echo with the laughter and voices of Bral, Idin, and the girls who visited their room occasionally. The ghostly images of his friends flickered in their usual spots, vibrant and alive in his memory.
Turning his gaze towards the room where Pao and Bao had stayed, the doorway seemed to frame a mirage of Pao stepping out to greet him, her smile bright and hopeful as she headed to their routine mana training sessions. The vision was so vivid, so poignant, that it drew a deep, sorrowful sigh from him.
"Goodbye, friends. I will miss you," he whispered into the empty corridor, his voice a fragile thread of sound in the vast silence. The weight of his grief was palpable, pressing down on his chest with an intensity that threatened to overwhelm him. Yet, as he stepped through the inn's doorway and out into the awakening town, the sharp sting of purpose cut through his sorrow.
The morning crowd was thick, shopkeepers unfurling awnings and laying out wares, providing ample cover for his movements. As he approached the adventurers' association, he spotted three cloaked figures that stirred a familiar dread within him, but he pressed on, undeterred.
Inside, the association was abuzz with adventurers plotting courses and exchanging tales. Amukelo approached the quest board with deliberate nonchalance, feigning interest in various postings to blend in. His fingers brushed against the parchments, selecting none, but his act was convincing. Moving to the counter, he met the gaze of the lady behind it, her face a mask of professional welcome.
"Welcome, how can I help you?" she asked cheerfully.
Amukelo leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as he handed her two envelopes discreetly. "Do you know Padrin by any chance?" he murmured.
"Of course, he is quite famous here," she replied with a nod.
"Good," Amukelo continued, "could you deliver one of these letters to the Training Facility and tell them to give it to Padrin when he asks about Amukelo? And if he does the same here, please hand him the other letter. It's very important... to me."
Her expression shifted as she connected the dots. "Amukelo! They know each other?"
He quickly placed a finger to his lips, hushing her as her voice had risen slightly more than necessary. Unfortunately, the damage was done. The cloaked figures in the association had picked up on the exchange. Their heads turned, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"It's me," he whispered urgently, "but I'm leaving Llyn, and I don't want to leave him without a word. Can you do this for me?"
"Sure," she replied, still processing the gravity of the situation, "but why are you hiding your identity?"
"I can't explain. I have to leave now," Amukelo said quickly, turning to leave as he felt the piercing stares of the cloaked men on his back.
The lady watched him go, a mix of confusion and concern painting her features. She barely had time to ponder his mysterious circumstances before noticing the cloaked men rising to follow him out. Her heart sank; she knew too well the kind of trouble that followed the Nameless Dynasty. As they disappeared into the bustling street, she hoped earnestly that whatever Amukelo was entangled in, would end well for him. She felt a slight sense of guilt for uncovering his identity.
Amukelo's heart pounded rhythmically as he maneuvered through the narrow streets of Llyn. His shadow stretched and recoiled along the cobblestones, a spectral dance with the early morning light that barely filtered through the crowded buildings. The three cloaked figures behind him whispered their doubts and motivations, unaware of the violent crescendo building in their quarry.
"Psst, do you think that's him?" one whispered, a note of uncertainty in his voice.
"I don't know, this guy looks like a normal mage to me," another speculated, his gaze fixed on the staff Amukelo carried.
"He might be hiding his identity, dumbass. If it's him, we'll get rid of him. Just imagine the reward," the third chuckled darkly, his laughter echoing ominously down the alley.
Amukelo's ears caught every word, each syllable stoking the fires of his rage further. The laugh—it was unmistakably the same cruel, mocking tone that had scorned Pao's memory. Amukelo halted abruptly, his fists clenching as he fought the surge of anger. He dropped his head, allowing his hair to shadow his eyes, now glowing with a vengeful light.
The three followers stopped a few steps behind, their own anticipation halting as they waited for his next move. Amukelo's lips curled into a grim smile, not of amusement but of dark intent, a predator baring his teeth before the strike.
Without another word, Amukelo resumed walking, his pace quickening, his cloak billowing behind him like the dark wings of an avenging angel. He murmured under his breath, repeating the scornful words they had uttered yesterday while mocking Pao, each repetition a litany that steeled his rage.
Suddenly, he veered into a darker alley, his steps breaking into a run. The sound of his boots on the stones was sharp and decisive.
"It must be him, he's trying to escape!" one of the pursuers called out, and they picked up their pace, the thrill of the hunt flashing in their eyes.
Amukelo led them on a winding path through Llyn's lesser-known back alleys, each turn darker and more secluded than the last. Finally, he made a sharp turn into a narrow passageway that dead-ended with tall, enclosing brick walls.
The three men rounded the corner, skidding to a stop at the dead end. "He has to be somewhere here, find him!" one shouted, his eyes darting around the shadowed enclave.
Silence hung for a moment, thick and oppressive. Then, a chilling sound sliced through the quiet—the unmistakable scrape of steel on stone, growing steadily louder. The rhythmic clanging of heavy steps resonated against the brick, a slow and deliberate cadence that echoed like the tolling of a death knell.
The men turned frantically, the initial confidence of their chase dissolving into fear as the eerie sound enveloped them, the darkness seeming to close in.