Amukelo didn't do anything more that evening. After the long weeks of traveling, exhaustion weighed on him like a heavy cloak, and though the bed in his rented room was simple, it was far more comfortable than anything he had rested on since leaving Ansford. His body ached in ways he hadn't noticed during the journey, each muscle tense and weary from the countless miles they had crossed.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to block out the flood of memories that crept into his thoughts whenever he was alone.
But tonight, the weariness of the road overtook him. The exhaustion from the days of travel finally caught up with him. Unlike the restless nights spent on the hard ground or uneven forest floors, this bed was soft enough to allow his body the relief it so desperately craved. Before he could sink too deeply into his grief, his eyes grew heavy, and sleep claimed him faster than he expected.
The next morning, Amukelo woke early, just as the faint light of dawn began to filter through the small window of his room. To his surprise, the city of Gathe was already awake. From his window, he could see townsfolk moving about with purpose, their day already in full swing despite the early hour. It seemed that the people here worked long hours, more than the other towns he visited. As he watched them for a moment, he understood why Gathe was so prosperous—its wealth wasn't just due to its strategic location near the border; it was the relentless work ethic of its people.
Amukelo rose from the bed, feeling the familiar soreness in his muscles, though it was less sharp after a night of real rest. He gathered his things, fastening his cloak and checking that his belongings were secure. Today, his mission was clear: he had to find the families of his fallen friends. It was the least he could do to honor their memories. He couldn't bring them back, but he could make sure their families knew what had happened to them, and perhaps find some measure of peace in the act of returning their belongings.
Once he had his gear in place, he left the inn. As soon as he stepped outside, the sun's warmth greeted him, already rising steadily into the sky. The streets were just as busy as they had been the night before, maybe even more so. Merchants were setting up their stalls, workers carried supplies across the city, and nobles walked the streets in their fine garments, their guards close by. The wealth and prosperity of Gathe were evident in every detail, from the finely crafted buildings to the cleanliness of the streets.
Amukelo didn't waste any time. He began his search immediately, heading toward the first group of nobles he spotted. His hope was that in a city this wealthy, someone would know the families he was seeking. Amukelo walked up to a well-dressed couple, a man and a woman, who appeared to be browsing through a merchant's wares.
"Excuse me," Amukelo said, his voice low but steady as he approached them. The couple turned to face him, their expressions curious but slightly guarded. Amukelo reached into his cloak and pulled out the small locket that had belonged to Pao and Bao's family. He held it up for them to see. "I'm looking for the family connected to this locket. Do you know them by any chance?"
The man leaned in to inspect the locket for a moment, his brows furrowed in thought, while the woman glanced at it briefly before shaking her head. "No," the man finally said, his tone polite but dismissive. "I don't recognize it."
Amukelo's heart sank slightly, but he pressed on. "What about a man named Bral or Idin?" he asked, hopeful that they might at least recognize one of his other fallen comrades.
The woman repeated the names softly, glancing at her companion, but after a moment, they both shook their heads. "I'm sorry, but we don't recognize them," the man said, his attention already drifting back to the merchant's stall.
Amukelo thanked them quietly and turned away, disappointment settling in his chest. But he didn't give up. He approached another pair of nobles walking along the street, this time a middle-aged couple flanked by two guards. Once again, he presented the locket, asking if they recognized it or the names of Bral or Idin. The reaction was the same—polite but indifferent denial. They didn't know the family, and they didn't recognize the names.
Undeterred, Amukelo continued his search, walking through the streets of Gathe and stopping every group of nobles he could find. Each time, he asked the same questions, showing the locket or mentioning the names of his friends. And each time, the answer was the same: no one knew them. Some of the nobles gave him strange looks, as though wondering why a lone adventurer was asking about old noble families or obscure adventurers. Others simply shook their heads, eager to be rid of him and get back to their business.
Hours passed. The sun had long since reached its peak in the sky, casting a harsh light over the sandstone city. Amukelo's feet grew heavier with every step, but the weight in his chest was far worse. The more he searched, the more fruitless the task seemed. Each rejection chipped away at the hope he had carried with him into the city.
The next day, Amukelo woke up with a heavy heart, the disappointment of the previous day still weighing on him like a dark cloud. Despite the exhaustion, both physical and emotional, he resolved to continue his search. His friends had been noble, and surely, someone in this wealthy city must have known them.
He spent the day as he had the last—approaching nobles in the streets, at market stalls, and even near the entrances to lavish homes. Each time, he held out the locket, asking in his calm but determined voice if they knew Pao, Bao, or any of the others. "Do you know these names?" he would ask, pointing to the faces engraved in the small trinket. His questions were met with polite but blank stares, indifferent shakes of the head, and the same dismissive answers as before. "No, I don't recognize them."
