The tavern was thick with the low hum of conversation, tankards clinking, and the scrape of a fiddler’s bow over worn strings. Blake, Adele, Ethan, and Akiko stepped into the dim light, their eyes adjusting as they surveyed the room. The air was heavy with the smell of ale and dust, and those who noticed them quickly looked away, not eager to be caught staring.

Adele led them toward a shadowed corner, where a haggard man sat nursing a drink, his gaze flicking around the room as if haunted by something lurking just beyond the walls.

Blake muttered, “So this is the ‘witness’ Lord Ferris mentioned? Doesn’t look like much.”

“Appearances deceive,” Akiko replied, her sharp eyes sweeping the room before resting on the man. Her hand hovered near the dagger at her belt.

Lord Ferris, a covert member of a faction opposed to Emperor Drazben Luxor, had sent for them with a cryptic message. The slaver was known for his cruelty and pride in his "pure" Austorian blood. But his latest encounter in the desert had left him shaken, and Ferris suspected it might hint at a force—ally or threat—that could alter the balance of power.

Ethan stepped forward, breaking the silence. “I’ll handle the introductions.” He pulled out a chair across from the slaver and took a seat, his posture calm but watchful.

The slaver looked up, hollow-eyed and bloodshot, like a man who hadn’t slept in days. His voice was low and rough as he spoke. “You’re the ones here to listen? You don’t know what’s out there in that desert. It’s no bandit. It’s something else—something… unnatural.”

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Adele leaned in, intrigued. “Tell us what happened.”

The slaver took a shaky breath and another swig of his drink, his hand trembling. “It was a routine run, chasing Beastkin scum as they tried to slip away over the sands.” He sneered, though his voice held a note of bitterness. “They thought they could outrun us. But then, in the silence… something struck. From far off—farther than any man or thing has a right to shoot. Thunder cracked the air, and three of us dropped before we could even shout.”

The heroes exchanged tense glances, the chill settling over them as they listened. Ethan leaned forward, voice calm but pressing, “And what did you see?”

The slaver’s fingers twitched, and he glanced between them as if judging whether they’d believe him. “It’s like he knew where each of us would be before we did,” he whispered. “I didn’t see him, but I saw what he left behind. Bodies and death.”

Akiko raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk touching her lips. “So you believe it was a man?”

“Man or ghost, I don’t know,” he muttered, voice taut with fear. “All I know is, he’s out there, watching. And he’s got no love for us—or our emperor, for that matter.”

Blake crossed his arms, watching the man with a steady gaze. “We’re listening.”

The slaver swallowed, his face paling as his bloodshot eyes darted down to his tankard, fingers tracing its edge as though bracing himself. “You don’t understand,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “You won’t, until you’ve heard the whole of it…” He looked down, eyes fixed on the grain of the wood as he gathered his nerve.

Blake waited, his voice quiet but firm. “We’re ready.”

The slaver shuddered, gripping his tankard tightly, a haunted look creeping into his eyes. He took one last, deep drink, setting down the mug with a dull thud. He looked up, his face pale, and began:

“It started with a chase. Like many I had been on before…”

And as he hesitated, the room seemed to hold its breath, his voice trailing off into silence as the heroes leaned in, waiting.