The echo of her final gate would follow in our departure, accompanying us to the first hill before becoming a memory. That was the last we saw of it—the city I'd spent a life in—and I didn't so much as turn my head to tell it goodbye. I wanted it gone. Where we fled to, I didn't know; my only goal was to put as much distance between myself and that forsaken place as possible. But, try as I might, it stuck around for long after my daring escape. No matter how far behind us, a piece of it still nestled in my thoughts, and it had been gnawing away ever since.

Lingering guilt. In one way, I was innocent, but in another, not. I carried the message of an honest man, and I did what I thought necessary to spread it, but in the end, I sullied it with blood. Once passion removed its blindfold, it was clear that I deserved my sentencing. No matter the moment's rationale, I had committed a grave crime, and now I roamed free despite it.

My conscience made a meal of that fact, but what really caused the jaws to clamp was that I didn't feel worse. Instead, I couldn't help but think intently about where my ignoble actions would lead. Whatever horrible mistakes I'd made, whatever sin, it seemed it had finally broken a cycle of monotony. Whether forced or by my own hand, my old life was gone, and I was given the freedom of choice with which to forge it anew.

Still, if I wanted this life to be better than the last, I had to make wiser choices, and I was off to a rough start. It had been a week since we set our sights eastward in the hopes of starting anew in Kelworth, and in that time, my worries wandered from the past and into the present. My stomach was desolate, a statement likely truer of my stalwart steed, but there were still several days between us and our destination. Making matters worse, my stock of gifted goods waned, and in the rush from Abdera, I hadn't grabbed any extra food of my own. All that lay at the bottom of my satchel now were provisions left from previous scouting ventures: old apples and bread, molded and hardened since my time in the keep. I ate at night now, else the rot would turn my stomach.

Though it wasn't ideal, it was funny that even after having lost it, it was my occupation that held me afloat. But it wouldn't last forever. Even the rancid reserves were running dry, making the distant group of tents quite an attractive site. Unfamiliar with the area, I was unsure of what settlement I'd found, but I had passed the point at which I could be picky and was anxious to restock wherever possible. From beneath me, my horse stirred and pulled towards the looming town against the reigns. I wanted nothing more than to stuff my stomach, but considering the state of my dress, I thought it wise to rinse the filth and blood before I attracted unwanted attention. Thankfully, a small brook ran nearby to the outpost and would serve the purpose well enough.

I savored the first wonderful sips, happy to cleanse the stale taste from my palate. The bath was less refreshing, taking my breath away as the water coated my scalp and dripped down my back. I wasted no time in yanking off my tunic, hands trembling as I plunged it into the brisk current. Immediately, the densest of the grime loosened from the fabric, swirling and trickling downstream in a great red cloud representative of all that I had left behind. This was my best chance at a new life. All else that stained my past was rinsed free, and like the blood in the stream, best left forgotten. Stooped over the shallow creek, I continued to remove what I could before starting to the tents.

As we strode closer, it became evident that I'd happened upon a wealth of traveling merchants and artisans. Only a blip on the map, I might have mistaken it for a cartographic error did it not stand before me. Why they had constructed an outpost so remote was beyond me, but I didn't dare question such a blessing. We rode into the thrumming town as two skeletons, a few thin straps of flesh and the rest bone.

"I'll get you fed soon," I cooed as I guided my horse with lead in hand. I took him to an area behind the bulk of tents and fastened it to a peg driven deep into the hard soil. While fiddling with the rope, I took sharper notice of my surroundings. Through days of riding, the lush green carpet had turned a deathly brown broken up with scant tufts of paler yellow. Likewise, the air had started to thin, growing noticeably more frigid, though not so much that I felt exposed in my tunic. Night was another matter, and time would tell if it withstood, but I had the rest of the day to explore this establishment. And a curious place it was, pitched deep in the northern plains. For a population I assumed to be composed solely of craftsmen and nomads, I found the place bustling as I entered the heart of it. Carefree children chased and prodded one another with sticks while harder-looking salesmen dealt from their enormous packs, and others still roamed from tent to tent. It was a full-fledged community in effect.

