The streets of Aramore swallowed them whole. Caden stayed close to Garrick, his eyes darting nervously over the bustling crowd as they made their way through the labyrinthine alleys. The energy of the city pressed against him like a living thing, alive with voices, footsteps, and the constant scrape of metal on stone.
Garrick moved with purpose, his steps steady and measured as though he'd walked these streets a hundred times before. "Stay close," he said over his shoulder, his voice calm but firm. "And keep your head down. Aramore may seem chaotic, but nothing here happens without someone noticing."
Caden nodded, gripping the shard in his pocket as though it might shield him from the watchful eyes he could feel following their every move. The narrow alleys gave way to a wider avenue, lined with shops and stalls that spilled over with goods—everything from weapons and tools to strange, glittering artifacts that pulsed faintly with unnatural light.
"What is this place?" Caden asked, his voice low as he took in the bustling marketplace.
"The Tradesmen's Walk," Garrick replied. "A hub for merchants and artisans. If you're looking for something—or someone—you'll find it here. Just be prepared to pay the price."
Caden's gaze lingered on a stall displaying jagged shards of crystal, their fractured surfaces gleaming in the light of a nearby lantern. The vendor, a wiry man with sharp eyes, noticed his interest and leaned forward, his grin revealing crooked teeth.
"Looking for power, boy?" the man called, his voice slick and oily. "These beauties can make you faster, stronger—unstoppable!"
Caden froze, but Garrick's hand clamped onto his shoulder, steering him firmly away. "Don't linger," Garrick muttered. "Half of what they sell here is junk. The other half will kill you."
The further they walked, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The chatter of the marketplace faded, replaced by the hushed tones of hurried conversations and the distant clang of forges. The buildings leaned closer together, their upper floors almost touching, casting deep shadows that swallowed the alleys below.
Caden couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. Every now and then, he caught glimpses of figures lingering in doorways or peering from darkened windows, their faces obscured but their eyes sharp and calculating.
"Is it always like this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Aramore's streets are always watching," Garrick replied, his tone grim. "People here thrive on information. And when they see someone new—someone who doesn't fit—they take notice."
They turned down another narrow alley, this one quieter, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and stale smoke. Garrick stopped suddenly, his gaze sweeping the shadows. Caden followed his eyes, but saw nothing out of place.
"What is it?" Caden asked, his voice tight.
"Just being cautious," Garrick said, though his hand hovered near the staff tucked beneath his cloak. "The shard you carry—it pulses. Even faintly, it's enough to attract attention from the wrong sort."
Caden shivered, his grip tightening around the shard. The faint pulse he felt from it now seemed louder, more insistent, as though the fragment itself was reacting to the city.
They emerged into a quieter square, the noise of the streets fading to a low murmur. A weathered statue stood at the center, its features worn by time but still imposing. Around it, a handful of people lingered in hushed conversation, their voices carrying just enough to reach Caden's ears.
"…another fragment sighting near the Rust Quarter…"
"…bounty hunters swarming the docks…"
"…Reclaimers haven't moved in weeks. It's not like them…"
Caden's pulse quickened at the mention of fragments, but Garrick steered him away before he could linger on the conversations. They continued down another alley, the light growing dimmer as the buildings closed in around them.
Finally, Garrick stopped outside a nondescript door tucked into the side of a crumbling stone wall. The faint glow of a lantern flickered above it, casting uneven light across the cracked wood. Garrick knocked three times, his movements deliberate, and waited.
After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing a stout woman with piercing eyes and a stern expression. She looked them over, her gaze lingering on Garrick's staff before shifting to Caden.
"Garrick," she said, her voice cool. "I didn't think I'd see you again."
"Things change, Lyra," Garrick replied evenly. "We need a room."
Lyra's eyes narrowed, but she stepped aside, motioning for them to enter. The room beyond was small and dimly lit, its walls lined with shelves of dusty books and odd trinkets. A single table sat in the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs, and the air carried the faint scent of old parchment and herbs.
"This is what I've got," Lyra said, her tone clipped. "Don't make trouble, and we won't have a problem."
Garrick nodded, handing her a small pouch of coins. "Fair enough."
As Lyra disappeared into another room, Caden sank into one of the chairs, the weight of the day pressing heavily on him. "Who is she?" he asked, glancing at Garrick.
"An old contact," Garrick said. "She keeps her ear to the ground. If anything happens in Aramore, she'll know about it."
"And the fragment?" Caden asked, his voice low. "Do you think anyone's… sensed it?"
"It's possible," Garrick admitted, his gaze sharp. "But Aramore's full of power—arcane magic, fragments, relics. It might help us blend in. For now, we keep to the shadows, gather information, and find someone who can help you stabilize its energy."
Caden nodded, though unease churned in his chest. The city was a maze of secrets and dangers, and every shadow seemed to carry unseen eyes. As he leaned back in the chair, the shard pulsed faintly in his pocket, its energy thrumming in time with the chaotic pulse of Aramore itself.
Whatever answers the city held, Caden knew they would come at a cost. But he was ready to face it, step by step, as he delved deeper into the heart of the city's mysteries.