Kaelen Veyris reached into the inner pocket of her cloak and drew out the small, intricate ring. Its metal was dark, almost black, etched with twisting, labyrinthine patterns that seemed to writhe faintly under the light.
She held it between her fingers, turning it over once, twice. Then, with a practiced motion, she slid it onto her finger. The symbols caught faint light, glimmering like a shard of captured moonlight.
A voice echoed softly through the ring, crisp and commanding. "Kaelen Veyris… report on your mission."
Kaelen's lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes sharpened, scanning the dim bar around her before she leaned slightly closer, as if to ensure no one could overhear. Her tone was calm, almost cold. "All objectives completed," she said, voice measured. "No mistakes. No witnesses left."
"Status on the Eclipse bearer?" the voice pressed.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the ring. "Not found," she replied, firm, her chill detachment gone, replaced with the razor-edge focus she always carried. "I've scoured the districts. Checked every lead. Nothing."
The faint hum of the bar around her—the laughter, the clinking of mugs, the smell of roasted meat—seemed distant now, like it belonged to someone else's life. Kaelen let herself glance at it for a heartbeat, a flicker of longing crossing her face. Her voice softened almost imperceptibly. "I… wish I could enjoy life a bit," she whispered, her words swallowed quickly by the shadows of her hood.
The voice over the ring remained steady. "Stay focused, Kaelen. No distractions. The task is not yet complete."
She straightened, shoulders pulling back, cloak shifting around her form. The chill was back, coiled around her like a second skin.
"Understood," she said, voice now sharp, serious. "I move out."
Kaelen rose from her seat, cloak brushing the floor, boots silent against the worn wooden boards.
The laughter, the warmth, the bar's hum—they all fell behind her as she stepped into the misty streets of Sunstead.
Lanterns flickered along cracked walls, puddles reflecting the pale light, but her eyes were fixed ahead, unwavering.
"Every step counts," she murmured to herself, the ring pulsing faintly on her finger.
"Every shadow watched. Every whisper noted. Nothing can catch me unprepared."
The streets of Sunstead spread before her, crooked and narrow, remnants of the poor district's life etched in every crack, every broken sign.
She moved through them like a ghost, silent, precise, fully aware of every heartbeat, every breath around her.😁
"Sunstead," Kaelen murmured, her voice low and steady as she sat at the shadowed corner of the bar. "A poor city… yet even the poor here are happier than me."
Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the table. She turned her hands palm-up, staring at them. In the faint lanternlight, she didn't see skin — she saw blood. Streaks of red where there should be pale fingers. It wasn't real, but it felt real. Her expression, usually a mask of stone, cracked for a moment.
"Pathetic," she hissed under her breath. "I can't even…" Her voice caught. The mask slipped. For a heartbeat she was just a girl staring at hands she could never scrub clean.
She slapped herself sharply, a dry sound in the dim light. Her head snapped slightly at the impact, dark hair shifting against her cheek. "Stop it," she whispered, harder now. "The one willing to do everything for survival is me. No one else."
Her breathing steadied. The cold, razor-edged composure returned. She slid the ring off her finger with careful precision and tucked it back into her pocket, as though sealing the moment away.
A muffled commotion inside the bar stirred near the bar counter. One of the patrons — a big man in a tattered coat — staggered, coughing violently. His skin blackened as thin veins of some corruptive force crawled across his neck and jaw. His eyes rolled white as he collapsed to the floor.
Kaelen didn't move at first. Then, with a flick of her fingers — a gesture barely visible — the man's convulsions stopped. He lay still. The corruption halted mid-spread, his life snuffed out like a candle.
The chatter and warmth of the bar across from her resumed almost unnaturally, the patrons not quite realizing what they'd witnessed. Kaelen exhaled a quiet sigh outside the bar, her composure iron once more.
"Everything is done," she said softly to herself, eyes cold again. "Now to find the Sun's Pallbearer."
Her cloak whispered against the wooden floor as she rose. Without another glance at the dead man, she stepped into the night streets of Sunstead, her boots silent against the wet cobblestones.