With precious little idea of where to start, I was led to a blacksmith's tent by the sharp cries of steel being hammered.

"New face 'round here?" The thunderous voice of the smith startled me to attention. He had stopped me in my tracks when I had only just noticed him. "What can I do for ye?" Beads of sweat dribbled from his chin, evidence of his hard labor, and his bald head similarly shined from working over the smoldering furnace for hours on end.

I stared blankly as I tried to remember how to speak. He was immense, burly with biceps like cannons that threatened to blow. "Would—would you have any hunting traps?" I stammered, afraid to disappoint Goliath with a request too meager.

He thought to himself for a moment. "I do have a few small foothold traps here. Good for small game but not much else." He described them as quaint but proceeded to pull out a hulking mass of spikes and coils that shook the wooden table he set them on. Small in his hands, perhaps, but unless I had a hankering for bear, they were too large for my purposes.

"Well," I began, "Maybe I could buy some arrows instead?" Without judgment, he nodded and pulled out a dozen arrows tipped with iron. I pulled out the necessary coinage and neatly laid them on the table.

"Ah, a town man," he said as he flipped the coins between his fingers. I nodded sheepishly, unsure if the term was pejorative around these parts. "Anything else you might need?"

I was prepared to say no when I recalled my empty scabbard; last I recalled, a man’s torso had put it out of a job. "What do you have in the way of weaponry?"

He looked me up and down and ducked beneath his workbench to sort through his stock. I could hear his grunts as he sifted through a stack of what I imagined were massively oversized instruments of savagery just like the traps. “Gah—” he griped as the whole table jumped. He peeked back with one arm full and one at the back of his head. Eventually, he laid out in front of me an array of fine weapons.

"Would any of these work for you?"

My eyes lit up as they pondered it all, short swords, daggers, clubs, and anything else I could dream of needing for whatever distasteful situations I liked to land myself in. There was no wrong choice. All of them were of phenomenal make, each reflecting the midday sunlight off of polished, razor-edges; however, every time I scanned the assortment, my gaze fell upon a particular longsword. It had a longer reach than the arming sword I was used to, but its tapered blade felt no heavier in my hands. The longer hilt also meant I could wrap both hands around it for extra strength. All of this, along with a reasonable price, made it glow among the rest of the selection.

"It's well hardened and lightweight. I imagine that'd be of particular use to your sort," he said gesturing to my garb, still damp and dirtied with the traces that I couldn't expunge.

I shot him a guilty grin, having felt no pride in being identified as ‘that sort’, but as I held the sword in my hands, I couldn't deny his lofty claims. It was superbly balanced, light enough for frequent use but with the weight to supplement each swing. Without a word, I dug out more change and paid him in full.

"A pleasure doing business. Come find me should this blade be tarnished, and I'll be more than happy to restore it. Complimentary service," he said, palming the coins in his massive fist. With the other, he held the weapon out from the blade. I reached tentatively, but when I offered no words of thanks he pulled it back. "Listen," he spoke again in a more subdued tone, "Having practiced this trade as long as I have, I know better than to judge the quality of men who pass through here. After all, it's you folks that drive the best business!" He laughed a deep and boisterous laugh. "I promise you, whatever you plan to use this for, you'll find acceptance among these people."

"Thank you," I finally said, relieved, albeit stunned that he had made the deduction from only my clothes.

Before I could flee he stopped me one last time. "There's a green tent on the eastern edge of the outpost. If you need work, that'd be your best bet." Again I thanked him in earnest, and, with a tilt of the head, left with the new blade in tow.

I had to admit I felt confident walking from the stand with fresh steel, but it fed only my ego; my stomach was another matter entirely. With still plenty of time left in the day, I filled my pack with meat and apples from one of the vendors, along with grains for my starved steed. Afterward, I stayed at my camp for a time to nourish the both of us. It was a simple meal, but the meat was tender, and the apples were sweet and fresh despite the time it must've taken for their transport. After having eaten scraps for days on end, it was near enough to bring tears to my eyes.

