The sun greeted me with a faint warmth, slipping through the cracks of the shutters as I woke. For a fleeting moment, the bed's coarse wool blanket and the simplicity of the inn's room made me forget everything—the cave, the Dawnhound, the weight of the fragments now etched into me. But the steady pulse in my chest was a quick reminder.
I sat up, rubbing the back of my neck. My companion stirred at the foot of the bed, letting out a soft chirp before stretching its spines. The Dawnhound, ever watchful, sat by the window, its glowing eyes fixed on the street below.
"Time to move," I murmured, though none of us seemed eager to leave the comfort of this place. As I stood, my muscles groaned in protest, but the lure of fresh air and supplies outweighed my reluctance. I scratched my companion's head, earning a pleased trill, before heading downstairs.
The inn was quieter now, and the morning patrons were few and scattered. Eldrin was behind the counter, wiping down a mug as though it were a sacred ritual. He looked up and nodded, though his eyes lingered on me.
"Rest well?" he asked.
"As well as anyone can," I replied, reaching for the coin pouch I'd managed to hold onto. "We'll be needing a meal before we head out."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Breakfast is included. Sit. I'll bring something."
I settled at a corner table, my companion hopping onto the bench beside me. The Dawnhound didn't follow, content to stay near the door, its presence enough to deter curious stares. Eldrin returned with a plate of steaming eggs, thick slices of bread, and a small dish of jam. The simplicity of the meal was a luxury I hadn't realized I missed.
"Thank you," I said, meaning it more than he knew. He gave me a faint smile before retreating to his station.
The food didn't last long. As I wiped the crumbs from my fingers, I mapped out the day in my head. The town wasn't large, but it had the essentials—an apothecary, a blacksmith, a market. I needed to replenish what I'd lost and stock up for the road ahead. Eldorahn was still a ways off, and if the cave was any indication, the journey wouldn't be kind.
I left a few coins on the table and stepped outside. The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Villagers moved about their tasks, sparing me brief glances but little more. It was a relief, really. Attention was the last thing I needed.
The apothecary was my first stop. The scent of dried herbs hit me as I pushed open the door, the small shop crammed with shelves lined with jars, vials, and bundles of plants. The apothecary herself was a wiry woman with sharp eyes that seemed to see too much.
"Need something for that glow of yours?" she asked, her voice dry but not unkind.
I tensed but shook my head. "Just the basics—bandages, salve, anything for keeping on the move."
She nodded, her gaze lingering for a moment longer before she busied herself gathering supplies. I paid in silence, tucking the items into my pack before leaving. Her curiosity was palpable, but she didn't press, and for that, I was grateful.
The blacksmith was next. His forge was a cacophony of heat and sound, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal ringing out as I approached. He was a bear of a man, his arms thick with muscle and his face hidden beneath a soot-streaked beard.
"You don't look like the fighting sort," he said, eyeing me as I stepped into the workshop.
"Doesn't mean I don't need a blade," I replied evenly. He grunted in approval, leading me to a rack of short swords and daggers. I chose a simple blade, unadorned but well-balanced. It felt good in my hand, a small reassurance in an unpredictable world.
The market was a lively affair, with stalls crammed with goods ranging from fresh produce to hand-woven textiles. I browsed quickly, picking up dried meat, a loaf of sturdy bread, and a small pouch of tea leaves. The merchants were friendly enough, though their eyes often strayed to my companions. My coin was good, though, and that was all that mattered.
As I turned to leave, an old woman at a corner stall caught my eye. She was hunched over, her hands deftly arranging a collection of trinkets—amulets, small knives, and polished stones. Her eyes, sharp and bright despite her age, locked onto mine.
"You," she called, her voice surprisingly strong. "Come here."
I hesitated, but curiosity won out. As I approached, she reached beneath her stall, pulling out a small wooden box. She opened it to reveal a pendant—a simple disc of obsidian set in a thin silver frame.
"This is for you," she said, her tone brooking no argument.
"I can't—"
"You can," she interrupted, pressing the box into my hands. "It's meant to find you. And you'll need it before this is over."
Her words sent a chill through me, but her expression left no room for doubt. I slipped the pendant into my pack, offering a quiet thank you before leaving. Her gaze lingered on me as I walked away, the weight of her words settling like a stone in my chest.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparations and quiet observation. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I was back at the inn, my pack heavier but my mind no less burdened. The Dawnhound was waiting by the hearth, its presence as steady as ever, while my companion chirped in greeting, its spines quivering with energy.
I climbed the stairs to my room, setting the pack on the table and pulling out the pendant. The obsidian seemed to absorb the light, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. There was a faint hum when I held it, a resonance that matched the pulse in my chest.
"What are you?" I murmured, though I didn't expect an answer. The pendant remained silent, its secrets as impenetrable as the journey ahead.
For now, though, I had what I needed—a moment of rest, a plan, and a faint glimmer of hope. Tomorrow, I would set out for Eldorahn. And whatever waited for me there, I would face it head-on.
Sleep came easier this time, the pendant resting on the table beside me, its quiet hum a strange comfort in the dark.