Kaelen's boots made no sound as she moved through the narrow streets of Sunstead. Lanterns flickered along the cracked walls, throwing sharp shadows that seemed to writhe as she passed. The city was alive with chaos in quiet ways — small tragedies, petty struggles, tiny pleasures.
A group of men shouted at each other, fists raised over a scrap of bread, teeth bared and knuckles white. "It's mine!" one barked. "I saw it first!" Another sneered back, spitting to the cobblestones. "You'll take nothing from me, gutter-rat!" Their voices echoed against the buildings, rattling Kaelen's senses like distant gunfire.
A child slept curled in a corner beneath a broken cart, ragged blanket pulled over his face. Rats scuttled near his heels, but he stirred not, his breathing shallow. Kaelen's eyes flickered with something almost like pity — quickly swallowed and hidden behind the mask she always wore.
A man's cry cut through the air. "My purse! Thief!" A ragged figure darted away with a small bag, laughing as coins spilled onto the street. The man stumbled, hands outstretched, a red bloom of flowers clutched in one hand, forgotten in his desperation. He sank to the ground, head in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Nearby, a woman leaned against a stall, curves and laughter used as weapons. She whispered in a man's ear, fingers trailing over his chest. He leaned closer, dazzled, the gold in his pocket forgotten as the scent of her perfume mingled with the morning air. Their murmured words were sharp and intimate, carrying just enough for those nearby to hear: "Stay a while longer… I can make it worth your trouble."
Street vendors shouted over each other, balancing trays of fried meat, roasted vegetables, and steaming soups. "Get your bread while it's warm! Only three coins!" "Spices from the far north! You won't find finer anywhere else!" Their voices collided, a chaotic symphony of haggling and temptation.
Children darted past her legs, carrying stolen apples or bits of cheese, laughter ringing through the misty alleyways, light and fleeting. One bumped into a man arguing over a fish, spilling half of it onto the stone. "Watch where you're going, brat!" the man snapped. "You'll cost me my life savings!"
Kaelen's eyes swept over it all. The petty crimes, the fleeting joys, the grief and hunger — a city teetering between survival and indulgence, beauty and brutality. Her cloak brushed puddles as she passed, unnoticed, untouchable.
She murmured softly to herself, voice almost drowned by the street's chaos: "Even in ruin, life… fights, bleeds, loves, lusts. Fragile, fleeting… yet stubbornly alive."
Her gaze drifted to the distant ruins, the place where blood had once been spilled — the battlefield of old wars, the remnants of fire and ash. Shadows of the past lay scattered among the laughter, cries, and petty violence, intertwining with the present in a city that refused to forget.
Kaelen moved back through the twisting alleys of Sunstead, her boots silent on the slick stones. The city's chaos faded behind her, leaving only the muted cries of the hungry, the scrape of carts, and the distant laughter of children chasing scraps of joy.
She stopped at the corner where the child had slept, curled beneath the broken cart. The boy's small chest rose and fell shallowly, eyes closed, dirt streaked across his cheeks. Kaelen's cloak swirled lightly in the alley breeze as she crouched beside him, the faint glow of lanterns glinting off her pale features.
"I'm sorry, kid," she murmured, her voice low, almost trembling despite her usual coldness. "I'm sorry I can't help everyone… but life isn't all bad."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the mask of stone she carried slipped. Her eyes softened, and her lips, usually tight with discipline, curved into a tentative smile. It was fragile, fleeting, but undeniably real.
She reached out a hand and patted the boy gently on the shoulder. The child stirred, blinking up at her with suspicion in wide, wary eyes. Yet, slowly, he leaned into her, trusting something in the warmth and weight of her presence.
He gave a small, broken smile — honest, raw, and unpolished by life's cruelty. "Thanks," he whispered, voice fragile but steady, carrying the innocence that had survived the harsh streets.
Kaelen stood, lifting him carefully into her arms, the boy surprisingly light, yet clinging slightly, unsure but comforted. The alleys of Sunstead seemed suddenly smaller, quieter, less menacing in her embrace.
