Lokt bit his lip.

She ruined it. Why did she have to ruin it?

He ruffled his already messy hair and groaned loudly, dropping his hands to his side.

Why was he still thinking about her?

She has a Bounty now.

She said so herself.

But she didn’t have one until yesterday. And she had no memory.

Bounty or not, wasn’t that interesting enough?

He shook his head. No. It wasn’t. And how could it be?

Hopeful curiosity… was a luxury he could no longer afford to have.

It was simpler to focus on a guarantee. Finding the Witch was all that mattered now.

Lokt stood outside the black gate, portcullis shut tight, iron teeth biting deep into the ground. He wondered if they shut it when they saw his approach. Probably. Why else would the gate be closed? He chewed his bottom lip and looked up. Lokt had no doubt they saw him from behind the city's walls.

“Open the gate.”

This was so pathetic.

He refrained from voicing that last part as a figure exited the side of the guard tower and marched onto the top of the front wall. He walked past lines of stone battlements, arms folded, and looked down at Lokt from above the black gate.

“What are you here for?”

Lokt didn't recognise the guardsman. But from the way he glared at him, the man clearly recognized him.

“I have business here.”

“Oh? So you’ve come back? Just like that? What idiot would want to do business with a thief like yourself?”

Lokt clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth audibly. Thief? His face burned a venomous red, colouring his voice with sticky belligerence.

“I said I have business here. Sir. With Watch Captain Aiken. Would you like me to tell him some fool was the reason I was needlessly delayed?”

Lokt watched the man's smug smile dip into nervousness as he wavered. Clearly using Aiken’s name was the right decision. And though what he said wasn't exactly true, watching the churlish man squirm was certainly satisfying.

It almost made up for what he called him.

Almost.

Another guard shouted at the man from inside the guard tower and a quick decision was made. There was a brief rattle of metal chains as he turned back to Lokt, coughing in his hand.

“Ahem. It seems- there's been an unfortunate mistake. You may pass now.”

The giant gate didn't lift in one go. It stopped twice on the way up- albeit briefly, as it hung, suspended unevenly above him. Lokt eyed the sharp toothed bottom of the gate and took a step back cautiously, patiently waiting for it to ascend higher.

He set his gaze downward and sighed as the last barred shadow lifted from his path.

Did he ever think he’d be back here?

Lokt took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Into the city of Vandryl.

---

The city was quiet this time of the morning, with barely any people out. Those that were awake were either frantically scrambling to get to work or were too groggy to even notice him. Lokt wondered if this was the same quiet that could be found during the small hours of the night.

If it were always like this- perhaps the city would be tolerable.

Lokt made a face as he stepped onto grey flooring. Meridian stone. What an unpleasant sensation. Each rectangular slab of rock clung to his feet as he walked, forcibly cushioning his step and slowing his pace. He never understood the appeal.

He walked past mismatched buildings, some tall, some small, each vastly different. There were 5 or 6 different styles between them. Probably brought over by each group of peoples in their migration to the city. Lokt slowed. One couldn't help but admire each construction. Each celebration of nativity created in their highest form of craftsmanship.

A reflection of their own take on urbanity.

But while each structure was beautiful in its own right, casting a wider view of the buildings together resulted in a completely jarring sight. A cobbled city. Plagued with infighting as each construction seemed to compete for attention- dominance over one another.

And still, even in this mess of needless competition there was a clear winner. A building, taller than the rest. Brighter. More beautiful. Oppressively so. He stared up at the structure.

A tower at the centre of the city.

Its high walls reflected the light of the sun as a soft glow. Pale blue stones carved into a fabric-like quality, which bloused over the frame of the building, flowing and rippling in consonance with soft winds.

He pulled up his hood and continued walking.

What a sorry attempt at imitation.

Lokt had no doubt that the building was simply placed there as a testament. A sign not to forget. And that it was simply an empty husk with no real functional purpose.

