The city of Asvaht did not greet them with open arms; it greeted them with a suffocating wall of noise and stone. Their trek had spanned three grueling days, and as the sun bled its final crimson rays over the horizon, the capital finally loomed before them.
"Wow... it's beautiful," Mia whispered. She stood frozen at the edge of the main thoroughfare, her eyes reflecting the flickering magi-lanterns that began to hum to life along the streets. To a girl who had known only the quiet isolation of a crumbling orphanage, the towering spires and marble facades of Asvaht looked like a kingdom from Kaine's forbidden books.
Orion didn't look at the architecture. He looked at the shadows in the alleyways and the cold indifference in the eyes of the passing merchants. "We can admire the city tomorrow, Mia. Right now, we need a roof that doesn't leak. How much do we have left?"
Mia reached into a hidden pouch in her tunic, her fingers trembling slightly. "Just three pieces of silver. Everything else went to the travelers' rations."
Orion tightened his grip on his rucksack. "Let's see what that buys in a place like this."
They ducked into a modest, weathered motel nestled between a blacksmith and a spice trader. The air inside smelled of stale ale and old floor wax. Behind a polished oak counter stood a woman with sharp blue eyes and blonde hair tied in a practical bun.
"Welcome to Asvaht," the woman said, her smile practiced and professional. "I'm Mina. You two look like you've walked halfway across the world. Looking for a room?"
"We're looking to settle," Orion said, stepping forward as Mia pressed the silver coins into his palm. "We need the cheapest room you have. A double bed, for one month. How much?"
Mina's eyes flickered over their dusty clothes. "For travelers with light pockets? I can give you Room 38 for three silver. No meals, no cleaning, and the water is cold. It's a survival rate."
Orion didn't hesitate. He slid their last three coins across the wood. It was a gamble—they were now penniless in a city of predators—but they had a door they could lock. "We'll take it."
Mina handed him a heavy iron key. "Top floor. Try not to make too much noise; the walls are thin."
Room 38 was less of a room and more of a closet with a window. A single, sagging large-sized bed and a rickety wardrobe were the only occupants. Orion dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress. "It isn't much," he said, looking at the peeling wallpaper, "but it's a start."
They slept that night at opposite edges of the bed, the silence between them filled with the muffled sounds of the city outside. It was the first time they had slept without the breathing of five other siblings nearby. The emptiness felt like a physical weight.
The next morning, the desperation set in. They set out at dawn, scouring the lower districts for work. Orion spent ten hours being rejected. Bakers didn't need orphans; smiths wanted apprentices with muscles he didn't yet have; merchants wanted literacy he couldn't prove.
As sunset approached, Orion found himself in the High District, a place of silver-tipped gates and silent gardens. He was taking a shortcut back to the motel when he stumbled upon a titanic structure of dark stone and gold trim. It wasn't a hotel or a palace—it felt like a temple to knowledge.
A middle-aged man in a stained tunic emerged from the side entrance, lugging a heavy bin of waste toward the street. "I swear by the Goddess, I can't keep this up," the man grumbled, his back popping audibly. "This place is too vast for one set of old bones. Sweeping, mopping, arranging... it's a young man's death sentence."
Orion paused. An opportunity didn't just knock; it screamed. He stepped out of the shadows. "Excuse me, sir."
The man jumped, nearly dropping the bin. "And who are you? A thief? A beggar?"
"Neither," Orion said, holding up his hands. "I'm new to Asvaht and I'm looking for work. I overheard you. You need help with the cleaning, and I need a wage. I'm fast, I'm thorough, and I'm affordable."
Tharek, the head custodian, narrowed his eyes. He was hired by the masters of the Athenaeum for seventy silver pieces a month—a princely sum he spent mostly on gambling and wine. If he could offload the labor...
"You should have spoken up sooner," Tharek said, a greedy glint entering his eyes. "I am Tharek. I might have a... splendid proposal for you. You will clean and arrange the entire building. Every floor, every hall. In exchange, I will pay you fifteen silver a month. Do we have a deal?"
Orion's heart hammered against his ribs. Fifteen silver! It was a fortune compared to the zero they currently possessed. It was rent. It was bread. It was life. "Deal," he said, suppressing a grin.
"Good. Come at dawn. I'll show you the halls. But remember—you touch nothing but the dust. You open no books. You drink no potions. Understand?"
"I won't disappoint you, sir," Orion bowed and hurried away.
Back at the motel, the air felt lighter. Orion burst through the door just as Mia was setting out two bowls of thin porridge.
"Orion!"
"Mia!"
They laughed, the tension of the day breaking. "You first," Orion prompted.
"I got a job!" Mia cried softly. "I'm a waitress at a restaurant three blocks from here. Ten silver a month. It's not much, but—"
"I got fifteen!" Orion interrupted, lifting her off her feet in a brief hug. "Cleaning a massive manor in the High District. Between us, we have twenty-five silver a month, Mia. We can move to a better district. We can save."
"We're going to make it," Mia whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I wonder how the others are doing..."
"They're tough," Orion said, though his mind drifted back to the shattered hearth. "We have to work hard so that when we find them, we have a place for them to come home to."
The weeks that followed were a blur of manual labor. Orion became a ghost in the great stone building, moving from room to room with a broom and a cloth. Tharek was a lazy master, showing up only to bark orders before disappearing.
By the end of the first month, Orion had mastered ninety percent of the building. Only the Great Hall remained—a restricted area Tharek insisted be cleaned only at sunset, after the "Seekers" had departed.
When Orion finally pushed open the double doors to the Hall, his breath hitched. It wasn't a room; it was a cathedral of mystery. Books bound in dragon-hide lined the walls; glowing glass vials of shimmering liquids sat on pedestals; strange, metallic instruments hummed with an invisible pulse.
Ignoring Tharek's warning, Orion's feet moved of their own accord toward a central podium. Atop it lay a tome bound in white silk, its title embossed in gold: THE DIVINE PATH.
His heart raced. Was this it? The secrets Kaine had whispered about? The rituals of the Acts?
His hand trembled as he reached out, his fingers brushing the cool silk. He flipped the cover. The first page was a diagram of a human soul being torn asunder and reconstructed.
"Who are you?"
A cold, melodic voice sliced through the silence of the hall.
"And who gave you permission to be here?"