"Take care, okay?" Gena said softly as Wads handed her the pouch of payment.
The group was ready to leave, their mission here finished. It was now confirmed that the smugglers had been using the dam flow to move their goods. With no further reason to linger, all that was left was to head for the next town.
Before they could go, however, Gena pressed something into Wads's hands—a small bundle of snacks wrapped neatly in cloth, enough for all six of them. For a brief moment, Wads's usual cold expression shifted, softening into something almost unfamiliar. His lips curved into a rare, gentle smile.
"Thank you," he said, voice quieter than usual.
Gena returned the smile, just as soft, before stepping back as Wads turned away. The others were already donning their disguise uniforms. Wads climbed into the wagon, resuming his usual place, and with that they set off for their next destination: Bell Tine.
Bell Tine was unlike the towns before it. Known for the deep chime of its old clocktower, the sound of its bells carried across the hills and fields like an old lullaby. Perched on gentle rises of land, the town was larger than Rook's Run and Gallowsbright, its streets paved in stone and lined with cottages roofed in red clay tiles. Small gardens overflowed with herbs and flowers, their scents clinging faintly in the night air.
Even at this hour, signs of life lingered—merchants closing their stalls in the square, shutters being latched, and children being hurried indoors by tired parents. Farmers' carts stood empty now, parked neatly along the lanes. The atmosphere was peaceful, almost warm, the kind of place where everyone seemed to know one another's name. The steady toll of the clocktower bells echoed faintly, a reminder that time pressed ever onward.
Yet on the far edge of town, beyond the lantern-lit streets, loomed the Forsaken—a dense, brooding forest that locals spoke of in hushed tones. Its dark canopy was visible even against the night sky, a looming contrast to Bell Tine's quiet charm.
By the time the wagon rolled up to the gates, the sky had long faded into deep indigo. Lanterns hung along the outer walls of Bell Tine, their golden glow flickering against stone as a pair of guards approached.
One, helmeted and clad in chainmail, stepped forward. "Halt! State your business."
Ashborne, as calm as ever, handed over a permit—a carefully forged one bearing both a royal and academy stamp. The guard squinted at it beneath the lantern light, lips moving as he skimmed. After a moment, he grunted, gave it back, and waved them through.
As the wagon entered the town, the group caught sight of Bell Tine's night scenery. Lanterns burned warm and steady in front of inns and taverns, casting pools of light on cobbled streets. The air was filled with the faint hum of voices—laughter spilling from a tavern door, the strum of a lute drifting faintly through the night. Cats prowled lazily along the rooftops, their shadows stretching with each flicker of light. Somewhere in the distance, the clocktower tolled again, its deep chime rolling through the town and vanishing into the night.
For a moment, it almost felt… peaceful.
The inn they chose in Bell Tine was modest but well-kept, its wooden beams darkened with age and its sign swaying faintly in the night breeze. A warm glow spilled from its windows, carrying with it the faint scent of roasted meat and spiced ale. Inside, the air was hushed compared to the streets outside, with only a few late-night patrons murmuring over their drinks.
The innkeeper, a stout woman with a kerchief tied around her hair, showed them the rooms available. Only two beds per chamber. After a brief exchange, the arrangements were settled:
Reiyell and Keiya in the first room.
Liora and Klyden in the second.
Wads and Ashborne in the third.
Even with the separation, their rooms were aligned neatly along the same narrow hallway on the upper floor. A simple stretch of worn wooden planks, creaking slightly under each step, was all that stood between them.
Wads gave his instructions with his usual firm tone. "No wandering tonight. Rest. We start gathering information tomorrow."
No dinner was ordered. The long ride and the quiet of the inn seemed to press down on them, leaving no room for argument. Each one retreated to their assigned space, the muffled sounds of movement and the occasional thump of boots echoing faintly through the thin walls.
For a moment, it felt ordinary. Safe.
But what they did not know was that their arrival in Bell Tine had already stirred the strings of a trap set long before they came.
———
Deep within the Forsaken forest, far from the warm lights of the town, silence ruled. The canopy was so thick that even the pale light of the moon could barely pierce through. Twisted roots jutted from the ground like skeletal fingers, and the air was damp, heavy with the scent of moss and earth. An unnatural stillness lingered there—no crickets chirped, no owls hooted—only the occasional whisper of the wind through the branches.
And within that suffocating quiet, a figure emerged.
He was tall and lean, moving with a predator's ease. His cloak, tattered at the edges, billowed faintly as he stepped into a shaft of moonlight that had fought its way past the canopy. At last, the details of his appearance could be seen. His hair, pale silver, gleamed against the darkness, falling in loose strands that brushed against sharp cheekbones. Gray eyes stared outward—cold and strange, yet carrying an unsettling depth, as though they reflected emotions not entirely his own.
Subtle scars marred his features and arms, hints of battles fought and survived. At his neck, half-hidden by the shadows of his cloak, was a black spider tattoo, the ink sprawling like venomous legs toward his collarbone.
He stood still, almost statue-like, until another presence slipped from the treeline—a cloaked subordinate, face hidden beneath a hood.
The subordinate's voice was low, respectful, carrying the weight of news.
"Caelith, words go by. Some unfamiliar students stopped by the town."
For a long moment, Caelith said nothing. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rustle of branches. Then, at last, he smiled.
It was not a warm smile, but one sharp with amusement, almost cruel in its calmness. His voice, when it came, was smooth yet edged, like a blade hidden beneath silk.
"Let's see."
The forest seemed to bend with his words, the shadows curling tighter, as if the Forsaken itself acknowledged him.