Chapter 3 – Ashes and Shadows
The rain hadn't stopped since morning.
It pooled in the cracks of Durelin's streets, carrying bits of ash from the Gallows Square down to the gutters like blackened snow.
Lucian kept to the shadow of a narrow alley, the hood of his weather-worn cloak pulled tight. The city had grown quieter since the executions, but the air still carried the weight of unspoken fear.
In a shuttered tavern down the alley, a faint amber glow spilled from the cracks in the door. Lucian slipped inside without knocking.
The smell of smoke and cheap ale greeted him. A few patrons hunched over their mugs, pretending not to notice him. Behind the counter, old Bram wiped down a chipped tankard, his one good eye narrowing when he saw Lucian.
"You shouldn't be here," Bram muttered. "Not after this morning."
Lucian slid onto a stool. "I'm only here to talk."
Bram gave a dry laugh. "Talking gets you hanged these days."
They spoke in low voices, Lucian asking about the woman executed, Bram reluctant to answer at first. Eventually, the barkeep leaned closer, voice barely a whisper.
"She was with the Ashen Veil. Small group, but dangerous. The Church hates them more than most — says they're touched by the old gods."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Old gods?"
Bram shrugged. "Rumors. But the kind that get you killed if you ask too much."
Before Lucian could press further, the tavern door creaked open. A tall man in a soaked cloak stepped inside, shaking off rain. His eyes scanned the room, sharp and deliberate. At his hip hung a curved dagger with a distinctive silver guard — not Church issue.
The stranger's gaze landed on Lucian.
Without a word, he crossed the room, dropped a coin on the counter, and sat beside him. "If you're looking for answers," the man said quietly, "you're asking in the wrong places."
Lucian didn't turn to face him. "And you know the right ones?"
The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe. But it'll cost you more than coin."
Outside, the rain poured harder, drumming against the tavern's roof. Somewhere deep in the city, a church bell tolled — slow, heavy, and final.