She carried him through the winding streets until they reached a small café tucked between the crumbling facades of old buildings: The Rusted Lantern. Lanterns swung in the doorway, spilling warm golden light onto the wet stones. Kaelen stepped inside, the door creaking softly behind her. She guided the boy to a corner table, shadows hugging them like old friends.
A waiter approached, his face lined with weariness, eyes heavy with the weight of a long day. Kaelen looked up at him, voice unusually cheerful, almost melodic — a stark contrast to her usual cold tone.
"Juice… and some bread, please," she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
The waiter blinked, caught off guard by the sudden warmth, but his expression remained tired as he nodded and turned to fetch the order. Kaelen sat back in the corner, her cloak draped around her like a protective shell, eyes never leaving the boy.
Minutes later, the waiter returned, placing a cup of rich, sweet juice and a small loaf of bread in front of the child. He gave her a brief, almost defeated nod, then stepped away, his demeanor unchanged.
The boy's eyes lit up. "Thank you," he said, voice small but earnest.
He attacked the bread and juice like he hadn't eaten in days, hungrily, almost maniacally, spilling some juice in his haste but not caring. Kaelen's gaze softened, her usual stoicism melting slightly as she watched him devour the simple meal with pure, unrestrained hunger.
Kaelen watched him carefully, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly as he drank the juice and tore at the bread like it was gold. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply be present, the cold mask of discipline softening as she observed the boy's unabashed joy.
"So," she began, her voice quieter now, more casual, "do you live around here?"
The boy shrugged, crumbs falling onto the table. "Sometimes," he said, "sometimes the alleys are home, sometimes the rooftops. Depends on who's chasing me." He grinned mischievously, dark eyes glinting.
Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "And do people often chase you?"
He nodded solemnly. "All the time. But I'm fast. Faster than a shadow in the sun. Faster than a cat that stole your pie."
Kaelen blinked, caught off guard. A laugh — soft, genuine — escaped her. She covered her mouth with her hand, but it was too late: the sound had come out, light and warm, echoing faintly in the quiet corner.
The boy's grin widened. "You laughed! That means it was a good joke!"
"Was it?" she asked, trying to keep her composure, but her eyes sparkled with something close to amusement.
"Of course!" He leaned back, triumphant. "I'm basically the king of jokes now. You can call me… the Jester of Sunstead!"
Kaelen shook her head, a faint smile lingering on her lips. "The Jester of Sunstead, huh? I'll remember that."
He puffed out his chest proudly, crumbs clinging to his sleeves. "I have a crown too, invisible but shiny. Makes me faster and stronger than anyone!"
She chuckled again, quieter this time, letting herself savor the simplicity of the moment. For a boy who had seen so much hardship, and a woman who had long buried her own warmth, it was fleeting, fragile… but real.
"You're ridiculous," she said softly, shaking her head with mock exasperation. "But I like it."
The boy beamed. "I knew you'd like it! Most adults are boring."
Kaelen let the corner of her lips lift higher, a little brighter this time. For the first time that day, the weight pressing on her shoulders seemed just a fraction lighter.
The boy wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, crumbs sticking to his fingers. For a moment he was quiet, staring down at the empty cup of juice like it was the only warm thing he'd ever known. Then, slowly, he spoke.
"I was born in Sunstead," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Not here, not in the alleys… in the high part. The nobles' part. They call it Solaris Septem — the District of the Seven Suns. Gold gates, marble roads, banners everywhere… like the sky itself was richer over there."
Kaelen tilted her head, watching him. He didn't look at her. His small hands clenched into fists.
"My parents…" He swallowed hard. "They were nobles. Not like the ones here in the bar. Real ones. They wore rings that cost more than a street like this. But one day, they just… disappeared. They left me."
His voice cracked.
"They said they were going on a 'journey for the family's future.' They never came back. The servants stopped feeding me. People started beating me because I was 'a stain.' They said I wasn't worth the name. They…" His words stumbled. "They hit me until my skin split. Every day. I'm always bleeding. I'm so tired of bleeding."