He turned a corner, out of its ire, walking between a gap in two buildings. He stepped over a broken wooden crate as some unknown liquid dripped down from above, landing onto the back of his hood. Lokt shuddered, pulling it forward, and felt it streak down the back of his cloak.

He turned another corner, dodging a pair of ragged goblins as they wrestled over some small piece of metal.

The path opened wider again, as Lokt entered the market district. This area was made less showboaty, and each stall and shop was simply crafted for efficiency. A muted grey rolled across the area, with some stalls still covered with brown tarps- not yet open for trade. He saw several groups of people getting their shops ready, their wares hung out at the front; various meats, small bags of spice, and simple crafted goods laid out ornamentally at each designated store.

Lokt watched as a scene unfolded in front of him.

Apparently a goblin had stolen something from the neighbouring store. Another shorter goblin stomped his foot and demanded the item be returned, wagging his stump of a finger at the purported thief. The larger goblin smirked, rearing his head, and launched a huge gob of saliva into the air.

Lokt winced as he watched it arc and land with an audible splash.

The shorter goblin looked down at his foot in stunned outrage and slammed his chest as he let out a guttural cry.

In an instant, a larger- than- average hobgoblin emerged from behind his stall.

And the atmosphere changed.

He wore a blood stained apron, with a large chopping knife in one hand and a small animal carcass in the other. The shorter goblin scurried behind the hob, clutching at its apron, as he continued to yell.

The larger goblin however, wasn't phased in the slightest. In fact, even despite the difference in size, or the fact that the hob was wielding a large knife, he stepped forward, poking him and yelled doubly loud.

It was clear this was going to end in blood.

Lokt walked over to the other side of the street, keeping his head low under his hood. Small fights like this were not uncommon in Vandryl, but pitting a hobgoblin against a goblin didn’t seem very fair. There would be injury- or death, if the Watch didn’t arrive in time. He hastened his pace, touching the dagger under his cloak. He gripped it tight, fingers curling around its leather-bound handle. The last thing he needed right now was to get caught up in Watch business.

He wasn’t ready to see Aiken just yet.

There were things he had to do. People he had to see.

“The first, being… Krelnel.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

A troublesome fellow. But he was predictable. So Lokt knew where to find him.

---

Lokt stopped in front of a small wooden building.

A sign swung softly overhead, paint peeling off the side- a green dragon coiled around a crescent moon. He looked down at the half-closed double hinged door and heard sounds of chatter and laughter escape from inside.

“Surprisingly lively even at this time of the day.”

He swept his cloak upwards, grip loosening off the hilt of his dagger, and pushed, stepping into the local tavern.

A barmaid blocked his path, balancing a row of glass drinks on a tray in one hand and a clipboard in the other. From her light blue-ish skin and the circular patches on her arms, Lokt could tell what she was in an instant.

“Excuse me miss but do-”

“Ugh. Another customer?”

“Wha-”

The selkie’s blue hair swayed to the side as she tilted her head toward him. She met Lokt with round black eyes and scowled.

“Oi Lyra! Stop whining and greet the customers properly! And back straight!”

The selkie sighed loudly as Lokt heard a goblin’s voice sound from the back of the tavern. She blew hair from the side of her face, straightening her back ever-so-slightly as she spoke in a monotone voice.

“Welcome to the Sleepy Dragon. Where a pint of-”

“No sighing either!”

Her face twitched and she whipped around, glaring at the source of the voice. The tray of drinks wobbled, shifting glass cups down its side and spilling its contents onto the floor in front of Lokt.

“Really Grun?! Look what you-”

“Ha! It’s you!”

Lokt flinched as a familiar voice boomed from the centre of the tavern, interrupting the back and forth. The selkie cocked her head, muttering something under her breath before withdrawing quickly off to the side.

Lokt watched her clear from his path as he inched forward, pinching the roof of his nose. She was certainly… a character.

The tavern itself was largely bare, only furnished with simple round tables and chairs, and a plain-looking bar that ran along the back wall. But that wasn’t to say it was empty. Bodies filled the open space, crowding over tables as groups of people engaged in their own bubble of conversation.

