06:32— Morning.
Fortis woke with a groan, the faint remnants of the previous dream lingering in his mind like an oppressive fog.
His eyes felt too heavy, his body aching from an uneasiness that had settled deep into his bones. The dream had kept him awake for hours, twisting his mind with fragmented visions of shifting landscapes and whispered warnings he couldn't quite grasp.
Shaking off the lingering fatigue, he pushed himself upright, rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to banish the shadows from his mind. "Not enough sleep..." he muttered under his breath.
The air in the room felt thick, heavy, as though the very atmosphere had absorbed his unrest.
He sighed, dressed quickly, and made his way to the door, stepping out into the dimly lit streets of Misthaven.
...
The cold morning air nipped at his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the cramped room he'd left behind. As he walked through the narrow alleyways, he could hear the murmurs of the city slowly coming to life—people preparing for the day, their voices rising in the thick fog that seemed to perpetually hang over the town.
"If they noticed last night's earthquake, I might feel a little guilty." He muttered under his breath.
This morning his destination was simple, the bakery on the corner. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air as he pushed the door open, greeted by the warmth that wafted from within. A few tired faces were already there, some clutching their loaves of bread, others murmuring about the strange events of the night before. Fortis caught snippets of their conversation as he stood in line.
"Did you feel that last night? The ground—it shook like it was alive," one man said, shaking his head in disbelief. His face was pale, eyes wide with unease.
Of course, They do...
"Not just that," a woman chimed in, voice low. "I saw lights in the sky. Strange ones. Never seen anything like it before."
"Really?" Fortis smirked slightly at their words but said nothing.
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze scanning the room for the familiar baker. As the line shifted forward, he caught the muttered words of another nearby citizen, voice trembling.
"I think of the end of the world!"
The world seemed on edge, the city's usual hum of activity tinged with a sense of apprehension.
Fortis shook his head.
"I didn't expected this much panic. A small quake and a few strange lights, and suddenly everyone thought the world was ending?" Without noticing, Fortis found himself standing at the front of the line.
Only when the baker called his name did Fortis realize it was his turn.
"Fortis,", The baker, an older man with graying hair, placed a fresh loaf of bread in front of him. "Morning. You hear about the quake?"
"Yeah, I heard," Fortis replied, his voice flat, though his mind was already elsewhere. "Anything unusual happen after that?"
The baker shook his head, glancing over his shoulder as if the walls themselves might be listening. "Just the usual... people talkin', rumors spreadin', but you know how it is around here. People always say the world's ending."
Fortis took the bread, paid in silence, and stepped back into the streets.
"Really… I'm sorry! What do they want me to say? I didn't expect them to panic this much," he thought as he walked.
Just as he was about to turn the corner, a familiar voice called out.
"Well, if it isn't the early riser himself," a man said, his tone light and laced with a hint of amusement. Fortis turned to see the same street vendor from yesterday—the one who had told him about the Aerial family.
This man again.
The vendor's weathered face was framed by a thick beard, his clothes worn but functional, a cart full of trinkets and baubles hanging behind him. He wore a smile that suggested he was no stranger to idle conversation.
"You're up early again," the vendor said, leaning against his cart with a knowing grin. "I've seen you here every morning for the last two days. Bread, always bread. You must really like it."
Fortis regarded him for a moment, considering how best to respond. Fortis took a slow breath, letting the still-chilly morning air clear his mind before speaking.
"Bread's a simple thing. The things that keeps you moving," Fortis replied, his voice flat but not unfriendly. He gave a small shrug, shifting the loaf in his hands. " it's cheap and convenient."
The vendor's grin widened. "Convenient, he says. Well, that's one way to put it. But you often came here, so I imagine it's more than just convenience at this point. You wouldn't be coming back if it didn't fill a need, eh?"
Fortis felt the familiar weight of curiosity behind the vendor's words. The man was the type to notice things. He'd caught Fortis before, back when their conversation had turned toward the mysterious Aerial family. A slight tightening in his chest warned him that the vendor was likely still fishing for more. But Fortis, ever the observer, chose to play along.
