Faintly, Renier heard the rustling of leaves and the hoot of an owl as he regained consciousness. He was slung over the shoulder of one of the men but no longer bound. "We'll break his neck and throw him off the ravine about a mile from here. That should look like he fell," he heard one of them say. 'This is what all those days practicing were for,' Renier thought as he lay on the thug's shoulder. His heart was racing, but his mind was calm. He tried to look around, but he couldn't move his head without giving away that he was awake. From the sounds, he deduced that no one was behind them. Twenty minutes later, the other man said, "Here is good." Renier was unceremoniously dropped. He braced himself and, as he hit the ground, rolled to the right, got up and started to run. He only got three steps in before he was ruthlessly tackled. "You're just making harder on yourself, kid," the thug told him. As they were getting up, Renier's back kick to the knee connected, and a loud crack followed by a scream was heard. Like lightning, Renier got up and started to run. The second thug followed in hot pursuit. "Bring that little shit back; I'm going to skin him," the man lying on the ground yelled to his partner.

Renier darted through the forest, hoping over fallen trees and passing through thickets, trying to lose his pursuer. He crossed a thicket of berries and suddenly found himself running downhill. "Merde! Merde! Merde!" Renier panicked, quickly lost his balance, and started to roll. The unlucky thug behind gave a startled yell as he passed through the thicket of berries and started to roll. Moments later, Renier heard a loud crack. When Renier stopped rolling, no one was following him. Halfway up the hill, the body of the thug lay, his head smashed into a tree. Renier lay catching his breath for several minutes, listening for signs of the other would-be assassin.

A few minutes later, as the sun rose, Renier trekked up the hill to where his pursuer lay. His body sprawled next to a tree, his neck broken. 'You need to do this,' Renier fretted as he rummaged through the body. He took a knife and the 18 denarii the killer had on him and then cautiously continued up the hill. Slowly, knife in hand, he walked back to where the chase had started. The second goon was no longer there, but his belongings were. Luckily for him, his cloak, bedroll, satchel, and falchion were lying on the ground.

He picked up everything and started walking back to the city but stopped. 'Maybe going back to the inn wasn't the smartest idea,' he pondered. 'I could hide in the forest until mardi night, then sneak back in and wait at the docks,' he thought. He returned to the ravine, turned left, and looked for a suitable place to descend. 'Maybe I can find a cave or a ledge to camp.' A couple of kilometers later, he spotted a ledge three-quarters of the way down the cliff. 'I'll set up camp on that ledge,' he thought as he painstakingly climbed down the perilous cliff face.

Renier dropped the last two meters onto the ledge. It was about three meters wide and two deep. Enough for him to set up his bedroll and sleep in relative safety. As he unrolled his bedding, he heard a hiss. Glancing down, his eyes widened in horror. Coiled inside a crack at the back of the ledge, about a meter away, was a snake. Its scales were a muted blend of gray and brown, making it almost invisible against the rock; the horn-like projection on its snout gave it a dangerous look. The viper, seemingly sensing Renier's distress, raised its head and hissed menacingly, its forked tongue flicking in and out while it vibrated its tail against the rocks. Renier slowly took out his falchion. But the movement made the snake lunge. Renier did his best to avoid the strike by putting his falchion in front of him and taking a step back. A sharp pain made him drop the falchion, and at the same time, his foot slipped, and he plunged down the cliff.

As gravity took hold, the sensation was stomach-turning from the sudden drop. The world blurred into a chaotic whirl of color and sound. The wind rushed by with a roar, deafening and chilling simultaneously. Suddenly, there was a sharp, jolting impact. Renier's descent was momentarily arrested by a thick tree branch that reached out like an arm from the cliff face. The limb caught him under the arms, its rough bark scraping against his skin and clothes. The momentum swung him around, and he heard the splintering crack of the branch giving way under his weight. But those brief seconds of contact were enough to alter his trajectory and reduce some of his downward velocity.

Then, as suddenly as the fall began, it ended. Renier collided with the soft forest floor, a bed of fallen leaves and underbrush. The impact was jarring, but the cushioning effect of the foliage and the intervening tree branch undoubtedly spared him from far graver injuries. However, the throbbing pain in his side, combined with the burning sensation in his right hand, was impossible to ignore.

Dazed, winded, and heart racing, Renier lay on the ground for what felt like an eternity, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Each inhalation brought a sharp reminder of his injured side. The world spun slowly back into focus. The tree branches swayed gently overhead, a far cry from the violent encounter just moments before.

