The morning air carried the lingering embers of last night’s torches. Myzea was slow to wake, the streets still draped in the hush of dawn, save for the distant cries of merchants setting up their stalls. A thick mist clung to the cobblestone roads, curling around the wooden beams of the buildings, giving the city an eerie stillness.
Silvana met me at the door of the inn, her face grim. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
“They’re gone,” she said.
I blinked. “Who’s gone?”
“The thieves. The ones we kept in the basement last night.”
A cold unease crept down my spine. “Escaped?”
She nodded and motioned for me to follow. We strode through the inn, down into the damp, musty basement where they had been held. The scent of stale air clung to the stone walls, mingling with the acrid bite of spilt wine. The torches flickered weakly, casting long shadows against the walls.
Then I saw it.
A crude symbol smeared in dark red on the back wall. A handprint—five fingers spread wide, either the paint or blood, had been hastily applied.
“The Red Hand,” Silvana muttered. “This wasn’t here last night.”
I exhaled sharply. “What does it mean?”
She shook her head. “It’s a warning. A signature. Someone wanted us to know they can reach anywhere.”
I stared at the symbol, my mind working through the implications. Whoever had freed those men had done so effortlessly. No forced doors, no bloodshed. Just a silent message left behind.
Before I could respond, footsteps echoed from the stairs. Sora entered, her expression unusually tense. The tension in the air deepened as she crossed her arms and fixed me with a hard stare.
“Myzea isn’t what it used to be,” she said.
I turned away from the symbol, facing her fully. “Go on.”
“This city was a military stronghold, a garrison hub,” she began. “But things have changed. Have you noticed how the people live?”
I frowned. I had seen the bustling markets, the steady flow of trade, the well-guarded streets. But something had been off—no one seemed particularly wealthy. The vendors sold their goods with the desperation of men barely scraping by. The inns were filled, but the patrons were not spending lavishly. It had felt... stagnant.
Sora continued, “You would expect prosperity, given how much trade moves through here. But look around. Do these people look wealthy? Does this city feel rich?”
I thought back to Onira, to the extravagant feasts, the opulent homes of merchants who profited from the chaos of war. Myzea, despite its trade and industry, bore no such luxuries.
“So where’s all the money going?” I asked.
“That,” she said, “is the right question.”
She paced slightly, her movements restless. “This city seems to be a hub for the Hidden Hands.”
The words settled like a weight on my chest. The Hidden Hands. I had heard the name before, but always in hushed whispers, half-truths and rumours traded between wary merchants. They weren’t a simple gang like the Embers of Flame. They were something far worse.
“They are not a force you can simply cut down,” Sora said. “They are embedded within Myzea’s walls, its trade, its ruling class. You cannot eradicate them by force. They thrive in the dark, weaving through the city like veins through a body.”
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I gritted my teeth. “And you think last night’s attack was connected to them?”
She hesitated. “Perhaps. But there are too many possibilities. We have enemies among the traders—when we bought the license. That alone could make us a target.”
I exhaled slowly, considering her words. “You’re saying this could be a retaliation for getting the trade license, for breaking some agreement with the traders' union?”
Sora shook her head. “No. If that were the case, we’d have faced political backlash, not assassins in the night. This is about something else.”
I crossed my arms. “And you believe it’s because we refused to pay their ‘fee’ for protection?”
She nodded. “It makes the most sense. The Hidden Hands don’t care for official trade disputes. They care about power. Influence. Money. You refused to play by their rules, so they reminded you of the consequences.”
A silence stretched between us, thick with the weight of unspoken truths.
“We need to leave this city,” she said finally. “The longer we stay, the greater the risk.”
“Do you think we’ll be attacked on the road?” I asked.
“There’s always a possibility,” she admitted. “But if we pay what they ask, they might leave us alone long enough to get out safely.”
The words tasted bitter. To pay off criminals, to bow to unseen masters—it went against every instinct in my body. But as much as I despised the idea, I wasn’t blind to reality.
Sora met my gaze. “We can’t win every fight, Augustus. Not yet. Against enemies like these, sometimes it’s better to accept defeat and move forward.”
The weight of the decision settled heavily on my shoulders. Myzea was a city caught in invisible chains, its wealth drained into the shadows, its people trapped in a system they could not fight. And now, I was caught in that web.
I turned back to the symbol on the wall, the Red Hand smeared in defiance.
For now, we would leave. But I wasn’t one to forget. One day, the Hidden Hands would answer for what they had done to Myzea, Leon and all the people forced to live in fear.
I would make sure of it.
----------------------------------------
As we packed our things that afternoon, the city outside seemed unchanged. The same merchants, the same guards, the same routine. But I see it differently now. I saw the invisible hands pulling the strings, the hidden force that ruled the streets.
I knew there was one last matter to settle. I called Nathanos to accompany me. Together, we made our way downstairs to the common room of the inn. The few remaining customers sat hunched over their drinks, lost in their concerns.
The innkeeper stood behind the counter, wiping a wooden mug with slow, deliberate strokes. His eyes flicked up as we approached, but he did not greet us. I leaned against the counter, lowering my voice.
“I know you were forced to act the way you did.”
His hand stilled for the briefest moment before he resumed cleaning. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
I held his gaze. “You know exactly what I mean. The Hidden Hand. I’m not here to make your life difficult—I understand how things work in this city. I know you had no choice.”
A heavy silence stretched between us. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders sinking slightly. “And what is it you want from me?”
“I want a meeting. With whoever collects the protection tax.”
The innkeeper hesitated, then gave a short nod. Without another word, he moved toward the back, disappearing through a narrow door.
A few minutes later, a hooded figure emerged, his steps soundless against the wooden floor. He took a seat at an empty table near the fireplace, his posture relaxed yet watchful. The flickering firelight barely touched his face, but I could see the cold amusement in his eyes as he gestured for us to sit.
I took the seat across from him. Nathanos remained standing, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
“You understand the way things work here,” the agent said smoothly, his voice like silk over steel. “That’s good. It saves us both trouble.”
I kept my tone even. “I’m not looking for trouble. I want safe passage. That means settling our accounts.”
The agent smirked. “Smart man.” He tapped a gloved finger against the table. “Five hundred denars.”
I clenched my jaw, but I had expected this. Without a word, I reached into my pouch and set the coins down, one by one. The sound of metal against wood felt heavier than it should.
The agent swept them up, pocketing the sum in a single fluid motion. “Wise choice,” he said. “You won’t be bothered on your way out.”
With that, he rose and disappeared into the shadows of the inn.
I sat there for a moment, staring at the space he had occupied. A part of me seethed at the thought of handing over my hard-earned coin to criminals. But another part—the pragmatic side—knew that this was the cost of doing business in a city ruled from the shadows.
Some battles weren’t worth fighting. Not yet.