Lokt waded through the babble, wooden floorboards groaning under his weight, and saw Krelnel push up from his table.

He towered over everyone- even half standing, and it was all the more clear as he straightened himself. His broad shoulders and powerful structure dwarfed all others, garnering both fear and respect, as his bulky muscles rippled under his plain looking shirt.

Lokt schooled his face, stifling a smile. It was strange seeing him in casual clothing.

In a nice way.

Krelnel blurred forward, moving impossibly fast even with his hulking figure, dodging between obstructing bodies and closing the distance in one stride.

In a single moment, Lokt found himself staring into his chest from a few feet away.

His pale yellow skin was strikingly bright up close and bled through the white of his shirt. Scarring stretched down both arms in a darker yellow, which only added to the intimidating aura radiating from him.

“So that's why everyone’s been so noisy this morning. Lokt…you know, you can't just walk into this city unannounced, don't you?”

Lokt looked up. Perhaps he would have felt threatened or uneasy under the gaze of his giant eye- were it not for the matching grin stretched across his face.

A cyclops’ smile.

“Why not? I'm a normal person and the city is open to all.”

“Hah! Person? Maybe. But normal?”

He clicked his tongue and laughed, clasping Lokt’s hand in his own before wrapping him in a bear hug.

Lokt squirmed, wriggling downwards and twisted out of his iron grip. He stepped backwards, pulling his hood down as he covered a small smile of his own. He’d forgotten how deadly Krelnel’s hugs were.

“You know I'm harmless.”

Krelnel raised an eyebrow- or did his equivalent, which was really just his forehead wrinkling and his eye widening slightly.

“I know nothing of the sort.”

He smirked, clapping Lokt on the back and pulling him closer.

“It’s good to see you, Lokt.”

“Nice to see you too, Krel.”

Krelnel pushed Lokt by the shoulders, steering him over to his table as he chortled happily.

“Come! Drinks on me!”

He waved at the selkie barmaid, pushing Lokt into a seat before flopping onto his wooden chair. Lokt was impressed the tiny structure held up under his weight, and without making so much as a sound.

“How long has it been? 3 Years? You’ve grown taller, you know. How are you?”

Krelnel took a swig from his tankard and saw Lokt reach out and receive a mug of his own. He paused mid-drink, eyeing Lokt’s discoloured arm silently as the barmaid left, grumbling something under her breath.

“I’m fine.”

Lokt’s smile dipped as he caught Krelnel staring, withdrawing his hand into his cloak. He noticed it. Lokt was sure he had. It was a hard thing to hide after all. Dark veins of grey. Stone in flesh.

Partial petrification.

“What about gold?”

“What about it?”

“I’ve heard the rumours. Robbing passers-by is not something… befitting of you. Just say the word and gold can be arranged.”

Lokt made a sour expression. It wasn’t like he enjoyed robbing people. But he’d rather take gold from a stranger than where Krelnel had in mind.

“I've left that life behind.”

“Well I can't just sit idly by and watch you become a- petty vagabond thie- criminal.”

Lokt pushed his mug to the side and looked away.

“Honestly, Krel… I don't know what to do anymore. I’m running out of time.”

Lokt bit his lip. That’s right. Even if he did find the Witch there was no guarantee she could help him. And even if she could… it would be like trying to cure Red Death with herbs. It might help for a time, but it’s not a cure. The problem is still there.

And death is imminent.

“Come back to Isfan.”

Lokt jerked his head. Isfan?

“I can’t do that and you know it.”

Krelnel pushed forward in his seat, wood cracking as he leaned closer.

“I’m sure there’s something for you over there.”

Lokt looked into his eye and shook his head.

“You saw my skin. You know I don’t have the time anymore.”

“There are things they can do over there. They understand petrification better than any other.”

Lokt shook his head again. Why didn’t Krelnel understand?

“I can’t go back. And… there is something for me here. The Witch.”

Krelnel looked at him and pulled back, eye widening as he slapped the table with his forearm.

“You mean to-you can't be serious!”

