Damn, thought Kael as he took in the vastness of the city.
Sheshir is... gigantic. He immediately realized that his task would not be easy, even with his uncle's presence in the city.
The wagon struggled through the throngs of people clogging the streets of Sheshir. Merchants loudly hawked their goods, sailors and dockworkers cursed their way through the crowd, their carts and barrels rumbling over the uneven cobblestones. The noise melded into a deafening cacophony that threatened to overwhelm Kael's senses.
He sat toward the back of the cart, the constant jostling of the wheels rattling his bones as they inched toward the harbor at a snail's pace.
Sheshir's streets were a chaotic labyrinth of wide main roads and narrow, shadowy alleys that wound between crooked buildings. People jostled past one another, and more than once, Kael saw a thief deftly slip into someone's pocket and walk away with a satisfied grin. The wind carried the sharp scent of sea salt and garbage, mixed with the biting stench of old fish and tavern smoke. The city smelled as if the sea itself had spat it out.
Often, the aroma of meat and cheap liquor hung in the air, and even in the early afternoon, drunken sailors staggered through the streets, laughing and roaring, clutching each other's shoulders to keep from falling over.
Kael pulled his coat tighter around himself as the city's chill seeped into his skin. It had been colder on the open coast, but a different kind of shiver ran through him as he looked around.
The people here seemed different — their faces hard, their eyes restless. Something simmered beneath the surface, a kind of collective nervousness that reminded him of his own forebodings. It was as if an invisible cloak of unease had settled over the entire city.
Ahead of them slowly rose the massive structure of the harbor. The masts of ships jutted like dark needles into the gray sky, and the sails flapped in the wind. The harbor was the heart of the city; ships arrived here loaded with goods from all corners of the world, and travelers set out again from here.
Yet even at this crossroads of trade and tales, something was different. Kael sensed it in the nervous glances of the dockworkers, who hurriedly completed their tasks as if trying to outrun an approaching storm.
They passed taverns with crooked signs and colorful flags fluttering in the wind. On every corner hung the crest of House Saranis — a mighty oak, behind which a green river flowed through a dark blue sky. Loud voices and laughter spilled from the windows as girls in bright dresses darted through the doors and drunken shouts filled the streets. In the darker corners lurked figures who seemed more shadow than human — watching, lurking, ready to strike — surrounded by rats rummaging through the refuse.
Then he saw it — the Thunderfront. His mother had often described it, but reality surpassed even her words. The seething, endless wall of clouds, the dark legacy of the Thunder Lord, that they had discussed so often on endless nights.
Kael couldn't take his eyes off the colossal wall of storm clouds. Like an insurmountable barrier, it rose on the horizon. It stretched endlessly from one end of the sea to the other, a sinister veil separating water from sky and land.
The clouds seemed to twist and turn unnaturally, as if they were alive. Their edges flickered with eerie light, like constant lightning flashing through the dark swaths. Deep within, the rumble of thunder could be heard — not like an ordinary storm, but like the murmur of a dissatisfied, old god.
The sky above was gray and dull, but compared to the dark, seething mass on the horizon, it seemed almost peaceful. The Thunderfront was a wall of sheer chaos, as if it could surge forward at any moment and consume everything in its path. Kael could feel the air around him thinning. The storm front was ominous — a reminder of power beyond human understanding.
And yet he suspected that this seemingly incomprehensible mass of storm clouds had a rational yet extraordinary explanation. While the Thunderfront was not like the rest of nature, subject to strict laws, he and his mother had come up with a plausible explanation, which they had anonymously published a few years ago.
Although one could actually consider the goddess as part of nature.
Suddenly, the cart came to a halt. He heard the merchant driving the wagon climb down and shout something to someone on the street. A moment later, Hako rode up.
"Here we are, stray," he said. Kael nodded and jumped down, but not before mentally bidding farewell to Graz and grabbing his backpack.
"Thank you for giving me a ride," he said to Hako. The lean merchant regarded him silently for a moment, then grinned.
"Good luck, stray. Find whatever you're looking for — if there's anything to find here at all," he said, extending his hand to Kael. Kael blinked a few times at the contradictory gestures but then took Hako's outstretched hand and shook it firmly.
"Watch out for the Tonguekeepers," Hako whispered. Kael nodded knowingly.
And then he stood there. He was now in Sheshir. He had played the journey to Sheshir dozens of times in his mind, but now that he was finally here, everything felt different. Unpredictable. His plans, as meticulous as they were, suddenly seemed vague in the face of the city's overwhelming size and the fleeting rumors he relied on.
But where else should he begin his search if not here? His gaze wandered again to the distant storm wall. The people here knew the signs best. He had no concrete reason why he would find clues here, but he could start recognizing the signs from the visions — or at least ask the people who might recognize them. For that, he would first visit his uncle's tavern. Perhaps he could help him.
