Master Faelon's eyes flickered with concern as he observed Kael's restless slumber, the apprentice's tortured whispers a grim symphony of pain and trauma. The forge, once a place of creation and artistry, had transformed into a crucible of Kael's suffering. Faelon's footsteps echoed softly against the soot-stained floor as he moved around, casting worried glances at the tormented young man who had been his responsibility for many years. He had become somewhat of a son figure, however he would never admit that to Kael or to himself.
With a heavy sigh, Faelon settled onto a stool near Kael's makeshift bed, the quiet crackling of the embers in the forge providing a haunting backdrop to the apprentice's restless sleep. The memories of Elara and the violent encounter with the thugs had intertwined to form a twisted tapestry of nightmares, unraveling before Faelon's very eyes. Kael's murmurs and cries echoed through the space, each utterance a chilling reminder of the darkness that had gripped his heart.
As the morning sun began to creep through the windows, casting long shadows across the forge, Faelon roused from his own fitful rest. His eyes immediately turned to Kael's still form, hoping to see signs of peaceful slumber. But his heart sank as he realized that Kael's nightmares had not released their hold. Faelon knew that time was of the essence, and with a heavy heart, he rose from the stool and stepped out into the cold morning air.
His eyes scanned the street for any sign of a city guard, a beacon of authority in a city that often seemed to operate outside the bounds of law. Spotting a patrol in the distance, Faelon's hand shot up in a wave, an urgent gesture to draw them near. One of the guards approached, curiosity mingled with a hint of weariness on their face. Faelon's voice was low and urgent as he spoke, his eyes searching the guard's for any glimmer of recognition.
"I need to know about the accident at the tavern," he said, his voice edged with tension. The guard's brows furrowed as they hesitated, then shook their head. "I don't have all the details, sir. Just that there was a tragic fall from the second floor. One of the maids I believe it was."
Faelon's grip on his hope began to loosen, but he pressed on, his desperation palpable. "And what about the people who were involved? Did you apprehend them?"
The guard's expression shifted, their gaze flickering with a mix of uncertainty and guardedness. "There were reports of some disturbances, but I don't have the specifics. If you have any information, please share it."
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Faelon's shoulders sagged slightly, disappointment mingling with frustration. He managed to convey some vague description of the thugs from the other day. With a curt nod, the guard assured him that they would look into it. But Faelon's heart remained heavy as he turned back to the forge, the knowledge that justice in Calgard was often as elusive as a shadow.
Yet as he reentered the forge, his steps quickening with urgency, Faelon's heart sank further. Kael was nowhere to be found. Panic gnawed at his chest as he scanned the space, his eyes locking onto the empty spot where the hammers had once hung. He rushed outside, his voice calling for Kael, but there was no response, only the eerie silence of the waking city.
Meanwhile, Kael had awoken with a resolve as sharp as a blade. His eyes bore the determination of a man who had tasted the bitterness of loss and yearned for vengeance. He left the safety of the forge and ventured into the alley, his footsteps echoing in the suffocating darkness.
This time, Kael didn't intend to be a silent prey. He made enough noise to lure the thugs out, a flicker of malice in his eyes as he walked deeper into the shadows, a ghost of his former self. The female voice beckoned to him, its cadence like a haunting melody, urging him to reclaim what was rightfully his.
The thugs emerged, their laughter dripping with cruelty, their daggers gleaming in the eerie, flickering light. Kael met their gaze with unflinching determination, the torment of his past few days igniting a fire within him.
Their taunts and insults lost their sting as Kael revealed his weapons of choice—forge hammers that symbolized the fury of a wounded soul. The thugs hesitated, their bravado waning, but the lure of their ill-gotten gains beckoned them to press on.
Kael, unburdened by fear, heard the call of the female voice once more, a siren's song in the twisted symphony of his thoughts. His hammers swung with a relentless fury, a novice's rage against hardened criminals. One thug fled, panic replacing his sneer.
Yet, Kael paid no heed to his flight. He focused on the others, on the one who wore the stolen amulet, a symbol of his lost love. The struggle became a brutal ballet on the unforgiving cobblestones, a dance of despair and wrath.
As Kael's hands tightened around the thug's throat, the voice echoed in his ears, whispering dark desires, urging him to deliver a final, crushing blow. His arm rose, the hammer poised to extinguish a life.
Then, salvation intervened. A gauntleted hand gripped his wrist with a strength that defied human limits. Kael's frenzied assault was halted, the last traces of his consciousness slipping away as the world darkened and the shadows claimed him.