We walked through the halls, the wooden floor beneath us emitting a soft groan with each step. The rooms we passed had their doors shut, but faint noises filtered through—murmurs, shuffling, and the occasional clang of something metallic. Each sound made me wonder about the activities hidden behind those closed doors.
As we neared the end of the hallway, we approached a set of double doors that looked far more robust than the others. The wood was reinforced with metal bands, giving it an imposing, fortified appearance. Standing near the doors were several men in armor. Most of them wore plate with a reddish-brown hue, its surface burnished to catch the light in a muted, earthy glow. Among them was an older man whose armor stood apart. Its pale, almost chalky finish seemed to drink in the dim light, reflecting it back with a soft, ghostly gleam.
I recognized the reddish armor—it was the kind worn by guards and lower-ranked soldiers during the military parades on my old master's estate. The pale armor, however, was unfamiliar. It looked heavier, sturdier, as if it had been crafted for someone of higher importance.
As we approached, the man in the pale armor, clearly the leader of the group, snapped to attention. His fist struck the place over his heart with a sharp thud, and his heels clicked together in a crisp, smooth motion.
"Lord Thorne, the wagons are ready to move. The food and supplies have been secured as well. The only concern is the lack of blessed torches."
Lord Thorne's brow twitched slightly at the mention of the torches. His calm expression remained fixed, but there was a sharpness in his tone that felt dangerous.
"...And why is it that we don't have the light we need? Surely, it should be an easy affair to procure some, no?"
The guard visibly tensed, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead despite the cool air of the hallway. His words came quickly, stumbling slightly under the weight of Thorne's scrutiny.
"My lord, ever since the followers of the First Flame declared war on us, blessed items like holy water and torches have stopped arriving. They're only available through smugglers now."
Lord Thorne paused, his expression unreadable as he considered the guard's explanation. Finally, with a faint sigh, he began moving toward the doors and the waiting guards.
"Very well. I won't blame you for failing to acquire something that wasn't there to begin with. Find a contractor and have them report to me immediately. I'll be in my cart. Boy, follow me."
The guard slammed his fist to his chest again in acknowledgment and quickly turned, barking commands to the other men before jogging off to carry out Thorne's order. The term contractor lingered in my mind, unfamiliar yet ominous, as I hurried to keep pace with Lord Thorne.
The cart Lord Thorne had mentioned was massive, its size rivaling that of a large slave bunkhouse, the kind that could fit fifteen or more people. Yet this cart was built for a single occupant. The sheer scale of it felt off, almost excessive.
As we got closer, something else struck me as strange—there were no animals harnessed to pull it. The guard had said it was ready, so how could it move? I glanced around, confused, my gaze searching for any sign of the draft animals that should have been nearby, but there were none.
The absence left me bewildered. What kind of power moved something so large without beasts to pull it?
As Lord Thorne approached the cart, the door swung open, revealing a woman with sickly pale skin. Her presence sent a wave of revulsion through me, an instinctive reaction I couldn't suppress. Her hollow eyes locked onto me, and a similar distaste flickered in her gaze.
" It seems you've picked up a stray on your way here. I'll remove it."
Her voice was devoid of warmth, cutting and clinical, but what unsettled me most was the strange undercurrent. It was layered, as though a second voice—guttural and masculine—spoke alongside hers.
Lord Thorne moved faster than I could process. His hand struck her face with a force that sent her head snapping to the side, a sickening crunch echoing through the air. She staggered but didn't fall. Instead, her head jerked back unnaturally, and she dropped to one knee, her tone shifting to urgent submission.
"This one apologizes for speaking out of turn, Lord!"
Lord Thorne didn't reply. He simply stared at her for a moment before stepping into the cart without another word.
I lingered, my mind reeling at what I had just witnessed, but when he glanced back at me, I hurried to follow. I climbed into the cart and sat on the floor, my thoughts swirling.