A good third of the meat and an orchard later, my shrunken gut was filled to bursting, and my horse was equally content. I was sprawled belly up in a soft patch of grass when I considered what next to do with my day. With my right hand, I rummaged into the small pouch on my waist, feeling the cold metal faces of the coins along with the fibrous strands of lent accrued over who knew how many years. My pockets were a little light after my shopping spree, and although there was still a decent amount of money, I was afraid to blow it all on food should I find myself blade-less once more. On the other hand, the next leg of the journey was a long one, and I couldn't be miserly in my preparations. I considered again the smith's parting word. Perhaps a few odd jobs would be just what I needed. At the very least, it would allow me to bide my time here until my plans were solidified.

I gathered my things and set out scouring for the green tent he had mentioned in passing. Edging my way eastward along the many stands and tents, it didn't take long to find my objective. The deep emerald canopy stood far above the others, a landmark whose tall banners beckoned to all of those who passed them. I walked around to the front and slipped beneath a loose hanging flap of tarp.

The tent's size was deceiving, somehow even more spacious than it had appeared from the outside. There was room enough to house multiple kegs of ale, along with a makeshift bar and all of the patrons that drank at it, though the size of the crowd surely stretched the seams of the woven room. Pushing through the mass of bodies that thronged the entrance, I saw a heated argument was taking place. In the middle of such commotion were two men, the first of which was a gaunt man in a hunter's dress.

"I swear by my life I saw it. Escaped within an inch of it, I did!"

His claim was met with the guffaw of a shorter, heavy-cut man. "Hogwash! In all my time in Ethelburrow, I never once saw such a beast. I'm sure you were just spooked by your spindly shadow."

"And what would you know about our fauna? You sleep under the same table you drink at!"

The man puffed his chest up to his chin, snarling down at his prey. “Say that again you little weasel and you’ll be sleepin’ on top of it.”

Amidst their squabble, I had elbowed through the crowd to ask what caused the argument. My interruption was taken unkindly, attracting the glares of both men and their drunken onlookers.

"This fellow claims he saw a dragon," spat the larger of the two, "the very same that was reported out west. I tell ya, all it takes is the cry of one loon before a hundred more call back. These maggots just keep crawling out of the woodwork!"

If rumor of a wyvern had spread this far beyond the walls, then Havlynn's efforts were no empty promises. Having just been indirectly called a maggot, I ignored the man and turned to the hunter. "The beast you saw, can you describe it in greater detail?" As the original loon, I knew better than to dismiss an outlandish claim; however, I was skeptical that the same wyrm would have strayed so far from its last perch.

"Ay. Only laid my eyes on it for an instant, but it was magnificent! Even under the cloak of night, those blue scales shone as the stars themselves! If I'm telling you the truth friend, I could have watched it for hours if only it hadn't vanished so swiftly."

Indeed, if the man was to be trusted then I was right to question him, for the wyvern over Crodmill was as red as the flame it spat. Either he'd mistakenly classified another species, or there were multiple of the same variety. I chose to believe the former, lest I find my dreams filled with hundreds of the accursed salamanders. "And what of its size?" I pressed.

Crow's feet formed from his eyelids as he struggled to recall. "It was dark, so it was hard to make out but large enough that I wouldn't want to see it in the light. I don't know that Ethelburrow would remain if something like that decided to attack."

"We can't be attacked by what doesn't exist," chimed the other man, face-deep in his tankard.

The hunter turned back with clenched fists. "How do you explain the state of those villages then? You think they burned themselves down?"

"Bah! It's all a cover. Haven't you noticed how Abdera stands unscathed among the wreckage? Just a ploy to distract us all." A few men murmured their agreement. "Those goons are leveling their enemies and covering their tracks with ash!"

With the dispute having taken a turn for the outlandish I disengaged entirely. I wouldn't intervene in such a preposterous conspiracy.