Lokt nodded calmly, looking away from his gaze. That's right, you can’t cure Red Death with herbs- but sometimes… they help with the pain.

“It's my Bounty. It’s corrupted. I’ve lost control. I-I can't tell if it is in use or not anymore.”

Lokt hesitated.

“And it’s speeding up the petrification process. If I can get rid of it, then I'll have more time. I'm sure of it.”

Krelnel took a deep breath and stared at Lokt sadly. Was he serious? Getting rid of his Bounty? A fundamental, essential part of who you are? He held his gaze and let out a long sigh.

“If you have thought it over and that is what you truly want Lokt, then who am I to stop you.”

Lokt smiled. He wondered what it took for someone like Krelnel to say that. It went directly against everything he stood for.

“You are a true friend.”

Krelnel nodded and took a swig from his tankard, his eye unmoving all the while. He set it down after he finished its contents and leaned in seriously.

“What sort of time frame are we looking at?”

“A few weeks, maybe a month or two. You know how unpredictable it can be.”

It felt strange for Lokt to talk about his own lifespan in such a rational and candid manner. Sobering really. 2 months. At best. That was hardly anything. It was no time at all.

“Is there anything we can do?”

Lokt swallowed dryly and reached for his cup.

“Not without the Witch's help. There was someone I thought I could hold it off with- but it turns out it was too good to be true. The Witch is the only answer.”

Krelnel scratched the back of his head and leaned into his chair. A month or two? He felt his shoulders drop. First Roseate and now Lokt? It wasn’t fair.

“Listen Krel, about the Witch. I need to talk to you in priv-”

Krelnel raised his hand. And Lokt shut his mouth in surprise.

“Before that. What do you plan to do after?”

“After?”

“You said you can’t go back to Isfan and that’s fine. But if you don't have any other plans I want you to stay here, in Vandryl. Life is good here. It’s fun. And simple. I’m sure you’d find happiness here.”

Lokt kept his face level as he gripped his thigh. Happiness? Here? Where did that come from? What did that matter? How could he even think of something like that right now?

“Here? In Vandryl? Do you think I do not know what they call me? What they whisper behind my back? Someone even said to my face this morning.”

Krelnel’s face darkened as the wooden table strained against his arm.

“Here? Who?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It’s a lie.”

Lokt smiled and shook his head sadly.

“I did think that once. But now…”

Thief. He paused, looking down as a deep rage swept over him.

“They say I stole from our king.”

“That's not true.”

Lokt looked up into the roof of the tavern and exhaled, leaning into the backrest of his chair.

“I’m angry because it is true. You know it. And I know it.”

Lokt pulled a pair of blue gloves from his cloak and watched Krelnel grow silent. Slowly, carefully, he placed one onto the table in front of Krelnel.

He made a choking sound as he reached out, hand trembling as he lifted the glove in his giant hand.

Only now did Lokt notice that the tavern was deathly silent. Had he been talking too loud?

He could feel stares bore into his back and heard the shifting of metal. No doubt they would have started to guess who he was by now. The glove only confirmed their suspicion. Would they attack him here? Part of him wished they would. He could feel their bloodlust, and those without anger had greed on their mind. But Lokt didn't care. He looked down at his arm as he pulled 3 silvers from his coin pouch.

A simple trick, but it never failed to put a smile to his lips. He flicked them into the air and watched them land in a perfect stack.

“Coin for the drink… and the damages.”

Perhaps he made an enemy of this city. Not that it mattered much. He just needed information and then he would never see Vandryl again.

Lokt smiled bitterly as he stuffed his glove back into his cloak.

“Lokt, you didn't mean to. You didn’t. I know you didn’t.”

Krelnel said softly, voice cracking as he cradled the glove.

Lokt heard footsteps behind him. An assailant no doubt. Some stupid loyalist. Perhaps his weapon was drawn. Perhaps he was already swinging.

Perhaps justice had come.

Lokt looked at Krelnel and shook his head sadly, his hands curling around the crude dagger under his cloak.

“Does it really matter?”