The morning sun cast a pale glow over Fallowmere, its golden light softening the rugged edges of the trading post. Kael stood at the edge of the bustling market square, his cloak drawn tightly around him. The weight of the Crown in his satchel was a constant reminder of the fragile line they walked between survival and discovery.
Mareth approached, her steps quiet but purposeful. "Lira's still talking to that merchant," she said, nodding toward a distant stall where their companion stood, gesturing animatedly. "I think she's trying to haggle her way into some information."
Kael managed a faint smile. "Sounds like her."
Mareth's expression darkened. "What if the Council's closer than we thought? What if they're already here?"
Kael's gaze swept over the crowd. Travelers, traders, and mercenaries filled the square, their faces a blur of activity. Any one of them could be a spy or an inquisitor in disguise.
"Then we stay alert," Kael said, his voice firm. "We can't afford to be careless."
Lira returned shortly after, her expression a mix of satisfaction and concern. She carried a small bundle of supplies and a parchment folded in her hand.
"What did you find out?" Mareth asked.
Lira handed Kael the parchment. "Rumors," she said. "But rumors often have a kernel of truth. There's talk of an inquisitor traveling with a small force, asking pointed questions about strangers passing through the region."
Kael unfolded the parchment. It was a crude map of the surrounding area, with several locations marked in charcoal. "What are these?" he asked.
"Places where the inquisitor was last seen," Lira said. "They're moving fast, but they haven't reached Fallowmere yet. If we leave now, we can stay ahead of them."
Mareth's brow furrowed. "And go where?"
Lira hesitated. "East, toward the borderlands. There are places out there where the Council's reach weakens. But it's dangerous territory. Bandits, rogue mages, worse things."
Kael's grip tightened on the map. "If it's our best chance, we take it."
By midday, they had left Fallowmere behind, the trading post's wooden palisades fading into the distance. The open plains gave way to rolling hills, their grassy slopes dotted with the occasional grove of trees. The path ahead was uncertain, but Kael felt a strange sense of purpose driving him forward.
The group traveled in silence for a time, their steps measured and deliberate. Mareth occasionally glanced over her shoulder, her hand never straying far from her blade. Lira's sharp eyes scanned the horizon, her posture tense but poised.
"Do you think the Veilborn are real?" Mareth asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Lira didn't look back. "Real enough to cause trouble. Whether they can actually open the Veil, though… that's another question."
Kael's jaw tightened. "And if they can?"
Lira shrugged. "Then we have a bigger problem than the Council."
As the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the hills, the group came upon a small village nestled in a narrow valley. The homes were simple, their thatched roofs and wooden walls speaking of a quiet, self-sufficient life. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint sound of children's laughter carried on the breeze.
"We should rest here," Lira said. "It's safer than camping out in the open."
Kael nodded, though he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. As they approached the village, a group of villagers emerged to meet them, their expressions wary but not hostile.
"Travelers?" an older man asked, stepping forward. His weathered face and calloused hands marked him as a farmer, though his sharp eyes suggested a keen mind.
Lira nodded. "We're passing through. Looking for a place to rest for the night."
The man studied them for a moment before nodding. "We don't get many visitors out here, but you're welcome to stay. Just don't bring any trouble with you."
"We'll keep to ourselves," Lira promised.
That evening, the group sat around a fire in the village's communal hall, sharing a simple meal with the villagers. The conversation was polite but guarded, the villagers' curiosity evident in their furtive glances.
Kael kept his head down, the Crown's presence a constant weight in his satchel. He felt the tension in the room, the unspoken questions hanging heavy in the air.
As the meal wound down, the older man approached them again. "You're running from something," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on Kael. "I've seen that look before. If you need help, speak now. But if trouble follows you here, we can't afford to stand in its way."
Kael met the man's gaze, his chest tightening. He wanted to tell him the truth, to explain the burden he carried and the danger it brought. But he knew the risk was too great.
"Thank you for your hospitality," Kael said instead. "We'll be gone by morning."
The man studied him for a long moment before nodding. "See that you are."
Later, as the village slept, Kael stood at the edge of the valley, staring up at the stars. The Crown's hum was faint but steady, its power a quiet reminder of the path ahead. Mareth joined him, her presence a comforting anchor in the stillness.
"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" she asked softly.
Kael didn't answer immediately. He thought of the Council, of the Veilborn, of the villagers who had risked letting them stay despite their fears.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know we can't stop now. Not while the Crown is still in play."
Mareth nodded, her gaze distant. "Then we keep moving. No matter what."
As dawn approached, Kael made a silent vow to himself. The first moves had been made, and the stakes were higher than ever. But whatever lay ahead, he would face it head-on—not just for himself, but for everyone who stood to lose everything if the Crown fell into the wrong hands.