The streets of Aramore were a labyrinth under the cover of night, every shadow a potential threat, every corner a risk. Caden and Garrick moved swiftly through the twisting alleys, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the city's din. The shard pulsed faintly in Caden's pocket, as though reacting to the tension in the air, its energy a quiet thrum that resonated with his quickened heartbeat.
"Whoever that was, they'll be back," Garrick said, his voice low but firm as they slipped into a side street. "And if they don't return, someone else will."
"Because of the fragment?" Caden asked, his grip tightening around the object in his pocket.
"Because power like that never goes unnoticed," Garrick replied, glancing over his shoulder. "You saw what it did back there. Even a whisper of that kind of energy is enough to stir every hunter and opportunist in Aramore."
Caden's stomach twisted at the thought. He had barely grasped the fragment's power himself, and now it felt as though the entire city was converging on them. "Where do we go now?"
Garrick paused, scanning the darkened street ahead. "We can't stay out here. We need somewhere safe, somewhere quiet. There's a place I know—neutral ground. If anyone there is watching, they won't act openly."
"Neutral ground?" Caden asked, following close behind Garrick as he led them through the twisting alleys. "You mean like a truce zone?"
"Something like that," Garrick said. "It's called the Staggering Raven. A tavern near the Warden's Square. No one starts trouble there—not without paying for it."
They moved quickly, the oppressive air of the Rust Quarter giving way to the broader streets near the city's heart. As they approached the tavern, the faint hum of conversation and the clinking of mugs reached Caden's ears. The building was nondescript, its weathered sign creaking faintly in the breeze, but the faint light spilling from its windows promised a haven from the dangers outside.
Inside, the Staggering Raven was dimly lit, its walls lined with faded banners and worn furniture. The air was thick with the scent of stale ale and wood smoke, but it carried a warmth that eased some of the tension in Caden's chest. A mix of patrons filled the room—mercenaries, merchants, and wanderers—each keeping to themselves, their conversations low and guarded.
Garrick led Caden to a corner table, his movements deliberate and measured. As they sat, Garrick's gaze swept the room, his expression unreadable.
"Keep your head down," Garrick murmured. "Listen, but don't speak unless you have to."
Caden nodded, his eyes flicking to the other patrons. The room was a tapestry of faces—some scarred and hardened, others watchful and calculating. A group of men in mismatched armor sat near the bar, their voices low as they exchanged murmured words. At another table, a woman with dark, piercing eyes studied a worn map, her fingers tracing the lines as though searching for something lost.
The shard pulsed faintly again, and Caden stiffened, the weight of it pressing against him like a warning. "Garrick," he whispered, leaning closer. "The shard—it feels… different."
Garrick's gaze sharpened, and he placed a steadying hand on Caden's arm. "Focus. The fragment's energy is reacting to the city, to everything around us. Don't let it overwhelm you."
Before Caden could respond, a shadow fell over their table. He looked up to see a tall man with sharp features and a long, dark coat standing before them. His eyes gleamed with an unsettling mix of curiosity and menace.
"New faces," the man said, his voice smooth but edged with something dangerous. "I don't often see those in the Raven."
"We're just passing through," Garrick said, his tone calm but guarded. "No trouble."
The man's gaze flicked to Caden, lingering for a moment before he smirked. "Trouble has a way of finding its own, whether you're looking for it or not."
"Do we know you?" Garrick asked, his voice cold.
"Not yet," the man replied, taking a step back. "But perhaps we will soon."
With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd near the bar. Caden exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his hand brushing against the shard in his pocket.
"Who was that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Someone who knows too much," Garrick said, his expression grim. "We'll need to move quickly. If he's interested in us, it won't be long before others are too."
They sat in silence for a while, the tension between them palpable. Caden's mind churned with questions, but he forced himself to stay quiet, his focus on the pulsing shard in his pocket. The weight of it felt heavier now, as though the fragment itself was responding to the unseen dangers around them.
When Garrick finally spoke, his voice was low and measured. "We'll spend the night here. In the morning, we'll head to the tunnels beneath the Rust Quarter."
"The tunnels?" Caden asked, frowning. "What's down there?"
"Answers," Garrick replied. "And likely more trouble. But if we're going to stay ahead of the Reclaimers—and whoever else is watching—we'll need to take the risk."
Caden swallowed, his pulse quickening at the thought. The shard thrummed faintly in his pocket, its energy a constant reminder of the dangers ahead. But beneath the fear, a spark of determination burned. Whatever lay in the tunnels, he would face it. He had to.