Despite the shock and the pain, Renier realized he had been fortunate. However, he suspected he might have fractured a rib from the intense pain he felt with each breath, and his hand was throbbing with pain. He checked himself, confirming his suspicions about the rib, but he also found a bite on his hand that had turned a mottled shade of purple, with two distinct puncture marks from the snake's fangs. He realized he had to act quickly.

Pushing past the pain from the rib, Renier reached into his satchel for his purchased medical supplies. He cleaned the wound as best he could. Then he applied a plantain-based healing salve he had bought for this type of situation and tightly wrapped a bandage above the bite to slow the spread of any venom. Lastly, he drank a vial of tincture that he hoped would help. With the weight of his injuries pressing down on him— the throbbing bite on his right hand, the sharp stab in his side with every breath— Renier knew he had to muster all the strength he had left. Staying at the base of the cliff, exposed to other wild animals and possibly more of his uncle's men, wasn't an option.

He took a moment to strategize. The cliff's face was uneven, with rocky outcroppings and pockets of vegetation. While this provided handholds and footholds, his injured state made the climb more treacherous. Every movement of his right hand sent jolts of pain up his arm, and he knew he had to rely more on his left side.

Renier started by pushing himself to a standing position, wincing. Drawing a deep, pained breath, he began his ascent. He moved deliberately, ensuring that every hand and foot placement was secure before shifting his weight. The pain in his side became a rhythm, syncing with his heartbeat, a constant reminder of his vulnerable state.

As he climbed higher, the strain on his muscles grew, sweat mingling with the dirt and blood on his skin. More than once, his grip faltered, heart-stopping moments where he teetered on the edge of another fall. But sheer willpower and determination pulled him back from the brink each time.

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He had to rest several times, pressing his body against the cliff, closing his eyes, and trying to slow his rapid breathing. After what felt like hours but was likely just a fraction of that time, Renier hoisted himself onto the ledge, ready to fight the snake again if needed. Luckily, it was gone, his bedroll and falchion the only things waiting for him. Exhausted, feverish, and pained, he fell asleep despite the midday sun beating down on him.

A tall woman with raven black hair and golden eyes floated before him. She made a series of complicated hand seals. The mandala pattern etched on the stone below her started to glow softly as she finished. This time, Renier noticed that the pattern was similar to the one on his hand. In his dream, he copied the hand seals she had performed. The woman grinned and faded away.

As Renier lay on the ledge unconscious, a blueish glow emanated from his right hand and slowly covered his whole body.

It was pitch black when the pangs of hunger woke Renier. He had no idea how long he had slept. Fortunately, his satchel still had provisions, so he ate and drank his fill and went back to sleep.

The morning sun on his face woke him. Slowly, he sat up and checked on his wounds. His hand was no longer swollen or purple, and breathing didn't pain him like before, although the side was still tender. He sat and pulled the wineskin, some jerky and hardtack, out of his satchel. It was the first time in many days that he had time to think, and his heart seethed with revenge. 'I don't know how, but I will get strong, and I will destroy Gustav! There will come a day when we meet again, and then he'll die just like he did to Don Santino and my father and mother,' he thought as he ate and imagined himself strong and capable of killing his uncle.

He finished his reverie, packed his things, and, dreading the climb but resolute in needing to get back to his group, started up the cliff. Two hours later, he finally reached the top; caution and fear forced him to test every hold before committing.

As he moved back towards Cattaro, he felt a slight pain in his ribcage with each step. Despite the early hour, beads of sweat formed on his brow, not just from pain but from the fear of what lurked just out of sight. He moved as silently as he could, relying on the natural cover of the forest, ducking behind thickets, and using the shadows to his advantage. Maybe his uncle had sent more men, and they hunted him. Every distant snap of a twig or rustle in the underbrush heightened his senses.

Reaching a small clearing, Renier paused to assess his surroundings. He could make out a trail, likely used by animals, leading in the direction he needed to go. It was riskier and more exposed, but it would cut down his travel time. Who knew how many days he'd been in the forest, and missing the ship wasn't a possibility he wanted to contemplate. Biting his lip, he followed it, constantly checking over his shoulder.

Renier could now see the edge of the forest, the city just beyond the trees, illuminated by the dipping sun below the horizon, casting a crimson hue. He quickened his pace, not letting his guard down, always aware, constantly vigilant. He passed the city gates a few minutes later and anxiously started to weave through the afternoon crowd towards the docks. He passed the marketplace alive with merchants, townsfolk, and the aroma of fresh bread, spices, and the salt of the sea.

