Chapter 4: The City That Still Stands
The city revealed itself at dusk.
Arin saw it first from the ridge—a sprawl of stone and timber nestled between two hills, its outer walls catching the dying light of the sun. Smoke rose from dozens of chimneys, and the sound of life drifted upward: bells tolling, carts rattling, distant voices carried on the wind.
"It's still standing," Brom muttered, as though surprised.
"Stonehaven doesn't fall easily," Kael replied. "Not yet, anyway."
Stonehaven.
The name settled uneasily in Arin's chest. After days of forest and road, the sight of a city should have brought relief. Instead, it filled him with a quiet dread. Cities meant rules. Questions. Eyes that watched too closely.
Seris stopped beside him. "You're thinking too loudly."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't need to," she said. "Cities sense change. And you carry it."
Elowen adjusted the hood of her cloak. "Keep the artifact hidden. No light. Not even a flicker."
Arin nodded, tightening his satchel strap. The crystal within felt still—warm, but dormant.
As they descended toward the gates, the road widened, joined by others coming and going. Farmers with carts of produce. Traders leading pack animals. A pair of armored guards on horseback rode past, their tabards bearing Stonehaven's sigil: a tower etched with a single flame.
Arin stared at it.
A tower. A flame.
"Coincidence," Kael said under his breath, noticing his gaze. "Cities love symbols."
The gates loomed ahead—massive wooden doors reinforced with iron bands, flanked by watchtowers. Guards eyed the approaching travelers with practiced suspicion.
"Names and business," one demanded.
"Merchants and escorts," Kael said smoothly. "Passing through."
The guard's gaze lingered on Arin, then on Seris's staff. "No magic inside the walls without permit."
Seris inclined her head slightly. "Of course."
They were waved through.
Inside, Stonehaven breathed.
The streets were crowded, narrow lanes twisting between tall buildings that leaned inward like eavesdroppers. Vendors shouted from stalls. Children ran laughing through the press of bodies. Somewhere, a smith hammered iron, sparks flying.
Arin felt overwhelmed. He had never seen so many people in one place—never smelled so many competing scents at once: bread and sweat, smoke and spices, refuse and flowers.
"Stay close," Brom warned.
They made their way toward an inn near the central square—a sturdy building of stone and oak, its sign depicting a crossed mug and hammer.
"The Iron Rest," Kael read. "Good enough."
Inside, the noise softened into a low roar of conversation. They secured rooms and food quickly—coin exchanged without fuss. Arin ate slowly, savoring each bite, aware of how easily hunger could have become his constant companion.
As the others spoke quietly among themselves, Arin watched the room.
That was when he felt it.
A pressure—subtle, probing—like fingers brushing the edge of his thoughts.
He stiffened.
Seris noticed instantly. Her eyes flicked to him, then to a corner of the room.
A man sat there alone, cloaked in grey, hood drawn low. He nursed a cup of wine he had not touched since they entered. Though his face remained hidden, Arin was certain—
He was watching them.
Seris leaned closer. "Do not react."
"I didn't—"
"I know," she murmured. "But someone else did."
Elowen's hand rested casually near her dagger. Kael's posture shifted, relaxed but ready.
The man stood.
He crossed the room slowly, boots soft against the wood. When he stopped at their table, he lowered his hood.
He was older than Arin had expected—his hair silvered, his face lined with age and sharp intelligence. His eyes, however, were unsettlingly bright.
"Peace," the man said. "I don't mean to intrude."
"You already have," Kael replied.
The man smiled faintly. "Fair."
His gaze slid to Arin. "You carry something that does not belong in a lighthouse keeper's satchel."
Arin's breath caught.
Seris stood. "Who are you?"
"A friend," the man said. "Or an enemy. That depends on what you do next."
Elowen rose as well, bow half-raised. "Try us."
The man lifted both hands. "Please. Not here."
Silence stretched.
At last, Seris said, "Name yourself."
"Master Corven," he replied. "Scholar of the Old Flame."
Arin felt the crystal stir.
Seris's expression darkened. "There are no scholars of the Old Flame left."
Corven's smile did not reach his eyes. "Then history has been incomplete."
---
They moved to a private room upstairs.
Corven wasted no time. "The light you carry—where did you find it?"
"My father gave it to me," Arin said. "Before he died."
Corven closed his eyes briefly. "Then the coast has fallen."
"Yes."
"Damn," Corven whispered.
Brom folded his arms. "Start explaining. Slowly."
Corven paced. "Long before your kingdoms, before your cities, there was a source. A flame—not fire, but essence. It held the world together. Order. Balance."
"The Old Flame," Seris said.
"Yes," Corven replied. "When it fractured, its pieces were hidden. Anchors. Lighthouses, if you like metaphors."
Arin's heart pounded. "The lighthouse—"
"Was one such anchor," Corven finished. "And now it is dark."
Elowen's voice was cold. "And the shadows?"
"Drawn to the imbalance," Corven said. "They always are."
Kael swore softly. "So the boy's carrying a piece of the world's glue."
"Crude," Corven said. "But accurate."
Arin felt dizzy. "I never asked for this."
"No one ever does," Corven echoed Seris's earlier words. "But now you have a choice."
"What choice?"
Corven met his gaze. "Run. Hide. Or take the fragment north—to where the last flame still burns."
Silence fell like a blade.
"And if he doesn't?" Seris asked.
Corven's eyes hardened. "Then the world will keep breaking."
A shout echoed from below.
Boots thundered on stairs.
Elowen moved instantly, blocking the door. "Too late."
Corven cursed. "The Watch."
The door burst open. Armored guards flooded the room, blades drawn.
"In the name of Stonehaven," their captain barked, "you are under arrest for illegal magic use and conspiracy against the Crown."
Arin's satchel burned hot.
The crystal pulsed.
Seris locked eyes with him. "Do not," she warned.
But outside, the city's sigil glowed faintly.
A tower.
A flame.
And beneath Stonehaven's stone foundations, something ancient stirred—drawn to the light that had once again entered the world.
Arin took a shaky breath.
This was no longer just a road.
It was a reckoning.