Arsik was trying to clear his head by walking along the Rocks. The sea within reach, the soft air brushing against his skin, and the salt in his nostrils. He pulled out his flask of rum and took a deep swig. His entire life now fit into a sack and a small leather case for his violin. It was late evening, and yet a ship had just arrived in port, its crew looking harried. Arsik could make out wings on one of them, but he was too tired to care. He continued walking until he arrived in front of a mansion with a large courtyard. Inside, there were statues with bat-like wings and fountains featuring strange, dark figures—oddities that didn't fit the city's style, or Lothen in general. Arsik had been to this mansion countless times before, but never at this hour.
An iron-clad knight emerged from the mansion, lantern in hand. He approached the courtyard gate, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"You again? At this hour? What are you doing here?"
"I want to see Illandro. Let me in."
"Lord Illandro is sleeping."
"I don't care."
The knight snorted. He was young, younger than Arsik by a decade at least, with fine cheekbones, short black hair, and a thin mustache. Everything about him irritated Arsik—his tone of voice, his arrogance, even his face.
"You'd better come in the morning."
"Open the fucking door or I'll rip your throat out, I swear," Arsik screamed. Both men immediately realized how much his voice carried in the quiet night.
The knight muttered something, but before he could reply, Illandro appeared at the manor door, wearing a long red robe embroidered with gold thread.
"Let him in, Calden, or the whole town will hear us."
"I still don't understand why he tolerates you," the knight muttered, but he opened the gate. Arsik hurried through, shoving his pack into Calden's chest.
"Put my things in a clean room, please."
Calden's face tightened with suppressed irritation, but he said nothing.
Inside the mansion, Arsik made himself comfortable at the large stone table. Illandro was used to his visits, and for reasons that didn't concern Arsik, he tolerated him. Arsik ate, drank, and sometimes stayed at the manor. The curious lord didn't seem to care much about his guests. His mind was always elsewhere, his gaze flitting from corner to corner as if something lurked in every shadow, and he often responded to questions that were never asked. To many, Illandro seemed crazy, but because he was incredibly wealthy and influential in Lothen, people were content to call him eccentric.
"There will be no progress, Arsik."
"My name is Dimlight now. I've told you that many times."
"Names matter, young man, and I've learned not to change them unless there's a good reason."
"A good reason?" Arsik's face twisted into a fake smile of irritation.
"You know what I mean. I know what you've been through. Whatever connection you had with any spirit has now been severed. You are free, Arsik."
Free. What a useless word when you've lost everything. Arsik took another swig of rum.
"This one? Is he free?"
He pointed to the knight standing guard across from them, clearly itching for a fight.
"Lord Calden? Of course. His oath to me won't last much longer, will it, Calden? He'll soon return to Forcry and his duties."
Calden said nothing, choosing to simmer in silence.
"Why are you wearing armor at this hour?"
"For once, I agree with Arsik. Why, indeed?" Illandro added.
"I was training, sire."
"I thought you stopped training two hours ago."
"Yes, Lord Illandro. But I haven't taken it off yet."
Arsik laughed.
"Am I amusing you, punk?"
"Not at all. I find you boring. On the islands, we used to throw some of these off cliffs just to hear the noise they made when they hit the bottom."
Calden reached for his sword.
"Arsik!" Illandro shouted, and Arsik immediately sobered up. It was as if the rum drained from his veins and the room went dark. Illandro's crazed gaze was now fixed on him, and suddenly, the old man seemed taller and more terrifying than ever.
"I will not allow you to speak to my guest like that. Calden is anointed in House Orans, and as such, you will show him proper respect, or you will never set foot here again."
Arsik took a deep breath.
"You're right. Calden, I apologize. You're not to blame for anything."
Calden remained expressionless.
The door opened, and a servant entered, dressed in black trousers and a yellow waistcoat. Beside him, a young man carried wood, which he fed into the fireplace.
"Lord Illandro, you have visitors."
"Visitors? More? At this hour?"
"How many homeless people hang around the Rocks?" Calden said.
"They don't look like homeless people, Lord Calden," the servant replied.
"Then what?"
"They look like criminals."