The vessel groaned with the current, its hull creaking like a tired beast. The river, wide and dark, swallowed the last of the sun behind a curtain of low clouds. Pale lanterns swung gently from the mast, painting shifting shadows across the deck.
Ashem stood near the stern, one hand on the railing, eyes fixed on the ripples fading behind them. Beside him, Sahir leaned against a barrel, peeling an overripe fruit with a rusted knife.
"You ever leave the coast before?" Sahir asked, popping a piece into his mouth.
Ashem shook his head. "Not this far. Never had reason to."
"Well," Sahir said with a grin, "now you've got one."
Ashem glanced back toward the cabin where Nareen and the child slept. "Yeah... I do."
There was a pause, filled only by the flap of sails and water against wood. Then:
"What do you really know about that thing the old man gave you?" Sahir asked, low and careful.
Ashem shrugged. "Just looks like a broken ornament. Gold, maybe some inlays. The pawnshop woman didn't see any value."
"Because she didn't know what she was looking at," Sahir said, leaning closer. "The markings on it—they're old. Could be from one of the Hollowed Dynasties. Maybe even First Light."
Ashem frowned. "That supposed to mean something to me?"
"It should," Sahir replied. "Those are the kind of artifacts people kill over. Scholars, smugglers, the kind of folk who talk slow and listen fast. You show it to the right person, they'll pay you a year's wage for a glimpse—more if they think it's real."
"You know," Ashem said, putting his hand into the front pocket where the artifact was hidden. "I was looking at it the other day—"
"What are you—?," Sahir hissed, his tone shifting. He reached out quickly, pressing Ashem's hand flat against his chest. "Don't."
Ashem blinked. "What?"
"Just—don't take it out. Not here."
Sahir's eyes shifted past Ashem's shoulder. Slowly, Ashem turned to look.
A figure stood near the prow of the boat. Hooded. Unmoving. Not part of the crew. He—or she—seemed to be watching the river, but something in the posture was too still. Too deliberate.
"Been standing there since we left port," Sahir murmured. "Never blinked. Never spoke."
Ashem's pulse tightened.
"You think he saw?"
"Doesn't matter. Just keep it close. Don't flash it unless we're in a room with locked doors and full bellies."
The city was a restless thing—lanterns swinging above mist-veiled alleys, voices echoing off stone, the scent of brine and spice heavy in the air. After disembarking at the crowded docks, Ashem, his family and Sahir squeezed into a closed carriage drawn by shaggy, deep-chested beasts with eyes like polished onyx.
The wooden wheels clacked over cobbled roads as they passed through narrow thoroughfares and uphill streets that pulsed with life. Inside the carriage, dim lantern light flickered across their faces.
"Is it far?" Ashem asked after a stretch of silence.
"Not far," Sahir replied. "Ten more turns, maybe less. Old place—clean, quiet. I've used it before."
Ashem nodded, glancing down at his sleeping daughter. "Long as it has a bed."
Sahir smiled faintly. "And a door that locks."
The sway of the carriage settled into a rhythm, the city murmuring outside its wooden frame. Nareen had fallen into a light sleep, head resting against Ashem's shoulder, their daughter curled warmly in his arms. Across from him, Sahir adjusted his coat and spoke low, as if wary of the walls listening in.
"Tomorrow, we'll meet with someone called Kharan. Don't be fooled by the name—he's not some noble. He deals in... uncommon things. Ancient things. Has collectors, priests, even state agents paying him for what most people wouldn't dare touch."
Ashem raised a brow. "And I'm supposed to trust him."
Sahir hesitated, then gave a short, dry laugh. "No. But I respect the man's obsession. He doesn't lie about value, and he doesn't back out once a price is spoken."
Ashem looked down at the satchel hidden under his cloak, the faint shape of the artifact still pressing against his side. "He pays alright, that's all I need to hear."
Sahir nodded. "If he recognizes the markings, yes. If not... he'll find someone who will."
"I've tried to decipher anything out of it, anything," confessed Ashem, repressing the urge to take it out of the pocket. "But it well could be something from another world entirely."
"That artifact... it's older than cities. The markings on it? I've seen something like them once. In a broken obelisk outside the ruins of Serah-Kesh. That obelisk killed five scholars when they tried to open it."
Ashem frowned. "You seriously think someone would kill for it?"
"Not think," Sahir said. "I know."
The words had barely settled in the air when the carriage jolted to a stop.
The driver cried out—cut short.
A moment later, the door was yanked open. Three men stood there—faces wrapped in cloth, weapons drawn. One pointed a hooked blade toward Ashem's chest.
"Out. Now."
Sahir shifted, placing a calming hand on Ashem's shoulder. "Do as they say."
They climbed down. Nareen clutched their daughter tightly, eyes wide with panic. The leader of the muggers stepped forward, blade gleaming under the city's pale lanterns.
"Hand over the satchel," he hissed.
Sahir moved his hand towards the hilt of his dagger just an inch, when a blade flashed from the nearest mugger, driven into Sahir's side.
He gasped, eyes wide, clutching the wound. Blood poured through his fingers. He dropped to his knees beside Ashem, who stood in front of Nareen and their crying daughter, extending a hand with the golden artifact.
The leader grinned. "Take the woman and child."
Two of the muggers started walking towards the horrified couple. When suddenly—
"Wards!"
The farthest of the bandits shouted. They all started running away desperately, eyes darting wildly down the alley. Ashem looked back for a second, heart pounding. The alley looked the same—empty.
Two of the assailants stumbled, shrieking as if struck, though no blade touched them.
From the corner of the alley, a set of broken crates and scattered cloth shifted—moved. Threads curled around the attackers' feet. The cloth sprang like a net, snapping tight and sending two of them crashing their mouths to the ground.
The fifth was getting away, dripping blood from his knife while he ran. But the cobblestones beneath his boots liquefied into thick, grasping mud. He screamed, thrashing as the earth swallowed up to his chest.
The veil parted.
A shimmer of mist stepped forward, solidifying into form.
A figure emerged—tall, robed in worn fabrics the color of faded parchment. His face was calm, burnished by sun, framed by a hood pulled back now that the danger had passed. His eyes... ancient. Knowing.
He looked down at Sahir, then at the driver, finally he talked to Ashem.
"They were after the artifact," he said softly, voice smooth as still water.
Ashem's hands were shaking when he finally realized. "You were the…"
The man knelt beside Sahir, laying one hand gently on the wound. A faint hum echoed in the air, but the bleeding didn't stop. He exhaled.
"I came to warn you. I didn't expect this."
Sahir groaned. "Figures... I help the one man who draws hunters like flies..."
"Driver's dead, but you'll live," the stranger said, his voice resonating with certainty.