After settling into their rooms at the inn, Lian Chen, Silas, and Kael set out to meet the contact that Sullivan had mentioned. Temptshire’s narrow, winding streets pulsed with life, a stark contrast to the tranquil, orderly lanes of Amberheart. The air was a sensory overload—brine from the nearby sea mingled with the sharp tang of exotic spices. Beneath it, all lingered the ever-present scent of salt, a constant reminder of the port city’s maritime lifeblood.
Their destination was a small, unassuming building tucked away in a quieter part of town. The structure appeared nondescript, blending in with the surrounding shops and residences, but it had an aura of secrecy about it—a place where deals were made and secrets traded.
“I’ll take care of this,” Lian Chen murmured, casting a meaningful glance at Silas and Kael, leaving no room for argument. “Keep your eyes peeled. This won’t take long.”
Silas nodded, though curiosity prickled at the edges of his thoughts. As Uncle Chen slipped into the building, the door closing with a soft click, Silas found himself straining to catch any hint of the conversation inside. Meanwhile, Kael stood beside him, every muscle taut, his gaze sweeping the street like a hawk hunting for prey.
The minutes ticked by, and Silas found himself growing restless. His mind wandered to what sort of person Uncle Chen was meeting and what secrets they might be sharing behind those closed doors. But Kael’s calm, composed presence kept him grounded.
After what felt like an eternity, Lian Chen emerged from the building, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go,” he said simply, and without further explanation, they began making their way back through the city.
As they walked, Silas couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “Did you learn anything useful?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.
Chen glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Useful enough. We’ll talk more later.”
Silas wasn’t entirely satisfied with that answer, but he knew better than to press further. As they continued through the streets, they passed through the heart of Temptshire’s bustling market district, a riot of colours, sounds, and smells. Stalls lined the streets, hawking everything from fresh produce to exotic trinkets, and the air was filled with the lively chatter of merchants and customers haggling over prices.
Silas’s attention was quickly drawn to the vibrant energy of the marketplace. His eyes darted from one stall to the next, taking in the sights with a mixture of wonder and excitement. “Can we take a look around?” he asked, turning to Uncle Chen with an eager expression.
Chen paused, glancing at Kael, who merely shrugged. “We have some time,” Chen finally said, conceding with a nod. “But stay close, young master, and don’t wander off.”
Silas’s grin widened as the market’s lively energy enveloped him, his earlier restlessness dissolving in the cacophony of vibrant sights and sounds. They navigated the bustling crowds, passing stalls where merchants called out in melodic cadences, their voices mingling with the clink of coins and the rustle of fabric. Silas’s fingers itched to touch the finely wrought weapons, the intricate jewellery, and the vivid textiles that seemed to ripple like water in the gentle breeze.
As they continued, a man with a broad smile and a twinkle in his eye caught Silas’s attention. He stood behind a modest stall filled with books—old, leather-bound volumes that looked well-worn and full of mystery. The man’s gaze zeroed in on Silas as they approached, and he greeted them with a flourish.
“Ah, a young man of great destiny, I see!” the man exclaimed, his voice smooth and melodic. “And what unrivalled looks! Are you a seeker of wisdom? I’ve just the thing—something that might whisper secrets only to those destined for greatness.”
Silas blinked, taken aback by the flattery. “Uh, I’m just looking,” he said, glancing at the books with mild interest.
But the man wasn’t deterred. “Not just any book will do for someone like you,” he continued, his tone conspiratorial as if sharing a secret. “I have just the thing. A rare tome, full of ancient wisdom and power. A book meant for someone with a fate as grand as yours.”
Silas raised an eyebrow, sceptical, but something about the man’s words piqued his curiosity. He reached out to touch the book the man pointed to, a modest-looking volume with a plain, unadorned cover.
As Silas’s fingers grazed the leather cover, a shock of warmth shot through him, spiralling up his arm and pooling in his chest, where it ignited a fire that was both thrilling and unnerving. His heart stuttered, and he snatched his hand back, eyes wide as he stared at the book in disbelief.
Kael, who had been watching the interaction with a critical eye, frowned. “Don’t be fooled, Silas. It’s probably just a trick. The city’s full of swindlers.”
Uncle Chen, observing the exchange in silence, stepped closer. “It’s true, many things in this market aren’t what they seem,” he said, his tone measured. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “But sometimes, the simplest-looking things hold the greatest value, if one knows how to recognize it.”
