Chapter 20: Shadows of Aldor
The towering walls of Aldor loom ahead, their ancient stones weathered by time, telling tales of countless generations and a history long forgotten. As we approach, the noise of the bustling market grows louder, the smell of freshly harvested wheat mingling with the aroma of roasting meats and freshly baked bread. People of all backgrounds move with purpose, their voices creating a lively cacophony that blends into a symphony of life.
At the gates, a pair of stern-looking guards stand vigilant. Their eyes, sharp and scrutinizing, track our every move. Their stern expressions soften slightly as we approach, perhaps recognizing us as weary travelers rather than potential threats.
"State your business," one guard demands, his voice gruff but not unkind.
"We're just travelers passing through to the royal capital and seek to rest here for the day," I reply, showing the proper respect. "We have no ill intentions."
The guards exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them before they nod. "Welcome to Aldor. Keep out of trouble."
Passing through the gates, the contrast between the quiet of the road and the bustling life inside the city walls is striking. Narrow cobblestone streets wind through clusters of stone buildings, and colorful awnings shade merchants’ stalls. Above, the spires of temples and towers reach toward the sky, marking significant landmarks.
The city of Aldor is a living tapestry of history and vibrancy, an ancient settlement that has overcome countless hardships over millennia. Its towering walls and majestic buildings stand tall and proud, a testament to its resilience and grandeur. Every stone and street corner whispers secrets of the past, the air thick with a sense of purpose and intrigue.
We walk slowly through the city, taking in the magnificence of the buildings. Our first goal is to find an inn to reserve a room for the upcoming night. The market square is a hive of activity, merchants hawking their wares with enthusiastic shouts, children darting between stalls, and the sound of bartering filling the air. The array of goods is staggering—exotic spices, intricate jewelry, vibrant fabrics, and curious trinkets from distant lands.
After walking for a while, we come across a sign with crossed swords, indicating the adventurers' guild. The guild hall is a tall stone building, its facade adorned with intricate carvings. Sturdy wooden doors, reinforced with iron, stand as a testament to the countless adventurers who have passed through them.
As we approach the adventurers' guild, the grand facade looms larger, its carvings of battles and mythical beasts almost lifelike in the golden afternoon light. The building's presence is commanding, a fortress of camaraderie and tales yet to be told. For a moment, we pause to admire the craftsmanship—dragons curling around towering knights, creatures with wings and claws that seem ready to leap from the stone itself. The guild is more than just a place for adventurers to gather; it is a monument to the spirit of those who dare to defy the unknown.
But the tranquility of this moment is shattered in an instant. Without warning, the heavy wooden doors burst open, and an adventurer comes hurtling through, crashing into the street with a sickening thud. Wood splinters fly, and the doors sway on their hinges, one hanging loosely from the violent impact. People in the street stop in their tracks, gasps rippling through the crowd as they turn to see what has caused such chaos.
Before we can react, a group of adventurers rush out, grabbing the fallen man by his arms and dragging him away. His body is limp, his face bloodied, and he groans in pain. The group doesn’t spare a glance at the onlookers as they hurriedly disappear into a nearby alley, leaving behind only the echoes of their hurried footsteps.
My heart pounds in my chest as I exchange a worried glance with Elara. Something is very wrong inside the guild hall. Curiosity mixed with a deep sense of foreboding compels us to take a closer look.
We cautiously approach a nearby window, peering inside to catch a glimpse of what could have caused such a violent scene. What we see inside chills us to the bone.
The once lively guild hall, typically abuzz with the clamor of conversation and the clinking of tankards, is eerily silent. Tables and chairs lie overturned, the remnants of hastily abandoned meals scattered across the floor. But it's the figure standing near the entrance that captures our full attention.
The figure is small, no taller than a child, their frame almost delicate. Cloaked in dark, tattered robes, they stand motionless, their back to us, a sword in hand. The blade, long and slender, glistens with fresh blood. Around them, three severed heads lie on the floor, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The bodies to which they once belonged are nowhere in sight, leaving a gruesome, incomprehensible scene in their wake.
Elara’s hand grips my arm tightly, her nails digging into my skin, but I barely feel it. My own breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, we are both frozen in place, unable to process what we are seeing.
The figure slowly turns, revealing a face that is hauntingly youthful—perhaps even younger than we first imagined. The face is pale, with wide, unblinking eyes that shimmer with an unnatural light, like the glow of a distant star. The child’s expression is unnervingly calm, almost serene, as if the horrific act they just committed was of no consequence at all.
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The child’s eyes meet mine through the window, and in that instant, I feel a cold dread wash over me. It’s as if those eyes can see straight through me, peeling away the layers of my soul and exposing my deepest fears. I instinctively pull back from the window, yanking Elara with me.
“We need to leave,” I whisper urgently, my voice barely audible. “Now.”
Without another word, we turn and hurriedly make our way down the street, slipping into the first narrow alley we find. My mind races as we put as much distance as possible between us and the guild hall, the image of the bloodied child and the severed heads seared into my memory. What kind of power could reside in someone so young? And what did it mean for us and our journey?
