The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets of Aurendale. Merchants called out their wares, children darted between stalls, and the scent of roasted meats mingled with the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers. Yet, amid the lively chaos, there was an undercurrent of tension, something barely noticed by the common folk.
Aric pulled his hood further down over his face, careful to keep his presence hidden. He slipped through the crowd with ease, every step deliberate, purposeful. The whispers he'd heard in the tavern the night before had led him here. To the heart of Aurendale, where secrets had a tendency to surface — if one knew where to look.
He glanced at the note clenched in his hand, the ink smudged but still legible.
_"Meet me at the old fountain, midnight. Bring the token."_
The token.
His hand instinctively moved to the small pouch hanging from his belt, feeling the cold weight of the stone inside. It was unremarkable at first glance — just a smooth, black stone with strange markings etched into its surface — but Aric knew better. It had cost him more than just coin to acquire it. He had crossed borders, fought beasts, and betrayed allies to secure this relic.
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He shook his head, pushing the memories aside. They were of no use to him now. All that mattered was the meeting.
The old fountain stood at the edge of the city, a forgotten relic of an older time. Moss clung to the stone, water barely trickling from its broken spout. At this hour, the streets were quiet, the lively market now a distant hum.
Aric arrived a few minutes before midnight, his sharp eyes scanning the area. No sign of the contact yet.
He waited, keeping his senses alert. The air grew cooler, a faint breeze rustling through the trees. He gripped the hilt of his dagger, hidden beneath his cloak. This deal, like many others, could easily turn into a trap. Trust was a luxury he could not afford.
A soft shuffle of footsteps echoed in the distance.
Aric’s muscles tensed as a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a woman, dressed in simple traveling clothes, her face obscured by a veil. She moved with the grace of someone accustomed to the shadows, her steps barely making a sound. In her hand, she clutched a parchment, sealed with a wax emblem Aric didn’t recognize.
"Do you have the token?" her voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it carried an undeniable authority.
Aric nodded, producing the small stone from his pouch. The woman’s eyes gleamed beneath her veil as she stepped forward to examine it.
"Good," she said after a long pause. "You’ve come farther than most. But this is only the beginning, Aric."
His eyes narrowed. "You know my name."
"I know many things," she replied cryptically, slipping the parchment into his hand. "The stone is your key, but the answers you seek lie beyond Aurendale. You are being watched, and soon you will be hunted. But if you follow the path, you may find what you seek."
Before Aric could question her further, the woman vanished into the darkness as swiftly as she had appeared.
He stood there for a moment, weighing his options. Every instinct told him to leave, to walk away from whatever game he had just been pulled into. But the pull of the unknown, the whisper of a greater mystery, gnawed at him.
He unfolded the parchment, revealing a map — marked with a location deep within the Forgotten Isles, a place no sane man ventured willingly. Beneath the map was a single word:
_"Run."_