Hours passed, and with each fruitless conversation, Amukelo's hope dimmed. The sun began to dip once more as another day came to a close, and still, no one knew his friends.
Amukelo retired to the inn that night, sinking into the bed with a deep sense of failure. He had come so far, and yet, he felt no closer to finding the families of his friends.
The next morning, he woke up determined to try again. He thought that perhaps the day before had been a fluke, that maybe the right people just hadn't crossed his path yet. With renewed but fragile hope, Amukelo left the inn and returned to the bustling streets. This time, he tried different areas of the city, venturing into parts of Gathe he hadn't yet explored, asking new faces the same familiar questions. He stopped nobles on their way to their daily business, but none of them recognized the names or the locket he showed them. The responses were always the same polite refusal or a hurried dismissal.
As the hours passed, Amukelo's heart began to sink deeper. For two days now, he had done nothing but search for his friends' families, and all he had to show for it were empty answers and a growing sense of despair. By midday, he had lost count of how many people he had asked. His questions became more mechanical, his voice hollow as he repeated the same lines over and over again. "Do you know anyone by the name of Pao or Bao? What about Bral or Idin?" And always, the same reply: No, I'm sorry.
By the time the sun began to set again, Amukelo was completely drained. He was now beginning to question everything. As he walked through the city streets, watching the nobles and townsfolk go about their lives, he couldn't help but feel a bitter sense of isolation. These people were living in their own world, oblivious to the tragedy that had taken place outside the walls of their pristine city. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to break through that barrier.
Amukelo's mind began to turn dark. What if I've been wrong all along? The thought clawed its way into his mind, growing louder with each passing moment. What if this was never the right place? What if Bral's letter was mistaken? His heart began to race, a fiery frustration building in his chest. He had traveled for months to get here, he had fought, bled, and suffered, only to come up empty-handed. And with every passing day, the distance between him and his ultimate goal—finding Neclord and avenging his friends—grew wider.
His breathing became shallow, his chest tightening as a wave of panic gripped him. I've wasted so much time, he thought, his mind spiraling into darker places. Two months, gone. And for what? The thought of how far he had drifted from his mission filled him with a deep sense of failure. His heart pounded in his chest as if it were on fire, burning with the weight of his guilt and frustration.
Amukelo, unable to bear the growing storm inside him, headed to a pub. He needed something to dull the ache, to calm the tempest raging in his mind. The pub was crowded but not too loud, a quiet corner where he could sit in solitude while the noise of the world buzzed around him. He ordered several mugs of beer, not caring about the cost, only about drowning the suffocating emotions that had built up over the past few days.
As he sat in the corner, drink after drink, the world around him blurred. His thoughts spun in endless circles, looping back to the same questions, the same dead ends. He had wasted time, and now he was further from Neclord than ever before. The weight of it made his body feel heavy, like he was sinking into the wooden table beneath him. By the time he was halfway through his fourth beer, he was slumped forward, his head resting against the table, staring blankly at nothing.
He felt lost. Defeated. The life he had promised to honor was slipping through his fingers, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to hold onto it.
Then, through the haze of his thoughts, he heard a voice. It wasn't loud, nor was it harsh. It was calm, almost gentle, yet it carried an unmistakable strength. "What are you doing?"
Amukelo's head jerked up, his eyes wide with surprise. He looked around the pub, scanning the tables and patrons nearby, but no one was paying attention to him. There was no one speaking to him, no one even close enough to whisper in his ear. He furrowed his brow, his heart pounding. Had he imagined it?
The voice came again, clearer this time. "Do you think this is the way? To drink and run away from your problems? Is that what you promised?"
Amukelo's breath caught in his throat. His mind raced. What is this? Was he going mad? The voice sounded real, but there was no one near him, no one who could have spoken those words.
Despite his confusion, Amukelo found himself answering, his voice barely a whisper. "So what should I do?" he asked, his tone raw with frustration and desperation. "I asked everyone I could see. No one knew them. And I don't even know if I'm in the right place."
For a moment, there was silence. Amukelo sat there, feeling foolish, as if he were talking to himself. But then, the voice returned, steady and sure. "Go to the west gate of this city. On your left, you will see a stall with purple features. There will be an older man in black, elegant clothes. Ask him about Bral specifically. He will know the answer."
The clarity of the voice stunned Amukelo. It was unlike anything he had experienced before, and yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was guiding him, leading him toward something real. He stared down at his hands, still resting on the table, his mind swirling with questions. Was this some kind of trick his mind was playing on him, a product of his exhaustion and despair? Or was it something more?
In that moment, Amukelo didn't know what to believe. But with nothing left to lose, and no other leads to follow, he decided to listen.