The alleys of Aldor are a labyrinth, twisting and turning unpredictably, but I’m too focused on getting away to care if we get lost. The shadows seem to stretch longer here, the walls closing in as we move deeper into the city's maze-like interior. The sound of the market fades behind us, replaced by the muffled whispers of the city’s darker corners.
Encompassed by the shadows, we feel safer, protected from those piercing eyes that still linger in my mind.
Finally, we emerge into a slightly wider street, where the imposing figure of an inn stands before us. The inn, a sturdy building of wood and stone, offers a semblance of refuge. The sign above the door, depicting a foaming mug of ale, swings gently in the breeze, inviting travelers to take shelter within its walls.
We enter the inn, our nerves still on edge from the horrific scene we’ve just witnessed. The common room inside is warm and inviting, filled with the chatter of travelers and the comforting aroma of food and drink. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting a golden glow that seems to promise safety, at least for now.
We approach the innkeeper, a burly man with a friendly smile that barely hides the wariness in his eyes. “Welcome to the Golden Mug,” he greets us. “How can I help you?”
“We’d like a room for the night,” I reply, my voice steadying as I hand over a few coins.
The innkeeper nods and hands us a key. “Second floor, third door on the left. Enjoy your stay.”
We thank him and make our way upstairs, our movements still tense, our ears attuned to any unusual sound. The room is simple but comfortable, with a soft bed, a small table, and a window that overlooks the quieter side of the city. For a moment, I let myself relax, the warmth of the room seeping into my bones.
Elara shuts the door behind us, leaning against it as she exhales a shaky breath. “What was that?” she whispers, more to herself than to me. “What kind of power could a child like that have?”
I shake my head, unable to provide any answers. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice heavy with uncertainty. “But whatever it is, it’s dangerous. We need to be careful from now on. This city… it’s not what it seems.”
She nods, her expression hardening with resolve. “We can’t stay here long. We need to figure out what’s going on and move on quickly.”
We sit down at the small table, ordering a meal from the innkeeper to steady our nerves. The food is hearty and warm, but the taste is muted by the lingering dread of what we’ve witnessed. Our conversation is quiet, each of us trying to make sense of the bizarre encounter at the guild hall.
As the night deepens and the inn grows quieter, we retreat to our room. The bed is soft, the blankets warm—a welcome comfort after the trials of the day. Lumina curls up at the foot of the bed, her presence a small but reassuring constant in this world of uncertainty.
I lie awake for a while, listening to the sounds of the city outside—the distant murmur of voices, the occasional clatter of a cart, and the soft rustle of the wind. Aldor is a city of mysteries and magnificence, its history etched into every stone and whispered through every alley. As I drift off to sleep, I can't help but wonder what secrets it holds and how they will shape our journey ahead.
The next morning, the sun rises over Aldor, casting long shadows and illuminating the city's ancient beauty. The light is warm, but it feels distant, unable to fully reach the darker corners of the city where shadows seem to linger no matter the time of day.
The morning light filters softly through the window, casting a warm glow on the wooden floorboards of our room. Despite the comfort of the inn, the weight of what we witnessed the previous day lingers heavily on my mind. I rise from the bed, trying to shake off the remnants of unease, but the memory of those wide, unblinking eyes refuses to fade.
Elara stirs beside me, her face etched with the same tension. We exchange a brief look, wordless but full of understanding. Whatever is happening in this city, it’s far from ordinary.
“We should get some breakfast,” Elara says, her voice slightly hoarse from sleep. “Maybe we can gather some information, see if anyone knows anything about… what we saw.”
I nod in agreement, though a part of me dreads what the day might bring. We dress quickly and head downstairs, the faint aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling bacon guiding us to the common room.
The inn is lively this morning, filled with travelers and townsfolk alike, all engaged in the typical morning bustle. The clatter of cutlery and the murmur of conversation create a comforting backdrop, but it does little to dispel the unease simmering beneath my skin.
We find a table near the window, the view outside revealing a city that looks deceptively peaceful under the morning sun. A serving girl approaches with a warm smile, taking our orders for breakfast. As she leaves, I glance around the room, hoping for some normalcy in the faces around us.
But then my eyes fall on a figure at the far end of the room, seated at a small table near the hearth. My breath catches in my throat, and I feel Elara stiffen beside me.
It’s the child from the guild hall.
The same pale skin, the same wide, unnerving eyes that seem to pierce straight through to your soul. The child’s clothes are still tattered, though perhaps cleaned slightly since the previous night, and beside them, resting casually against the table, is the sword—its blade unmistakably stained with dried blood.
The child sits calmly, their posture almost regal, as they lift a teacup to their lips and take a delicate sip. The juxtaposition of their innocent appearance with the horror we witnessed is jarring, creating a surreal dissonance that makes my stomach churn.
For a moment, I can’t move. The child’s presence is like a weight in the room, pressing down on everything and everyone, though no one else seems to notice or care. It’s as if the child exists in a different reality, one where they are both present and absent, both seen and unseen.