Dawn broke over Arcathia with a pale, diffused light, casting long shadows across the streets as Rina, Torin, and Alara stood near the city's edge. The city was beginning to wake, the sounds of vendors setting up their stalls and the distant murmur of early risers filtering through the morning air. But for the trio, the world outside Arcathia was far more pressing.
Rina pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the weight of the silver dagger emblem tucked inside her satchel a constant reminder of the deal they had struck. They were about to step into the unknown—an errand, a favor, to reach Elias Blackthorn. But something about the arrangement felt wrong. She could sense the layers of deception that were stacked upon one another, but what choice did they have? Without Blackthorn, they had no way of unraveling the mysteries surrounding the Box.
"Is that the caravan?" Alara asked, her voice low.
Rina glanced toward the approaching wagons in the distance, each one creaking as it rolled slowly along the narrow dirt road. The caravan looked ordinary enough—a mix of merchants, guards, and travelers—but Rina knew better. A trip to Blackthorn Ridge was never a casual affair, and those wagons carried far more than the goods they openly displayed.
"That's it," Rina said, nodding. She turned to her companions, her expression serious. "Stay sharp. I don't trust this. We're heading into a place where information is the most valuable currency, and we've got plenty of enemies who wouldn't mind putting a price on our heads."
Torin adjusted the sword at his hip, his eyes scanning the horizon. "I doubt Garrick would send us somewhere safe. Whatever this delivery is, we're being watched."
Rina's eyes met his briefly, acknowledging the truth of his words. She didn't like being manipulated, but right now, they needed answers, and Elias Blackthorn was the only one who could provide them.
The caravan slowed as it neared the city's outskirts, and one of the lead guards—a burly man with a scar running down his cheek—motioned for them to approach. His gaze lingered on the group for a moment before settling on Rina, sizing her up.
"You're with us?" he asked gruffly.
Rina nodded and produced the silver dagger emblem from her cloak. The guard's eyes widened slightly in recognition before he quickly looked away, motioning toward the back of the caravan.
"Stay close to the last wagon," he said. "And keep your heads down. We leave in five."
Without another word, he moved to the front of the caravan, barking orders at the other guards.
Rina slipped the emblem back into her satchel, turning to Torin and Alara. "Stay quiet. We don't want to attract attention until we know what's going on."
Alara's lips pressed into a thin line, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, but she nodded. "Let's get this over with."
They moved toward the last wagon, a modest-looking cart piled with crates of various sizes, bound tightly with thick ropes. A few other travelers were already climbing aboard, but none of them spared Rina's group more than a passing glance.
As they settled into place, Rina's mind drifted back to the man in the tavern, the one who had sent them on this mission. His smirk, his cold eyes—everything about him screamed danger. And now, they were delivering something for him without knowing the contents or the true purpose. The Box pulsed faintly from within her satchel, a constant reminder of the larger forces at play. But she couldn't focus on that right now. One step at a time.
The caravan began to move, the wooden wheels creaking as they left the city behind. The road toward Blackthorn Ridge was treacherous, winding through dense forests and rocky hills, far removed from the safety of Arcathia's walls. Rina kept her senses sharp, listening for any signs of trouble.
The hours dragged on in tense silence. The further they traveled, the thicker the air became with unease. The trees loomed overhead, their branches twisting together like gnarled fingers, casting long shadows over the road. Rina felt the pressure building with every mile, the weight of the unknown growing heavier.
"We're getting close," Torin murmured, his eyes scanning the horizon.
Rina nodded. Blackthorn Ridge wasn't far now. It was an infamous place, once the site of an ancient fortress but now little more than a haven for criminals, mercenaries, and traders who dealt in the kind of goods no one spoke about openly. It was the perfect place for someone like Elias Blackthorn to hide, a man who lived in the shadows of the city's underworld.
As they rounded a bend in the road, the caravan came to an abrupt halt. Rina's hand instinctively went to the hilt of her dagger, her pulse quickening.
"What's happening?" Alara whispered, tension creeping into her voice.
Before Rina could respond, a figure emerged from the trees, blocking the road ahead. He was tall, cloaked in black, with a hood pulled low over his face. More figures stepped out from the shadows of the forest, surrounding the caravan in a silent, coordinated motion. There were at least a dozen of them, all armed.
"Stay calm," Rina whispered to Torin and Alara, her eyes never leaving the figures ahead. "We're not here to fight."
The lead figure stepped forward, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. "Who leads this caravan?" he called out, his voice sharp and commanding.
The guard with the scar stepped up, his hand already on his weapon. "We're just passing through. There's no need for trouble."
The cloaked man's eyes gleamed from beneath his hood. "That depends. We've been expecting a… delivery."
Rina's stomach tightened. This was the handoff. But something felt off—too direct, too staged. Her instincts screamed at her to tread carefully.
The scarred guard hesitated for a moment before motioning toward the last wagon—their wagon.
Rina's heart pounded in her chest as she realized the gravity of the situation. The package they were tasked with delivering had just become the focus of a potentially deadly confrontation. If this deal went wrong, they wouldn't walk away unscathed.
"What do we do?" Alara whispered, her eyes wide with concern.
Rina swallowed hard, her mind racing. They were caught between two forces, neither of which she trusted. And now, their only option was to play the game—at least until they figured out who held the real power in this situation.
She took a deep breath and stepped forward, holding the silver dagger emblem in her hand, the faint light catching on its surface.
"We're here for the delivery," she said, her voice steady despite the tension coiling in her gut. "Let's make this quick."
The cloaked man's gaze shifted to her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the sight of the emblem. For a moment, the air grew still, heavy with unspoken threats.
Then, with a curt nod, he gestured toward the back of the wagon. "Open it."
Rina felt Torin and Alara tense behind her, but she moved forward without hesitation, her hand reaching for the latch. She pulled it open, revealing a single, small chest tucked beneath the larger crates. It was plain, unremarkable—yet Rina knew better. Whatever lay inside was far from ordinary.
She lifted the chest carefully, stepping forward to hand it over to the cloaked man. He accepted it with a slight nod, his expression unreadable.
"This concludes our business," he said, his tone final.
Rina's grip tightened on the emblem, her instincts still screaming that something wasn't right. But she held her tongue, watching as the man turned and motioned for his companions to fall back into the trees.
The caravan lurched into motion again, the road ahead clearing as the figures vanished into the forest. But the knot of unease in Rina's chest didn't fade.
Something about this delivery, about the way things had played out—it all felt too controlled, too perfect.
As they continued toward Blackthorn Ridge, Rina knew one thing for certain: the real game was only just beginning.