Beneath his cloak, blonde hair hidden and only his eyes visible, he darted anxiously from side to side. The docks and the promise of escape from his uncle were just ahead.

When he finally emerged from the labyrinthine streets onto the open docks, the vast expanse of the bay greeted him. Full of hope, his eyes scanned the docking area for the tour galley. But to his dismay, there was only the open sea where he expected to see the ship. It had already left.

The shadow had also left. It had waited even after the ship had sailed, bewildered as to where Renier had gone.

A pang of desperation hit him, but he knew he couldn’t linger. The docks were an open stage, and he was all too visible. Spotting an old fisherman nearby, Renier approached.

"Good sir," began Renier in a hushed and earnest tone, drawing nearer to the old fisherman, "I am in need of passage. Are there any vessels leaving come nightfall or tomorrow?"

The fisherman, face etched with years and countless tales of the brine and breeze, peered up at the lad. "What's the urgency, young master? Art thou astray or perchance fleeing some shadow?"

Drawing a breath, Renier responded, "I missed the tour ship bound for Constantinople."

With a hint of understanding in his gaze, the old man said, "There are only local fishing vessels this time of year. The only way to Constantinople is by road with a caravan." Renier thanked the old man and left. The docks being too exposed for his liking. The spires of St. Tryphon's Cathedral guided him. He remembered that pilgrims could take refuge there. He would pass the night, get provisions at dawn, and take the road to Constantinople. The city with his uncle was just too dangerous.

Renier made his way stealthily through the stone streets, the cathedral drawing closer.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, the soft glow of candlelight and the scent of incense greeted him. His footsteps echoed softly as he ventured further in, the stillness of the space wrapping around him like a protective shroud.

A priest, draped in a simple cassock, noticed the boy and approached with a look of gentle inquiry. "Young master," he began, "what brings thee to this holy place at such an hour?"

Pulling back his hood to reveal earnest eyes, Renier replied, "Father, I seek refuge just for the night. Tomorrow, I will continue my pilgrimage on foot as I've missed my ship."

The priest, studying the boy for a long moment, finally nodded. "The Lord's house is open to all, especially those in need. Find solace here, and when dawn comes, may His light guide thy way."

Renier murmured his thanks; his heart lightened by the priest's compassion. He settled into a quiet corner of the cathedral with his bedroll, the soft chants of distant prayers lulling him into a restful slumber, safe within the embrace of St. Tryphon's walls.

The tall woman with raven black hair, once again, came into his dreams. "Finally, child of the cosmos, you performed the seal, and I can break the silence of the void," although her mouth did not move, Renier heard every exasperated word. "Even if it's only inside the Veil of Somnus, it's a start," she continued. "Now, we don't have long; my strength is very limited," she warned, "I'm Ayg. Ages ago, I constructed the talisman in your hand to help my inheritor awaken. In ten days' time, I will return, as that is all that my current power allows, and teach you a meditation technique that will help us both," with a smile, she faded.

As dawn's first light painted the cathedral's stained glass windows in ethereal hues, Renier stirred from his makeshift resting place. With a deep breath of gratitude for the night's safety, he moved towards the entrance, intent on getting provisions and leaving the city.

Yet, as he approached the heavy doors, the soft shuffle of footsteps echoed behind him. The priest from the night before appeared, holding a worn, leather-bound booklet in his hands.

"Hold, young master," the priest called gently.

Renier paused, turning to face him. "Father?"

The priest extended the booklet towards him. "Before you depart, take this. 'Tis a pilgrimage guide to the great city of Constantinople. Mayhaps it will serve during the journey."

Renier, taken aback, looked from the book to the priest. "I know not how to repay this kindness."

The priest offered a serene smile. "Go forth with the Lord's protection, and remember, even in the darkest moments, His light shines through."

With a nod of gratitude, Renier accepted the guide and made his way out of St. Tryphon's Cathedral. With his cloak and hood on, he made his way again to the weaponsmiths by St. Luke's Church. He purchased a short hunting bow, five broadhead arrows, five extra arrowheads, and fletching. Hoping it would be enough till he got to the next city. He then found a shop to replenish his depleted provisions, adding flint and steel so he could make a fire. He made various turns and doubled back several times to ensure no one followed him and exited through the east gate. The guide said he needed to head to Lykhnidos.