Loudly and miserably I sighed as I pulled back a seat at the bar, the sight of which had the barkeep speeding over with glass in hand. "Ale, good sir?" his strained voice called weakly through the low rumble of the crowd. I contemplated but rejected the notion. Getting sloshed didn't seem like the wisest way to scope out a client.

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"Actually, I'm here looking for work. Would there happen to be any requests?"

He set the mug down with a jolt and folded his arms. "'Course there are," he told me, eyes glossing over my attire, "But it depends on the kind of money you're looking for. If you've a taste for the unsavory, then your business is dealt at the same table as mine."

The folks of Ethelburrow must be used to their share of ruffians; twice now I'd been deemed a butcher by my blade. That, or I did a piss poor job of washing. "Ah, I seek honest work, I assure."

My plea hung there uncomfortably, leaving me to dangle for a longer time than I preferred. "Fine then," he said, muttering something inaudible as he hoisted a stack of parchment onto the bar. He flipped the first page, and then, one after the other, he slogged through the requests. "Hog hunting, farm work, night watch," hunting sounds promising... "Pit digging, seed milling, fur trade, butcher, sawyer, carpenter—" He hurled me jobs and papers so relentlessly that my brain began to spin, tumbling over itself to keep up.

"Anything strike you?"

"Uhm," I stammered, not realizing when he'd finished reciting jobs and not recalling which of the last hundred I'd considered taking. I was summoning up the courage to ask him to repeat himself when a woman took a chair a few spots over.

"Give me just one moment, ma'am," the man said, granting me short repose. While I could still think clearly, I told him to tend to the new guest; with the number of options available, I needed time to mull them over anyway. In so doing, I unintentionally overheard the woman's predicament.

"Has anyone inquired about my job?" she asked him with great anticipation.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, ma'am, but you have my promise that I'll let you know as soon as someone does."

With a displeased but understanding nod, she stood and pushed her way back through the crowd. Once again, the man stood before me. "Where were we, sir, griffin wrangling? Does that sound right?"

Not wanting to condemn myself to purgatory for the second time, I dodged the question. "The woman, what was her request?"

"A lost cause, that one," he said as he riffed through the papers and pulled one from the heap. "Lass is offering next to nothing for an escort to Chenglei, like anyone would want to live in that cold hellscape. Just a bunch of mountains swaddled by lizards. She’s been back every day since the start," He laid the paper down flat. "So, have you reached a verdict?"

"I think I've heard all I need to decide. I'll be back here after some trading."

"I'll be seeing you then!" He said, shuffling the contract into the tower of parchment and scurrying over to another customer. What I assured him of was a false promise seeing as I had already reached a decision. Rather than find a job here, I'd go straight to Chenglei and make money doing it. Moreover, whatever she pitched in for travel would alleviate the concerns I had regarding supplies.

"Ma'am!" I called over the mass of people as I chased her down in a last-ditch effort. When I escaped the dank, ale-laden air of the tent, I looked in each direction but found no one. I rubbed my eyes in aggravation. My best chance at a speedy passage may have just passed me by, and there wasn't enough time to search for her. I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of lingering here another day, but I had to admit I was looking forward to a long night's rest. Before leaving, I enjoyed a bowl of hot stew. Hearty, steaming, and mostly bland—just the way to keep myself warm through a night in the hills.

Beyond the sticky warmth of the tent, the sun made its last rounds, and the evening winds carried a cold tinge. I was making my way back to the loose scattering of apple cores and scraps I called a camp, wondering if I’d regret refusing a drink when I passed someone. A man was packing up his wares, and his ogling glance clung to me like bark on a tree.

"You, sir," he beckoned, shooting a cautious glance past the frontier dividing wilderness and civilization. "Are you from around these parts?"

Was it the way I walked? Or was there something on my face that gave it away? I gave him an affirmative nod and a wide berth should he decide to do something he'd regret. "I'm not."

"Then I'd advise against a night under the stars. These plains are host to terrible creatures, and a fire is an open invitation for the scoundrels. There's a communal sleeping tent dead center of Ethelburrow that'll happily take you in." I dropped my guard and smiled politely, gesturing to the newly purchased equipment with mild amusement for his concern. He bowed his head and kept on his way. "I don't know what good you expect that will do," I could faintly hear him muttering as he walked away.

