The trio left the Shadow Markets with heavy hearts and a sense of urgency. The revelation about the Crown of Arcana weighed on Kael more than he cared to admit. Every step felt like a march toward some inevitable disaster, the kind he had never wanted to be part of. Yet, deep within, a spark of resolve burned. He couldn't allow the Crown to fall into the wrong hands, not after learning what it truly was.
Lira led them through a narrow canyon that seemed to stretch forever. The rocky walls loomed high on either side, casting long shadows that danced as the wind whispered through the crevices. Mareth walked beside Kael, her expression distant.
"Are you okay?" Kael asked softly, breaking the silence.
Mareth glanced at him, her features softening slightly. "I'm fine," she said, though her tone betrayed her. "Just trying to process everything. It's a lot."
Kael nodded, understanding all too well. "We'll figure it out," he said, though he wasn't sure if he believed his own words.
Lira slowed her pace, falling into step with them. "We'll reach the village of Harrow's Reach by nightfall," she said. "It's small, out of the way. A good place to regroup."
"Do you think the Council knows we're here?" Mareth asked.
"If they don't now, they will soon," Lira replied. "Places like the Shadow Markets aren't exactly discreet. Someone's bound to talk."
Kael's stomach churned. The thought of the Council's inquisitors closing in on them made his skin crawl. He tightened his grip on his satchel, the hum of the Crown a constant reminder of what was at stake.
Harrow's Reach was little more than a cluster of weathered houses and a single inn that doubled as a trading post. The sun had just dipped below the horizon when they arrived, casting the village in hues of gold and purple. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the faint sound of a lute drifted from the inn.
"Let me handle this," Lira said as they approached the inn. "The less attention we draw, the better."
Inside, the inn was warm and dimly lit, the scent of roasted meat and spiced ale filling the air. A handful of patrons sat scattered at tables, most keeping to themselves. Lira strode to the counter, her demeanor confident but unassuming.
Kael and Mareth took a seat at a table near the corner, their backs to the wall. Kael's eyes scanned the room, noting the exits and the faces of the patrons. Old habits, drilled into him by the constant threat of pursuit.
"What now?" Mareth asked quietly.
Kael hesitated. "We need more answers," he said. "The figure at the Markets said the Crown amplifies the will of its wielder. I need to know what that means for me."
Mareth's expression darkened. "And if it means something bad?"
Kael looked down at his hands, the faint hum of the Crown vibrating through his bones. "Then I'll figure out how to control it."
Before Mareth could respond, Lira returned to the table, carrying three mugs of ale. "We've got a room for the night," she said, sliding the mugs toward them. "Get some rest while you can. We're heading out at first light."
The room was small and sparsely furnished, with a single window that overlooked the darkened street below. Kael sat on the edge of his bed, staring out at the quiet village. The Crown's hum had grown fainter, but its presence was still a constant weight on his mind.
"Kael," Mareth's voice broke the silence. She sat cross-legged on her bed, her eyes fixed on him. "Do you ever think about what would have happened if none of this had started? If the Crown had stayed buried?"
Kael turned to her, surprised by the question. He thought for a moment before answering. "Sometimes. But I can't change what happened. The Crown found me for a reason."
Mareth's gaze didn't waver. "Do you believe that?"
Kael hesitated, then nodded. "I have to. Otherwise, all of this would mean nothing."
Mareth sighed, lying back on her bed. "I just wish we knew what was coming."
The sound of breaking glass shattered the quiet of the night. Kael bolted upright, his heart racing as shouts erupted from the street below. He rushed to the window, peering out to see a group of armed figures moving through the village, their torches casting flickering light against the walls.
"Inquisitors," Lira hissed, appearing in the doorway. "They've found us."
Kael's blood ran cold. "What do we do?"
Lira's eyes were sharp, calculating. "We run. Now."
Mareth grabbed her pack, her expression a mix of fear and determination. Kael slung his satchel over his shoulder, the Crown's hum intensifying as if it sensed the danger.
"Follow me," Lira said, leading them to the window. She pushed it open, the cool night air rushing in. "We'll take the back streets. Stay quiet."
Kael climbed out after her, his movements quick but careful. The sound of the inquisitors grew louder, their shouts echoing through the village. His heart pounded as they darted through the narrow alleys, the shadows their only refuge.
But as they turned a corner, Kael froze. Standing in their path was a tall figure clad in dark armor, their face obscured by a gleaming helmet. The inquisitor's voice rang out, cold and commanding.
"Kael of Brinhold. Surrender the Crown, and your lives will be spared."
Kael's grip on his satchel tightened. The Crown's hum roared in his ears, and for a moment, he felt its power surge within him, waiting to be unleashed.
"Not today," he said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him.
The inquisitor stepped forward, drawing a sword that glowed with an eerie light. "Then you leave us no choice."
Lira drew her daggers, her stance tense but ready. Mareth stood beside Kael, her own weapon in hand. The alley seemed to shrink around them, the weight of the confrontation pressing down like a storm about to break.
Kael took a deep breath, the Crown's power thrumming through him. This was it. There was no turning back now.
"Let's finish this," he said, stepping forward as the first clash of steel rang out into the night.