After nearly four more weeks of arduous travel, Amukelo and Naguk finally reached the outskirts of Gathe. The journey had been long, marked by long stretches of silence and occasional bouts of sparring that helped pass the time. Their spars were intense but controlled—neither pushed too hard, knowing that they needed to conserve their energy for the journey ahead. Amukelo won most of their matches, his skill and agility often outpacing Naguk's raw strength, but Naguk had his victories too, surprising Amukelo with clever tactics that made use of his physical power and one-handed adaptability.
Despite the moments of companionship, Amukelo kept himself emotionally distant. He spoke little, responding with curt replies when Naguk tried to make conversation. It wasn't that he disliked Naguk's company—on the contrary, he had come to appreciate the orc's resilience and humor. But after losing so many close to him, Amukelo had developed a new self-defense mechanism: keeping people at arm's length. He didn't want to form strong bonds anymore. The pain of losing someone else, someone he might care about, was too much to bear.
Naguk, perhaps sensing this, didn't push too hard for conversation or friendship. They traveled together out of necessity, and though there was mutual respect between them, neither tried to make it anything more than that.
The sun was beginning its slow descent as they reached the top of a hill, giving them a perfect vantage point over the city of Gathe. The sight that greeted them was unlike anything Amukelo had seen before.
Gathe lay spread out beneath them, nestled between the rolling hills and rocky terrain. From this height, the city seemed to glow in the warm afternoon light, the buildings made of pale sandstone that gave the entire town an almost golden hue. The walls that encircled Gathe were tall and imposing, built from the same sandstone, but reinforced with intricate carvings and metalwork that made them appear both beautiful and impenetrable. From a distance, the wealth and power of the city were immediately apparent—rooftops glittered with tiles that caught the sunlight, and the streets, even from afar, bustled with activity.
Unlike the towns Amukelo had visited before, Gathe was not built from wood or brick. Everything here seemed to be constructed from the desert itself, shaped from the sandstone that surrounded the area. The architecture was a blend of functional fortifications and artistic design, with the walls bearing detailed reliefs and the larger buildings adorned with intricate domes and towers. In the center of the city stood a large palace-like structure, its towers rising high above the rest, crowned with shining domes that reflected the light of the setting sun. The entire city seemed to glow with a quiet, understated wealth—prosperous, but not ostentatious.
Amukelo and Naguk stood there for a long moment, neither speaking, both simply appreciating the view.
Finally, Naguk broke the silence. "Well, my friend," he said, his deep voice breaking through the quiet. "I think the time has come for us to part ways."
Amukelo turned slightly, his gaze shifting from the city to Naguk. The orc looked at him with a serious but sincere expression. "Again, thanks for saving my life. If not for you, I'd be dead. I won't forget it. I hope we will meet again one day."
Amukelo stared at him for a moment, his face neutral. Inside, he felt little emotion. His strategy of keeping a distance had worked—he had enjoyed Naguk's company, and appreciated the strength and the occasional conversation, but he hadn't allowed himself to care too deeply. If something happened to Naguk, there would be no pain, no grief. It was just another goodbye.
"Who knows," Amukelo replied simply. "Let's hope for it."
Naguk smiled at the response, he extended his hand, offering a firm handshake. "Until we meet again," Naguk said with a grin, though there was a trace of seriousness behind his eyes. "Take care of yourself."
Amukelo looked down at the orc's hand for a brief moment. He hesitated, but only for a second, before reaching out and clasping Naguk's hand in a firm grip.
After the handshake, Naguk mounted his beast, the creature shifting restlessly beneath him as it sensed the impending departure. Naguk glanced back at Amukelo one last time and waved. "Farewell, my friend," he called, his voice carrying over the quiet hillside.
Amukelo raised his hand briefly in acknowledgment, waving for a moment before dropping his arm to his side. He watched as Naguk rode away, his figure growing smaller as he descended the hill, heading toward a different path, one that would take him far away from Gathe.
As Naguk disappeared into the distance, Amukelo turned back toward the city, his gaze returning to the sandstone buildings that gleamed in the fading light. He didn't feel much in that moment—not sadness, not regret. His emotional distance had worked.
Amukelo began walking down the hill toward Gathe, his steps measured and quiet, his eyes fixed on the city before him. The landscape around him was arid and rocky, with patches of sparse vegetation scattered across the terrain. The path he followed was well-trodden, worn smooth by the feet of many travelers before him, winding down toward the main gates. The closer he got, the more the sandstone walls loomed above him, casting long shadows as the sun dipped lower in the sky.
As the gates of Gathe came into view, Amukelo could see the guards standing watch. They were stationed at the entrance, dressed in gleaming armor that reflected the last rays of sunlight. Their weapons were polished, sharp, and ready—Gathe clearly took its defenses seriously.