Where I lay my head at night was the least of my concerns. The sound and smell of snoring travelers didn't much strike my fancy, and I'd made a living out of chasing scoundrels long enough that they didn't scare me. Besides, what was there to steal from the homeless? As soon as I made it to the campsite, I set about unfastening the numerous weapons and equipment strapped to my person, eagerly relieving the day's strain one knot at a time. Finally, the pack slipped from my back, and I dropped to the ground with it.

"How do you do it," I moaned to my horse, fast asleep from hauling my ass all this way. It was wise that I followed his lead, and I planned to do just that. After settling into my bed of needles, I tucked the pack under my neck and let the dimming campfire lull me under.

I didn't sleep yet, though. As they always did, my thoughts wandered back to what they knew would trouble me, first to the dragon the hunter had spotted. People's contentment in ignorance left me baffled time and time again. He was denied their ear solely because of his unorthodox proposal, subject to all of their scorn and mocking, and I was no better; I was the only other man to see the beast, and still, I was skeptical. But this wasn't all that plagued me. I was curious how word of my sighting had spread so quickly. My actions had supposedly made way for a flood of copycat sightings, though if my earlier exchange was any indicator, the finer details were lost in translation. On the other hand, even if what the man saw was a lesser species, the appearance of another wyvern this far north was highly unusual. There was at least a chance that the incidents were connected, and this was unlikely to be the last of them.

Next, there was the issue of Chenglei. The barkeep spoke unkindly of the place, and for good reason. Chenglei was located in Eastern Circadia, unaffiliated with the Central-Western Alliance and fostering for themselves a deal of distrust. I didn't buy into political rhetoric, but Chenglei was feared by more than just the xenophobic. It had a reputation for being a frigid wasteland, and, worst of all, it was notorious for its bolstering wyvern population. Mind you, these were a far cry from the demon soaring Abdera's skyline, but the idea made my skin crawl nonetheless. I didn't know what was truth or what was rumor, and I also didn't know if I was ready to find out. In my head, I imagined a storm of scale—houses teetering on a cliffside—it was enough to make me shudder.

Comforted by visions of wyrm-filled skies, I fell asleep under the heavens' light.

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My eyes opened to the mixed red and orange of dawn along with the sounds of my agitated steed. He whinnied and whined, stirring the chains on his lead. Swiftly and with a hand on my steel, I leaped to my feet, ready to catch would-be thieves off-guard, but there were none to be found. There were no animals, no travelers—not another soul within a square mile. There was nowhere they could flee to either. We were out in the open, and the landscape free of hills and trees. I stowed my weapon and put a hand on my horse in soothing. Poor thing must have been quite upset to cause me to stir, but he seemed perfectly calm now. The saddle and its bags were all intact, and the campsite was undisturbed.

"Bad dream, boy?" I joked. "Or were you aiming for an early breakfast?"

At my own mention, I happily remembered the food stuffed in my satchel. Breakfast was a dream no longer. I grabbed us each an apple to start the day, but a mouthful awarded no satisfaction. It was sour, almost tasteless next to what I'd had the day before. He didn't seem thrilled either, giving it a short sniff from my hand before letting it roll to the ground.

Faced with disappointment and the deep chill of the mid-morning winds, I wanted nothing more than to bury myself back in the wool blankets, but I had an agenda to fulfill. I stretched my tired limbs, yawning out the fatigue that gripped me so tightly, and then once more. When I bent to gather my things, I noticed the throbbing between my eyes. My legs wobbled clumsily beneath my weight, and my vision was covered in a haze I couldn't disperse no matter how many times I rubbed my eyes. Despite what had been a sound slumber, I had a difficult time shaking away my post-sleep malaise. It was like I hadn't slept at all. With sword and sheathe, I lumbered into town, ready to drop were I to find a comfortable enough looking patch of greenery.