Kael slung his backpack over his shoulders and took a step — nearly being trampled by a horse in the process. Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed his coat and pulled him back, just a moment before a carriage thundered past him. The coachman didn't spare him a glance.
Kael stumbled, trying to regain his balance, his heart still pounding in his chest.
Behind him stood Fred. Surprisingly strong, the old merchant had pulled him back with an ease one wouldn't expect from the man. Kael might not have been the biggest, but Fred's strength still amazed him. The old man displayed the same silent expression as always, with no sign of exertion or emotion. Fred calmly took Kael's hand and pressed something into it. When Kael looked down, he recognized the small spring scale he had repaired for Fred.
"I don't understand," said Kael, furrowing his brow.
Fred simply shook his head. "Beam scale," he said, then turned and disappeared back into the bustle of the crowd.
Kael stared after him, but Fred had already vanished into the crowd as if he had never been there. Instead, Kael focused on the curious gift he had just received, feeling a strange mixture of confusion and... gratitude?
At least he had to remember to show some reaction.
"Thank you!" he called, but Fred was long gone.
Kael put the spring scale into his backpack, alongside all his other belongings, and took a deep breath. This time, he paid careful attention to the traffic around him before rejoining the flow of the city.
---
Kael hadn't seen much of the world, but he thought he knew what to expect in a bustling city like Sheshir. What he hadn't anticipated was such open rejection toward any stranger who had nothing to offer.
A fleeting, suspicious glance, a dismissive shrug — the people turned away as if he were a bothersome beggar. It wasn't just his foreign appearance; the mood in the city was characterized by a leaden tension.
He could hardly believe that his face alone provoked this defensive attitude; the whole city seemed shrouded in a veil of mistrust. That Tonguekeepers patrolled everywhere could hardly be a coincidence either, for the king's executioners, clad in white armor, often acted silently and showed their power only during public executions or other punishments.
Their presence here, so visible and open, was unsettling — as if they wanted to remind people that every word, every false insinuation, could have consequences. Kael had already seen several of these men, walking through the streets with their tall helmets and long red cloaks. Even during his brief stay, it had seemed to him as if their mere appearance silenced the conversations around him.
A fitting example was the merchant where Kael had stopped to examine an old magnifying glass. Terms like focal length or light refraction were foreign to him, but the merchant had immediately sensed Kael's interest like a hungry dog scenting meat. The price he named was so ridiculously high that Kael had almost ended the conversation immediately, but he decided to use the opportunity to ask for information.
Kael had casually asked the man about the signs of the Nurakahn, whether there were rumors telling that the Chosen One would soon appear, who he might be. But hardly had he spoken the name when he saw the change in the merchant's face. For a moment, there was nothing but pure fear in his eyes. The man had looked around frantically before shooing Kael away with wild hand gestures and whispering that he had better not spread such stories if he valued his life.
Kael remembered the agitation, the panic in the man's voice, and had then decided to avoid conversations about his search until he learned more from his uncle.
He had found the tavern within half an hour. He had to ask for directions several times, and not everyone knew the Rain Bay, but he had found it and let his gaze wander over the building.
The Rain Bay blended astonishingly well into the restless surroundings, as if it had stood here for decades and defied every storm. The facade was made of smooth yet robust wood, marked by years on the coast. But instead of looking unkempt and weathered, the wood had a warm, honey-colored sheen that testified to painstaking care. There were no crooked boards, no weathered paint — everything looked solid, tidy, with a certain modesty that emphasized the simple yet inviting character of the tavern.
The windows, framed in finely carved casings, were clear and clean, not dull and dirty like those of the other taverns he had passed. A few colorful flowers in pots stood on the window sills, small splashes of color that stood out against the gloomy gray of the harbor. Above the heavy wooden door hung a sign, artfully painted, depicting a quiet bay into which fine lines of rain seemed to fall. It was a work that reminded more of the hands of a talented artist than those of a simple carpenter.
Kael had to smile. That suited his uncle. Despite all the blows of fate and difficulties, he had never let himself be prevented from finding something beautiful even in the dreariest corners of this world. The tavern radiated a strange warmth that invited in a quiet, calm way.
For a moment, he was the little boy again, eagerly running to his uncle's house to show him the latest progress in his research. That had been his entire childhood until one day his uncle received a letter. His brother was dying; smallpox had caught him. The Rain Bay belonged to him back then, and he asked his brother to take over the tavern after his death, at least until his son was old enough to run it himself.
Kael still remembered that day well. He had cried, but even then he knew that his uncle wouldn't hesitate for a second, if there was someone in need. That's just how he was.
Taking a deep breath he stepped inside.