Amukelo's approach drew the attention of the guards, and they stepped forward to stop him as he neared the entrance.
"What is your business here?" one of them asked, his voice authoritative but not unfriendly.
Without hesitation, Amukelo reached into his cloak and pulled out his adventurer badge, holding it out for the guards to inspect. "I'm an adventurer," he said simply. "This is just one of my destinations."
The guards leaned in, inspecting the badge closely. One of them raised an eyebrow as he noted Amukelo's solitary status. "You're traveling without a guild?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "How did you get here? This area is rather dangerous, even for a silver rank."
The question hit Amukelo harder than he expected. The mention of his guild brought back the wave of pain he had been trying so hard to suppress. Memories of his friends flooded his mind—Pao, Bral, Bao, and Idin—the laughter they once shared, the camaraderie, and the terrible moment when everything fell apart.
His hand tightened slightly around the badge as he lowered his head, trying to push away the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "I... I travel alone now," he muttered, his voice heavy. "I'm strong enough."
The guards exchanged a glance, sensing the shift in his mood. After a moment of silent understanding, they stepped aside.
"Very well," one of them said. "You can go through."
Amukelo nodded in acknowledgment, walking past them and through the gates. He tried to shake off the sadness that clung to him, hiding it behind the same stoic mask he had worn since the tragedy. But inside, the grief was still there, lurking beneath the surface.
Once inside the walls of Gathe, the atmosphere shifted completely. The city was alive with activity, even though the sun was already sinking below the horizon. The streets were illuminated by strong lanterns, each one casting a warm, inviting glow that lit up the sandstone pathways and the bustling market stalls.
Gathe felt prosperous. The roads were wide and clean, paved with smooth stone. Every building seemed meticulously crafted, the architecture a blend of function and elegance. The sandstone walls of the buildings gave the entire town a uniform appearance, but there were intricate carvings and patterns etched into many of the structures, depicting scenes of the city's history, trade routes, and its battles with invaders. Gathe wasn't just a border town; it was a place of culture and wealth.
As Amukelo walked deeper into the city, the activity around him only seemed to grow. Merchants were still standing behind their stalls, even though the evening had fallen, their goods displayed under the soft glow of lanterns. People haggled for prices, laughed, and shared stories. There was a liveliness to Gathe that Amukelo hadn't experienced in some time. The market stalls were filled with exotic wares—spices from distant lands, finely woven textiles, jewelry made from polished stones, and strange, fragrant oils. The scents of roasted meat, sweet pastries, and strong tea filled the air, mingling with the sound of cheerful conversations and the clinking of metal as craftsmen continued their work late into the evening.
The people here, however, were not all the same. As Amukelo looked around, he noticed two distinct groups that populated the streets. The first group was the common folk—well-fed, well-dressed, and seemingly content. They walked the streets with purpose, engaging in the business of the day. Their clothes were simple but clean, their faces reflecting the prosperity of the city.
But it was the second group that caught Amukelo's attention. Nobles—far more than he had seen in other towns—moved through the streets with an air of superiority. Dressed in finely tailored clothing, their outfits were adorned with intricate embroidery, expensive jewelry, and shimmering fabrics. Many of them were flanked by guards, their presence announcing wealth and influence. Some were carried in carriages or on litters, others walked with a slow, deliberate grace, clearly unbothered by the presence of commoners. The division between the two classes was stark, but there was no animosity—just a quiet acceptance of the hierarchy. The nobles had money, and the town thrived because of it.
Amukelo couldn't help but wonder if Gathe's wealth came from its strategic location. As a border city, it was perfectly placed for trade between nations. Goods from faraway lands likely passed through here, and the city had become rich off the tolls, taxes, and commerce that flowed along the trade routes. But even so, the wealth seemed concentrated among the few, while the common folk were comfortable but not extravagant.
Eventually, Amukelo decided it was time to find a place to rest. The journey had been long, and he needed to prepare for whatever awaited him in Gathe. He asked a few of the townsfolk for directions, and they pointed him toward an inn not far from the market.
When he arrived, the inn was modest in appearance but well-maintained. The sandstone exterior was decorated with patterns etched into the walls, and the large wooden doors were framed by iron brackets, polished to a shine. Inside, the inn was warm, lit by the same intricate lanterns that lined the streets outside. The common room was filled with people eating and drinking, the low hum of conversation filling the air. The innkeeper greeted him with a friendly smile, but when Amukelo inquired about a room, the price was far higher than he had expected. Gathe, it seemed, was an expensive place to stay.
Reluctantly, Amukelo handed over the required gold and was given a small but comfortable room upstairs. As he sat down on the bed, he looked around the simple yet finely crafted furnishings. Everything in Gathe, it seemed, was a reflection of its wealth.