Kael trudged back toward the Rusty Lantern, his new armor weighing comfortably on his shoulders. The Greywolf Mantle fit well, and despite its rugged appearance, it felt almost like a second skin. He admired the craftsmanship of the leather and chainmail as it shifted and moved with him, the faint clink of metal ringing out with every step. The wolf emblem engraved on the shoulder guard gave him a sense of confidence—a feeling of being protected, even if only a little.
But as he walked, his thoughts drifted toward a less reassuring topic: his dwindling coin purse. He reached inside his pocket, pulled out the small leather pouch, and emptied its contents into his hand. A handful of coppers and a lone silver piece gleamed faintly in the light of the midday sun. After buying the armor from Randal, there wasn't much left.
"Cursed coins," Kael muttered to himself, letting them fall back into the pouch.
He was still trying to wrap his head around the value of the different coins, and while he knew silver was worth more than copper, he had no real concept of how far a single silver piece would take him in a city like Feysreach. He thought back to the food stall he had visited earlier. The vendor had offered him something delicious for two coppers, and it hadn't seemed like much. Maybe he could afford one serving before heading back.
As he continued walking, Kael's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar scent—rich, savory, and mouth-watering. His stomach growled in response, and he found himself salivating at the memory of that brief taste of something delicious. He quickened his pace, turning the corner and heading back toward the location of the food stall. The closer he got, the more eager he felt, his mouth watering in anticipation.
But as Kael approached, he noticed a crowd gathering near the stall. There were shouts and jeers coming from within, and as he drew closer, he caught sight of several figures pushing and shoving. His heart sank as he realized what was happening: a group of Fatewalkers—five in total—had surrounded the food stall, harassing the vendor. One of them, a tall and burly man, delivered a harsh punch that sent the vendor sprawling to the ground. The others began tearing into the stall itself, overturning crates, smashing bowls, and scattering food across the cobblestones.
A cold chill ran through Kael's body as he watched the scene unfold. His thoughts raced. He was not strong, and he had little to no combat experience. He knew that rushing in headlong would likely end with him lying in the dirt alongside the vendor. But despite that logic, something within him couldn't stand by and do nothing. The vendor had shown him kindness before, and Kael wasn't about to let that kindness be repaid with violence.
He readied his perception of the Soul Chamber, prepared to summon the sword at a moments notice, and stepped toward the crowd, pushing his way through the bystanders. The closer he got, the more his pulse quickened, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He could feel the weight of the Greywolf Mantle on his shoulders, reassuring him with its sturdy presence. It made him feel more capable, more prepared to act.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you" a voice whispered in his mind—a faint echo of reason that urged him to reconsider. But Kael pushed the thought aside. He was already in too deep, and backing down now would only make him look like a coward.
Just as he was about to step into the center of the fray and confront the Fatewalkers, a firm grip seized his arm from behind, yanking him backward. Kael spun around, his pulse racing even faster, only to find himself face-to-face with Elowen. Her expression was calm, almost unsettlingly so, but her eyes held a sharpness that made it clear she wasn't pleased.
"Now… didn't I ask you not to get into any trouble?" she said, her tone dry and edged with the faintest hint of annoyance.
Kael swallowed hard, caught off guard by her sudden appearance.
"I… I just thought—"
Elowen's grip on his arm tightened slightly, cutting off his words. She glanced over his shoulder toward the ruffians who were still causing chaos at the food stall. The vendor lay crumpled on the ground, groaning in pain as the Fatewalkers laughed and continued their destruction.
"It's not your fight," she said firmly, her gaze not leaving the scene.
"Charging in like a hero when you can barely hold your own in a brawl… you'd only get yourself hurt, or worse."
"But—" Kael started to protest, only for her to silence him with a look.
"No 'buts,'" she said.
"Keep your head down and stay out of trouble. Let's go."
Kael's jaw tightened in frustration as Elowen tugged him back, steering him away from the chaos. He glanced over his shoulder at the jeering Fatewalkers, his hands clenching into fists. His anger flared even more intensely as he saw the vendor struggling to rise, only to be shoved back down again.
"What are you doing?" Kael hissed at Elowen.
"We can't just leave them like this!"
