Malakai walked down the bustling street, his eyes scanning the crowd.
People of all shapes and sizes hurried past him, going about their daily business.
But Malakai's mind was elsewhere. He was preoccupied with the information Lyra had shared with him.
The assassins she described were unlike any he had ever seen. Bald, with runic markings on their heads, they seemed to be a formidable foe.
Lyra had said they were strong and dangerous, and that she had tried to get them to talk.
But they had died before revealing anything. This was getting more troublesome by the minute.
Malakai needed to gather more information if he was going to help Lyra.
He turned a corner, the inn coming into view. It was a sturdy-looking building, with a sign creaking in the gentle breeze.
Malakai pushed open the door, the warm glow of the fire pit spilling out onto the street. He stepped inside.