"Maybe I like the quiet," Fortis said, as if realizing it himself. He took a small step forward, his boots making a soft tap on the cobblestone. "Quiet way to start the day."
The vendor eyed him for a moment, then chuckled, a knowing look in his eyes. "Quiet, huh?" The vendors said
"Well, this place sure has its fair share of noise. What with all the talk of strange things happening around here lately—earthquakes, lights in the sky... strange days, those. But you're right, there's a certain calm before the storm. I suppose that's why some of us stick to the small things, like bread. Keeps us grounded, doesn't it?"
Fortis nodded once, thoughtfully, still keeping his gaze steady on the vendor. There was no mistaking it now—the man's casual banter was veiled with something deeper. He wasn't simply making small talk.
"Maybe it's grounding," Fortis murmured. "But things have a way of changing."
The vendor's smile softened for a moment before he shrugged, dismissing the heavier mood. "True enough."
He was silent for a few seconds before continuing.
"Anyway, you've got a long day ahead, I'm sure. I'll leave you to your peace," the vendor said, stepping back slightly, though his mischievous smile remained. "Just… be careful, man. Not all things in this city are as they seem."
Fortis held his gaze a moment longer before nodding curtly. "Who exactly was this man?"
With one last glance at the cart, he turned away, the morning air nipping at his skin as he walked back home.
...
The rhythmic clatter of horse-drawn carriages echoed through the streets, blending with the hurried footsteps of workers making their way to another day of toil.
Across the street, laborers wrestled with heavy sacks of grain, their breath visible in the frigid air. The damp scent of coal smoke, fresh bread, and something faintly metallic lingered, an unmistakable aroma of industry and struggle.
Fort passed by a bakery where two men stood conversing in hushed yet urgent tones.
"Wheat prices have doubled again. If this continues, I'll have to raise my prices, and then who'll be able to afford bread?" The baker wiped his flour-dusted hands on his apron, his expression dark with worry.
"Not just wheat," the merchant beside him muttered, his gloved fingers adjusting the balance scale on the counter. "Sugar, salt, butter... everything's rising. The council sits in their grand halls, debating nonsense while the markets bleed us dry."
The baker scoffed, shaking his head. "The nobles won't feel a thing. They'll still have their pastries and fine wine while we scrape for crumbs."
The merchant scoffed. "Hah! And they wonder why crime is rising in the lower districts. If this keeps up, we'll be selling air instead of bread."
Fort did not pause. Words like these were as much a part of the city as the fog that curled through its alleys. though their words lingered in his ears, as he continued down the narrow street, his eyes caught sight of a boy standing at the corner.
A boy no older than twelve stood beneath a flickering gas lamp, his coat oversized and frayed at the edges. He clutched a bundle of newspapers to his chest, his small hands red from the cold. His voice, sharp yet weary, cut through the morning haze.
"Morning edition! Council corruption! Food prices soar! Parliament in deadlock! Read all about it!"
A passerby, wrapped in a threadbare coat, stopped and dug out a few coins. The boy handed over a newspaper in a swift.
The man unfolded the paper, glancing over the headlines before scoffing. "They tax us to death and expect us to stay quiet? Bloody bastards.."
The boy let out a short laugh, the sound dry and knowing. "Yeah? Try selling bad news for a living."
The two exchanged light-hearted words for a brief moment, their voices a rare respite amidst the oppressive atmosphere of the day. In an instant, the laughter fell silent, the weight of their respective tasks quickly reclaiming their focus.
On the other side—
Fort, who felt interested with the newspaper, stepped forward, slipping a gloved hand into his coat pocket and retrieving a coins. He flipped them toward the boy, who caught them with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to meager transactions.
"One copy," Fort said simply.
The boy nodded and handed him a newspaper, his fingers brushing against Fort's own—cold, thin, but steady. Fort took the paper, the ink still fresh, its scent mingling with the damp morning air.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
He unfolded it, his sharp eyes scanning the bold headlines.