He raised his eyes to Kaelen at last, and the look in them was something older than a child should have — a tired, bruised kind of courage.
"I don't even know why I'm still here. But…" His lip trembled. He tried to smile, but it broke apart. "You're… you're the best person I've ever met."
The words hung between them like a blade. And then the boy began to cry. Not loud, not theatrical — just raw, shuddering sobs, his small body shaking as years of hurt leaked out onto the table.
Kaelen's hand hovered in the air, then slowly settled on his shoulder. Her mask of coldness wavered. For a moment, the corner of her mouth trembled as if she might speak but no sound came out.
Outside, Sunstead buzzed on — voices in the street, a lute playing somewhere, the scent of spiced bread drifting in. But in that corner of The Rusted Lantern, it was only the boy's sobs and her silent hand on his shoulder, the weight of his story pressing down like a storm they were both standing in.
Kaelen watched him as the boy's sobs quieted, his small body trembling against the table. She said nothing at first. Her pale fingers brushed a loose strand of his hair aside, then she spoke, her voice low but calm:
"I'm sorry… but you've got to keep moving forward. No matter how hard it gets, you can't stop. Life doesn't wait."
He looked up at her, eyes glistening, as if trying to hold onto her every word.
"Even though… we won't meet often," she continued, "you… you're a little treasure. Remember that. Not everyone gets a second chance, but you… you're stronger than you know."
The boy blinked, his lips trembling again, but he didn't speak. Kaelen simply nodded and led him out of the café, through the narrow, mist-wrapped streets, until they reached a small inn tucked under a crooked roof. She helped him settle into a corner room, sitting beside him quietly for the entire night. Neither of them spoke much; the silence was comfortable, a rare peace for both of their haunted minds.
When the boy woke the next morning, the first rays of sun fell through the window, soft and golden. On the bedside table lay three gold coins — enough, perhaps, to start a new life, to buy a little house somewhere safe. Beside the coins was a folded piece of paper, written in her careful, flowing script:
"I'm sorry. I'm the wrong person to help you. But I hope this gets you a little farther than I could. — Kaelen"
He stared at it for a long moment, disbelief and gratitude mixing in his young eyes. He clutched the coins tightly, feeling their weight not as gold, but as possibility.
The scene shifts. Kaelen walks alone through a forest, the morning mist curling around gnarled roots and silver-veined trees. She moves silently, boots pressing into damp earth, hands brushing along the rough bark of the trees as if feeling the pulse of the world. Her voice breaks the quiet, soft and almost contemplative.
"That was… a kind night," she says, the corners of her lips hinting at a small, fleeting smile. "Even if it's only a memory now… it was kind."
The forest seems to hold its breath around her, shadows stretching and bending, leaves whispering in the wind. Kaelen continues onward, carrying the memory with her, silent, steady, yet somehow… lighter than before.
Kaelen slid her hand into the inner pocket of her cloak once more, fingers brushing against the cool, intricate metal of the ring. She drew it out, studying the twisting, labyrinthine patterns that seemed to writhe faintly under the dim lantern light. With a precise movement, she slipped it back onto her finger.
A voice, crisp and commanding, echoed softly from the ring.
"Kaelen Veyris… a new order has risen," it said, each word deliberate, echoing through her mind. "Search for the cathedral of the new cult. Investigate. Report back soon. Number… 3590."
Kaelen's lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the mist-shrouded streets of the forest surrounding her. The memory of the night in the café lingered, fleeting warmth pressed against her chest, but duty called relentlessly.
"Understood," she murmured, her voice low, cold, and unwavering. The smile she had shared with the boy vanished like smoke, leaving only the practiced calm and focus she always carried.
The ring pulsed faintly on her finger, a tether to the unseen orders she obeyed, the unseen battles yet to come. Kaelen moved forward, boots silent against the damp earth, cloak brushing over roots and fallen leaves.
The forest seemed to lean in closer around her, shadows twisting, listening. Somewhere ahead, the path to the unknown cathedral awaited. And Kaelen Veyris, as always, would be ready.
"Bye"