The capital was overwhelming.
White walls stretched to the clouds, golden banners snapped in the wind, and the streets were alive with shouting merchants, clattering carts, and the stink of sweat and spices.
I stopped in the middle of the road, staring at the towers.
"…Holy sh*t."
Narsh smirked.
"What, muscle-brain? Never seen a building taller than your ego?"
"It's not the size—it's… it's like a giant fortress gym! Imagine training with wind resistance—"
She smacked the back of my head.
"Gods, you're hopeless. Stalked by creepy hooded bastards, standing in the biggest city in the kingdom, and you're fantasizing about doing squats on rooftops. You absolute f*cking moron."
---
Malrik pulled his hood down low, voice sharp.
"No distractions. Straight to the Church. Quickly."
"Wait," I muttered. "Isn't this… dangerous? If the Hounds find us—"
"Better they see me walk through the front door than sniff you out hiding in alleys," Malrik replied.
Narsh snorted. "Wonderful. Either holy sht or cryptic sht. Fantastic choices."
---
The Church itself was massive. Marble floors, golden glass, ceilings high enough to give gods vertigo.
Clerics in white robes approached and whisked Malrik away to some chamber, leaving Narsh and me shoved into a narrow stone room with two cots and a single candle.
"Sleep," Malrik ordered. "I'll handle the rest."
The door shut with a heavy thud.
---
The silence pressed in.
I lay on my cot, staring at the candle. My head was still full of the Hounds—their eyes, their words, the weight of being the boy of miracles.
"…So," Narsh muttered finally, voice low, "you think those creepy f*ckers meant business?"
"Serious? They had matching cloaks, matching horses, and matching scary voices. That's not serious—that's coordinated."
Narsh leaned forward, her face lit by the flickering candle. For once, no mockery in her tone.
"They looked at you like a tool. Not a person."
I clenched my fists. "…Yeah."
"…You scared?" she asked.
I swallowed.
"Not of them. I'm scared of what I'll do if they force me. What if—what if they're right, and this power isn't a blessing?"
---
Narsh let out a long sigh, then flicked my forehead hard enough to sting.
"Listen here, you dumb fcking meathead. You're Ark. The guy who does pushups until he pukes, who builds dumb gyms in mountains, who trains like the world's ending just so he can see it all with his own eyes. You're not a curse. You're just a stubborn son of a btch with too many muscles and not enough brain cells."
I blinked. "…That's supposed to be comforting?"
She crossed her arms. "Yes. Because it's true. And it means you don't get to sit there doubting yourself. You don't carry this sh*t alone, Ark. You've got me. Got it?"
Her words were sharp, vulgar, and rough—but steady, solid. Like iron hammered into shape.
And for the first time since the Hounds appeared, my chest felt lighter.
"…Thanks, demon tongue."
Her eyebrow twitched.
"Say that again and I'll shove this candle so far up your ass you'll glow like a holy lantern."
I grinned. "See? Dependable."
---
The door creaked open. A young cleric peeked in.
"Rest well, travelers. Tomorrow may bring… difficult conversations."
The door shut again.
Narsh leaned back, muttering, "This place reeks. Too clean. Too holy. Makes my tongue itch."
I chuckled and lay back down.
"Yeah. But at least the bed's soft."
---
[Author's Note: Narsh may curse like a demon, but when Ark wavers, she's the one who steadies him. The Capital, however, offers no rest—only sharper shadows.]