"FOOD PRICES SOAR AS COUNCIL FAILS TO REACH AGREEMENT—SUPPLY SHORTAGES IMMINENT?"
Below it, another, smaller headline caught his attention.
"UNREST IN THE WEST DISTRICTS—A STIRRING IN THE FOREST??"
Fort continued walking, his boots clicking softly against the cobblestones, each step a slow, deliberate motion. The newspaper, now creased in his hand, was still open, his eyes scanning the pages.
THE MISTHAVEN GAZETTE
Bringing You the Truth Since 1183 A.R.
MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF A LOCAL MERCHANT.
A well-known trader from the eastern district, Rolan Myre, has reportedly vanished without a trace. Authorities believe it to be an act of organized crime, but no evidence has surfaced.
NOBLE FAMILY SCANDAL: HEIR TO THE VENCOURT ESTATE ACCUSED OF FRAUD
...
FESTIVAL OF LANTERNS TO BEGIN NEXT WEEK.
...
STRANGE WEATHER PATTERNS REPORTED NEAR THE SOUTHERN BORDER.
Farmers near the southern frontier have reported an unusual shift in the weather, with sudden fogbanks rolling in at odd hours. Some claim to have seen figures moving in the mist, though local officials dismiss it as paranoia...
...
(Huh?) Fort frowned, flipping through the pages again, scanning each line carefully.
The disappearance of a merchant, a noble scandal, an upcoming festival—yet not a single word about Azzel.
"Nothing? Not even a passing mention? Was it simply an oversight? No… The Gazette thrived on scandal—something of this magnitude should have been buried somewhere. Which meant it was erased Or... deliberately not published"
That was odd.
Azzel's case wasn't just some back-alley incident. He was once a royal family at the very least, it should have been buried somewhere in the crime reports, speculated on by paranoid columnists.
"But there was nothing. As if it never happened."
The newspaper remained clenched in his hand, the edges crinkling with each step, though Fortis barely noticed.
The sounds of the city were a blur—vendors' cries, children's laughter, snippets of idle chatter. All distant noises to which he had grown numb.
His gaze, however, was locked on the paper, eyes flicking rapidly over each headline, searching for something that would spark a lead, a whisper of truth hidden in plain sight.
He passed the familiar landmarks without a second thought—Yet none of it mattered. His thoughts, sharp as ever, stayed tethered to the pages in his hands.
"Noble Scandal Rocks the Upper Court…" The scandal was nothing new. A rift within the upper echelons of society, old news, buried under layers of politicking and bureaucracy.
A frown twisted across Fortis's features, deeper than before, as he neared the door to his home.
He folded the paper with the precision of someone accustomed to dismissing distractions, tucking it under his arm as he turned the key in the lock.
Inside—— Fortis House
Forr sat down, as he trying to understand more about the newspaper.
Fortis closed the newspaper with a soft thud, still unsettled by the lack of information. His fingers lingered on the edge of the folded pages. Just endless headlines, each more irrelevant than the last.
Sighing, he set the paper down and stood up, his movements deliberate. He grabbed a loaf from the bag, breaking off a chunk and chewing it slowly.
The warmth and simplicity of the bread offered little comfort, but it would have to do for now. As he ate, his mind raced, flipping through the thin fabric of the day's news.
Finishing his meal, Fortis moved toward the washroom. The day had already taken its toll, and he needed to cleanse himself before his next move.
The cool water ran over his skin, soothing away the fatigue of hours spent searching for answers that remained stubbornly out of reach. Once done, he dried off quickly, dressed in his usual attire, and gathered his things, preparing for departure.
07:48— Fortis house.
Stepping outside, the familiar sound of the carriage's wheels on cobblestone reached his ears. The driver, the same man with a stoic expression, nodded when he saw Fortis approach.
"Heading to the South Gate again, Mr Fort?"
"Yeah," Fortis replied shortly, climbing into the carriage. He settled into the seat, the rhythmic movement of the wheels a dull, comforting noise in the background...