It wasn’t every day that the sweet scent of cinnamon and apples wafted through the Guild Hall, a fragrant reminder of warmth and comfort amidst the clamor of life’s bustling chaos. Yet today, it was a curious juxtaposition, drawing my attention to an unexpected sight: the future Queen of Winterfall, Princess Maria, standing before me. She was a vision of beauty, her features delicate yet striking, illuminated by the gentle light filtering through the hall’s stained-glass windows. But beneath that radiant exterior, there lingered an undeniable air of tension that cast a shadow over her expression.
As I observed her, I couldn’t help but wonder why someone as lovely as Maria would be drawn to a man like Marcel, whose nature was as dark as the shadows that danced in the corners of the hall. Perhaps it was true what they said: every good girl had a weakness for a bad boy. The thought gnawed at me, pulling my focus away from her palpable distress.
“Tracker,” she greeted, her voice a soft melody that broke through the din of chatter and laughter. It was unusual to see Maria here alone; she typically arrived accompanied by a guard or, before their passing, her parents, who had shielded her like the precious jewel she was.
“How may I serve you?” I asked, striving for a tone of genuine politeness despite my rough exterior. I was acutely aware of how intimidating I might appear, with my unshaven face and the wild mane of hair that accompanied my werewolf lineage. My kind often sparked fear or awe in others, but Maria had always treated me with kindness. I remembered her mother welcoming me into their kingdom when I had been hesitant to approach civilization, and the warmth of that memory anchored me now.
“I…” Her hesitation hung in the air, a fragile thing that made my heart sink. I feared I had come on too strong, perhaps overwhelming her with my presence.
“Apologies, Princess,” I uttered quickly, my tone shifting to one of more respect and gentility. The weight of the moment pressed on both of us, and I felt the urge to reach out, to ease her tension.
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“It’s fine… it’s just hard to describe what I need,” she admitted, her brow furrowing in thought, deepening the delicate lines of her youthful face. The vulnerability in her gaze struck a chord within me, urging me to listen closely.
I cocked my head, trying to read her better, confusion sweeping over me. “Well, you know what I do. Let’s start there.” I tried to put her at ease, hoping to draw out the words that seemed stuck in her throat. Gradually, I sensed her body language shift; her posture relaxed just enough for me to feel the tiniest glimmer of hope that she would share her burden.
“What I need, Tracker, is aid in finding someone who has been missing for a year.” Her voice trembled slightly, revealing the weight of her request as it settled heavily between us.
“And who might this person be?” I asked, my curiosity piqued, my instincts sharpening as I prepared for whatever revelation she was about to make.
Her hands fidgeted nervously, fingers twisting together in a dance of anxiety. “Her name is Sybil, Sybil Nomaty,” she whispered, the name hanging in the air like a heavy weight, pregnant with implication.
The revelation hit me like a bolt of lightning, electrifying the space between us. Sybil had been walking around, breathing and talking, for the entirety of the year. My mind raced with possibilities—either the Princess had lost her mind, or there was something far more sinister at play. I could feel the gears turning in my head, fitting pieces of a dark puzzle together.
“Why do you think she is missing?” I asked, my skepticism rising as I tried to piece together the threads of this unsettling mystery. There was a story lurking beneath her words, and I needed to unravel it to understand the urgency of her request.
Maria's gaze dropped to the floor, as if the very ground might offer her solace. “Because we have reason to believe that the Sybil we see today isn’t who she says she is.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, each word laden with fear and uncertainty.
The weight of her statement settled over us like a thick fog, shrouding the truth. My instincts flared, and a sense of dread coiled within me. “What do you mean?” I pressed, needing clarity, desperate to grasp the full scope of her concern.