I didn’t notice it immediately. It took me several minutes of absent-minded roaming before my eyes really opened, and my instincts told me that which was wrong. The first thing that struck me was the profound still by which the once lively outpost had been swallowed. Even with the sun at its apex, the outpost was absent of its usual chatter, and the streets empty of their patrons. The shops were similarly left unmanned, though products filled their tables, and the tarps were left wide open. Was this some Sunday ritual I was unaccustomed to? How could so much change in a day's time that I no longer recognized the town I stood in? I strained to find something familiar—a friendly face or distant laughter. I turned my ear up to the first sound: the resonant clang of metal on metal.

The blacksmith. He’ll tell me what’s happening.

As before, I followed the screeching steel to where the humble forge stood, excitedly rounding the corner with hopes of seeing the same grinning man as before. However, there was no one to greet me there, his perch as empty as the stands on either side of it. The pounding had stopped upon my approach, and the hearth appeared unlit. Had I imagined it? I peered nervously over my shoulders, and a tingling ran down my spine as I pictured the droves of merchants only a day prior, all of them vanishing like the vapor off of my nervous breath. The mercenary tent then? It was the only other place I could think of, and I had business there anyway.

To my dismay, the walk was eerie and quiet; not even the birds sang their morning melody. I had my arms clutched to my sides, both for warmth and comfort as I walked the silent path to the grand marquee. The tension rushed from my shoulders as I heard the buzzing and laughter inside, and my long-held breath escaped in a great cloud as I saw through the opening the mass of people within.

"Thank the heavens!" I exclaimed as I threw open the tarp, though my excitement was short-lived. It was full of faces, but none of them smiling. Bodies, not people. Nobody uttered a word, nor did they lift the cups lining their tables. Even before I entered, they each faced me with hollow expressions, eyes cold and glazed like marbles in their skulls. Their stares were aimed not at me, but straight through.

I backed out of the tent, narrowly avoiding falling over my own feet.

"This isn't real," I said to myself, seeking some kind of reassurance in empty words. I was panting now, and the beating of my heart had grown louder than any rational thought. With what remained of my composure I wracked my brain for an answer but found none to explain this nightmare. Nightmare, the thought echoed. If it seemed unreal, then that was the only explanation. From my pocket, I produced my dagger and brought it to my forearm. I didn't know what could bring on such vivid hallucinations, but now that I was sure, all I had to do was escape it. Against my skin I slid the blade, my teeth tightly clenched in anticipation of the pain, and right when it dug in...

My eyes snapped open to darkness and the sound of wind wailing through the plains. Having escaped the illusive veil, I felt the instinct to bolt upright and fill my lungs but instead found myself pinned to the ground, my breathing stifled by a heaviness on my chest. "Get off!" I wheezed under its suffocating weight, swatting the air above me until my hands brushed something tangible. Real, but less than solid, using all of my muscle left me nothing but enervated. I rolled out from under it and immediately felt it loosen, air flooding back into my opened airways

Now I was vulnerable, doubled over and purging from my lungs something between smoke and water while whatever attacked readied itself for the second bout. With each breath in I wrestled back control over my body, but I didn’t yet have the wherewithal to turn and fight. I waited for it to strike. I couldn’t see much, but I waited to hear the rustle of grass or the bated breath of someone whose dagger was leveled at my throat. When my breathing slowed and still nothing moved, I ran my hands along the ground and shot to my feet, blade in hand. Then, with sharpened senses, I closed my eyes and concentrated energy into the palm of my free hand producing a brilliant orb, a ball of light that threw its piercing luminescence across the campsite.

It ripped through the night, all-revealing, but it revealed nothing—no track or trace of the shadow that slipped through my fingers. Where I thought it lay, there was nothing but a shallow imprint in the grass. All of this time my panicked steed had been thrashing against its lead, bucking wildly as it whinnied its alert. That must have been what I heard in that hellish dream, though dream didn't seem the right word for it. No nightmare could be as vivid as what I'd just experienced. Rather than sitting there and further contemplating whatever specter had visited me, I hurriedly packed my things and headed into town.

Perhaps the man was right to worry.

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