Silas hesitated, still feeling the lingering warmth in his hand. Despite his mentors’ warnings, there was something about the book that called to him, a feeling he couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t just the flattery or the man’s sales pitch—something deeper was at play.
“How much?” Silas asked, ignoring the incredulous look from Kael.
The merchant’s smile widened, clearly pleased that his tactics had worked. “For you, my young friend, a mere twenty silver Grand Era pieces—a small price for the wisdom and power contained within.”
Silas frowned, knowing that was likely far more than the book was worth. But the sensation he had felt when touching it still lingered, urging him to take the plunge. He pulled out the silver, hesitated for a brief moment, then handed it over.
The merchant’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he pocketed the coins and handed Silas the book. “A wise choice, my friend. May it serve you well on your journey.”
As they walked away from the stall, Kael shook his head. “You’ve been conned, Silas. That book probably isn’t worth half what you paid.”
Uncle Chen, however, simply smiled. “Perhaps. Or perhaps the young master has seen something we haven’t.” His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity that Silas didn’t miss.
Silas felt a mixture of pride and relief. Even though Kael remained sceptical, Uncle Chen’s subtle support made him feel more confident about his decision. He clutched the book tightly as they continued through the market, a sense of anticipation bubbling. Whatever the future held, he felt confident that this seemingly simple purchase was just the beginning of something much greater.
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☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂
The group had been in Temptshire for only a few days when trouble found them. The narrow, winding streets of the city were a labyrinth of shadows and hidden dangers, but this time, it was no mere coincidence. Unbeknownst to Silas, the threat had been orchestrated.
It was late in the evening as they made their way back to the inn from a meeting with one of Uncle Chen’s contacts. The streets were nearly deserted, the silence broken only by the occasional flicker of lantern light that cast long, eerie shadows against the stone walls. Silas walked close to Kael, his senses heightened, fingers brushing the hilt of ‘Ebonheart’ as he tried to shake off the unease gnawing at him.
Out of nowhere, five figures slipped from the shadows of an alley, their eyes cold and calculating, their movements fluid and deliberate—like wolves closing in on prey. They moved in unison, each step measured, as if they had practised this ambush a hundred times before.
“Stay close,” Kael muttered, his voice a low, controlled growl as he stepped forward to confront the attackers. Uncle Chen positioned himself behind Silas, his hand resting calmly but deliberately on the hilt of his weapon, playing his part to perfection.
The first attacker lunged at Kael with a dagger, aiming for his heart, but Kael was quicker. In a swift, lethal motion, he deflected the blow and drove his sword deep into the man’s chest. The attacker’s eyes widened in shock as he collapsed, his life snuffed out before he even hit the ground.
Uncle Chen moved with the practised efficiency of someone who had danced with death before. As the second man charged him, Chen sidestepped and sliced his dagger across the attacker’s ribs, cutting deep. The man gasped, blood pouring from the wound as he stumbled backwards, only to be finished with a swift thrust to the heart.
Kael turned to the third assailant, who hesitated after witnessing the fate of his comrades. But Kael gave him no time to recover. He closed the distance with deadly precision, his blade flashing in the dim light. The sword sliced cleanly across the man’s throat, silencing him forever as he crumpled wordlessly to the cobblestones.
Uncle Chen was already engaging the fourth attacker, who fought with more ferocity than the others. The two exchanged a flurry of blows, but Chen’s experience won out. With a deft twist, he disarmed the man and drove his dagger through the attacker’s chest, ending the fight.
Meanwhile, Silas barely had time to process the chaos around him before the fifth man—a hulking brute larger than the others—charged directly at him. Silas barely had time to raise ‘Ebonheart’ before the attacker was upon him, the brute’s sheer strength overwhelming him instantly. With a mighty swing, the man brushed Silas’s sword aside and clamped a hand around Silas’s neck, hoisting him into the air as if he weighed nothing. Panic flared in Silas’s chest as he struggled for breath, his mind racing to find a way out of the deadly grip.
Silas gasped for breath, the man’s fingers digging into his throat like iron claws. Desperation surged through him, and with a burst of adrenaline, he managed to swing his sword. As he swung ‘Ebonheart’, Silas noticed an opening—a chance to aim for a fatal spot. But he hesitated. The weight of taking a life paused him for but a moment. Instead, his blade sliced across the man’s arm, eliciting a roar of pain.
The man released his grip, but not before retaliating with a vicious slash across Silas’s neck.
A searing pain exploded across Silas’s neck as the knife bit deep into his flesh, leaving a jagged, bleeding wound. He stumbled back, clutching the injury, his vision swimming with shock and pain.