Elowen's expression remained calm, but her voice took on a more serious tone as she responded,
"Those guys? They're just a group of challengers led by a single prospect. I could take them down any day."
"Then why don't you?" Kael snapped, pulling his arm free from her grip.
"Because things aren't that simple," Elowen replied, her eyes scanning the street for any onlookers.
"They're part of the House of Ironshard, Kael. Different Commander than mine, but they're still under our banner. If I step in and break up this little 'dispute,' I'll be making it into a political incident."
Kael stared at her in disbelief, his anger flaring even hotter.
"You're saying we should just let them beat up that vendor because of some… politics? Because they wear the same badge as you?"
Elowen stopped walking and turned to face him, her gaze steady.
"Welcome to reality, Kael," she said.
"Being a hero doesn't work the way you think it does. There are politics at play here that are more complicated than you realize. It's not just about who's right and who's wrong. There's always a bigger picture, one you can't see yet."
"But this is wrong," Kael argued, his voice low and filled with frustration.
"What they're doing—"
"I'm not saying it isn't," Elowen interrupted, her tone softening.
"But if I step in now, I'll be stirring up trouble that goes far beyond just a few ruffians causing havoc. There are lines you don't cross, not unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences."
Kael's shoulders slumped as the truth of her words sank in. His anger didn't fade, but it was joined by a feeling of helplessness, a cold realization that he had no power to change what was happening. No power to stop it, no control over the situation, even if he wanted to do something. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He glanced back one more time, his heart sinking at the sight of the vendor lying on the ground, clutching his side in pain. The Fatewalkers were still laughing, still tearing apart the stall as if it were nothing more than a joke. Kael's hands tightened into fists once more, the feeling of helplessness clawing at him, tearing at his sense of right and wrong.
Reluctantly, he turned away and followed Elowen as she led him further from the crowd, further from the scene that had stirred his frustration and resentment. The sounds of shouting and laughter faded behind them as they moved away from the confrontation, replaced by the quieter murmur of the city streets.
Kael's mind raced with conflicting thoughts as they walked. He felt a mix of emotions—anger at the thugs, disgust at the injustice, but also shame. Shame at his own inability to do anything about it. He had always known he was weak compared to real fighters, but he hadn't fully understood the consequences of that weakness until now.
He glanced at Elowen, walking calmly beside him, and the sight of her unshaken composure only fueled his frustration.
"How can you just… accept that?" he muttered, barely audible.
Elowen's gaze flicked toward him, her expression unchanged.
"I don't accept it," she said quietly.
"But I know when not to pick a fight I can't win. Especially when there are better ways to make a difference."
Kael said nothing, his jaw tightening. He didn't want to admit that she was right, that the world was more complex than he'd imagined, that there were limits to what even an experienced Fatewalker like Elowen could do. He didn't want to admit that he was powerless.
As they continued toward the Rusty Lantern, Kael found himself taking in the city with new eyes. The lively streets, the bustling crowds, the beautiful structures of Feysreach—it all seemed darker somehow, like a mask covering the ugliness just beneath the surface. The incident at the stall was just a small glimpse of the harsh realities lurking within this world, and Kael was beginning to realize just how little he understood about the world he had been shoved into.
"I lack power…." he muttered to himself, feeling the words like a bitter pill on his tongue.
Elowen glanced at him, a faint trace of sympathy in her eyes. "It's not easy," she said, "and it doesn't get any easier. But if you're serious about finding your way here, you're going to have to learn how to navigate it. All of it."
Kael let out a sigh, a deep frustration lingering in his chest. He hadn't come here expecting to make a difference or be some kind of hero, but seeing the injustice firsthand had struck a nerve he didn't know he had. He hadn't known what he was getting himself into, but there was no denying it now—Feysreach, the world itself, was far more complicated than he had been prepared for.
Without saying another word, he and Elowen continued on their way, heading back to the Rusty Lantern. As they neared the familiar building, Kael glanced back over his shoulder one last time, a dark mixture of anger and uncertainty swirling in his mind. He wasn't sure what the future held for him, or whether he had the strength to face it, but there was one thing he did know for certain:
This wouldn't be the last time he found himself struggling against the darker side of the world.