"Not all monsters wear their own faces.Not all hunts end in rescue."— Unknown
Eli.
It took the better part of an hour to reach Farth Street — a twisting, stinking artery at the edge of LakeTown's rotten heart.
The deeper I pushed into the slums, the worse it became. Cracked bridges swayed beneath my boots. Soot-black water sloshed against the stilts holding the shanties aloft. Every shop seemed to sell the same wretched currency: bodies, broken magic, pieces of souls bottled like wine.
I kept my head down.
There were eyes everywhere in the dark, and not all of them blinked.
The shop I searched for sat at the end of a sunken lane, marked only by a tarnished bell and a single flickering lantern.
I pushed inside.
The bell chimed sweetly overhead — too sweet for a place like this.
The air was thick with smoke and something floral beneath it — lavender, maybe, or something pretending to be. Intending to make the space more welcoming no doubt, but failing miserably with each breath. The smell clung to the back of my throat like a warning.
From the murk, a voice called:"Can I help you?"
I turned, scanning the gloom.
"Apothecary," I said, keeping my voice low. "I'm looking for the apothecary."
A low laugh answered.
From the shadows emerged a man — slender, sharp-featured, with skin the colour of burnished bronze and hair black as spilled ink. His golden eyes caught the low firelight and held it.
Mat'ar blood.
I saw it immediately — in the way he moved, in the faint luminescence of his irises.Rare. Dangerous. Precious.
I searched his arms automatically, looking for the brand most Mat'ar slaves bore — but there was none. His skin was unmarked.
Free.
Or something close enough.
He caught my glance and smiled thinly, a flash of teeth that didn't reach his eyes.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to a crooked chair beside a bubbling cauldron.
I obeyed, lowering myself carefully, keeping one hand near the dagger hidden at my belt.
From within my jacket, I pulled a heavy pouch of coin and dropped it onto the table with a thud.
"I need more than herbs," I said. "I need magic."
The Mat'ar raised a dark eyebrow, the faintest curl of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
"For what purpose?" he asked, almost lazily.
"I'm going to free a girl," I said, "from the Aviary."
The words fell into the smoky air like a blade.
For a heartbeat, the man said nothing.
Then he threw back his head and laughed — a sharp, bright sound that scraped my nerves raw.
"You poor bastard," he said when he could breathe again. "You think one girl's worth it?"
His voice held no real malice. Only pity.
I set my jaw. "Can you help me or not?"
The apothecary rose, smoothing the folds of his dark tunic.
"No," he said simply.
He made no grand speeches, no apologies. Just the word.Flat. Final.
He gestured toward the door with a graceful flick of his wrist, as if dismissing a particularly foolish child.
I gathered my coins, pocketed them, and left without another word.
The bell chimed mockingly above my head as I stepped back into the alley.
The fog had thickened, swallowing the streets.The sense of being watched returned instantly — stronger now, heavier.
I didn't look.Didn't run.
But my fingers stayed curled loosely around the dagger's hilt as I made my way back toward the small inn I was hiding in, pulse pounding at the base of my throat.
Whoever followed me stayed just out of sight.
Watching.
Waiting.
I didn't sleep much that night.
Too many ghosts pressed against the windowpanes.Too many wolves circling beyond the walls.
And somewhere, behind them all, a girl with sunlight hair waited for rescue — or for ruin.
There would be no middle ground.
Not anymore.
--
Eiríkr.
The boy had no idea what he was doing.
Blonde hair. Green eyes. The old blood of Salva clinging to his skin like a second birthmark.
He thought himself invisible in these slums.
He thought he could barter and plan and steal back what had been lost.
Poor little prince.
The truth was written on his face for anyone who cared to read it — a desperate, reckless grief so loud it might as well have been screaming.
He would be easy to follow.
Easy to manipulate.
He would lead me right where I needed to go.
Another knock rattled the shop door. I smothered the lantern light with a cloth and cracked it open an inch.
A man in a hooded cloak stood there, face half-hidden, voice gravel-thick: "Any updates?"
"Not tonight," I said smoothly, pitching my voice just low enough to slip into the mist.
He nodded and disappeared.
I bolted the door behind him and moved through the cramped shop, snuffing candles one by one until only the dying embers of the cauldron remained.
The smoke curled up into the rafters like a snake.
Soon.
Very soon now.
The pieces were moving, the game winding tighter with every breath.
And in the end — when all the false kings were dust, and all the broken birds lay silent — it wouldn't be Eli who found the girl.
It would be me.
As it was always meant to be.