Sensing that his role in the charade was over, the attacker turned on his heel and fled down the alley. With a speed that belied his age, Uncle Chen took off after him, the pretence of urgency adding to the deception. Kael rushed to Silas’s side, his eyes narrowing as he quickly assessed the wound.
“You’ll live,” Kael said, his voice steady but laced with an edge of concern. He tore a strip of cloth from his cloak and pressed it firmly against the gash, trying to stem the bleeding. “But that was far too close.”
Silas could only nod, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps as he fought to stay conscious. The pain was intense, burning like fire across his neck, but it was the fear—the raw, visceral terror—that shook him to his core.
Meanwhile, Uncle Chen pursued the fleeing man through the twisting alleys of Temptshire, his feet pounding against the cobblestones with an intensity that matched the urgency of the situation. It wasn’t long before he cornered the man in a dead-end alley, the darkness swallowing them both as they stopped to catch their breath.
The attacker, still clutching his bleeding arm where Silas had wounded him, glanced up as Uncle Chen approached, a smirk curling his lips. “Quite the show, wasn’t it?” he said, his voice rough but laced with dark humour.
Lian Chen sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “It was. Though I didn’t expect the boy to land a hit on you. Nice touch with the neck slash, by the way.”
Inka glanced at the wound on his arm, watching with a twisted satisfaction as blood oozed through the tear in his sleeve, darkening the fabric. His lips curled into a grin, though his eyes remained cold and hard, glinting with a predatory amusement that suggested he had enjoyed every moment of the charade. “The kid’s got more fight in him than I thought. But you know how it is—had to make it look real. But don’t worry I’m a professional, he’ll live.”
Inka stood tall, a menacing figure with a grin almost too wide for his face. His unruly black hair framed his rugged, scarred visage, with a fierce tattoo etched into his skin just below his eye—a mark of his lethal nature. The ink formed the shape of a sickle, its curved blade symbolising the sharp, merciless edge with which he dealt out violence, adding to the intensity of his already intimidating appearance.
His muscular physique was a testament to his strength, his open shirt revealing a broad chest adorned with intricate tattoos, each symbol seemingly pulsating with dark energy. The bandages around his forearms hinted at a past filled with brutal combat, and his stance exuded the confidence of a seasoned warrior who had triumphed in countless battles.
His demeanour was one of controlled chaos—an unpredictable force of nature who thrived on the thrill of the fight yet retained enough restraint to keep his foes alive if he so chose. The tattoo on his face, a sickle, served as a reminder to anyone who dared to cross him: Inka was not just a fighter but a vicious killer, one who relished the act of cutting down his enemies with brutal precision.
Chen nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded Inka. “And the hired help? Disposable, I take it?”
Inka shrugged, his expression indifferent. “They were just thugs looking for quick coin. Nothing to lose sleep over.”
Chen’s gaze flicked to the wound on Inka’s arm before meeting his eyes again. “And what do you think of the boy?” His voice held a subtle note of curiosity as if probing for more than just a simple answer.
Inka smirked, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. “He’s got potential, but he’s wet behind the ear. He could have aimed for a fatal strike. Well… He wouldn’t succeed, but still.” He flexed his arm slightly, the pain drawing a wince from him. “But that thing inside him… it’s almost ready. Just needs a little more time to ripen.”
Chen’s expression hardened, his brows furrowing slightly as he considered the implications. “How long?”
Inka shrugged, the motion casual but deliberate. “A year, give or take. Not much longer now.”
Chen’s expression grew serious as he absorbed this information. “And the bigger picture? Has the Master given any indication of when we move forward?”
Inka shook his head, his smirk fading into a more solemn expression. "No word yet. You'll know it at the same time as me, don't worry about it. He's waiting for the right moment. But rest assured, the day's coming. And when it does, the Remingtons will be the first to take the hit. I can't wait to see it." His voice dripped with cold satisfaction, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
Chen’s lips curled into a mirthless smile, a reflection of the darkness they both shared. “Neither can I.”
With a final nod, Inka melted into the darkness, his task for the night complete. Chen watched him disappear, his mind already working through the implications. For now, his priority was Silas—ensuring the boy was safe and the wound wasn’t too severe. But the storm was brewing, and when it finally broke, the world would tremble at the force of it.
Lian Chen turned and made his way back to where Kael and Silas were waiting, the shadows of the city closing in around him like the secrets they all carried.