None of it mattered as the guards waved us through the gates, barely glancing at our road-worn forms.
And then — Kithra revealed itself.
The city was layered, carved into the coastal cliffs in massive terraces that rose one above the next like stone steps reaching for the heavens. From where we stood, I could see all the way down to the harbor, where warships and merchant vessels floated like insects on steel-gray water.
The streets pulsed with movement — knights in training, scholars in deep blue robes, travelers with sun-dark skin and unfamiliar accents. Alleyways threaded between towering stone buildings like veins through flesh, and looming above it all was the Citadel of the Crimson Sun — ancestral seat of House Calgrace.
It was beautiful.And unsettling.
"I've never seen anything like this," Auralia whispered, slowly turning in place as her eyes took in the scale of the city. Her hair caught the wind, and for a moment, I saw that same spark of childlike awe that I remembered from our youth."It's like a world carved out of stone."
I nodded, distracted. There was something off about this place. Not obvious — not something I could name. But beneath the noise, the wind, and the bustle, there was a stillness.A silence that watched.
"Let's find a place to stay," I said. "We'll need information. Supplies."
"And food," she added with a grin. "Something that hasn't been smoked over a campfire or eaten cold out of a bag."
We laughed. The tension eased — briefly. But as we moved deeper into the city's heart, we passed a mural carved into a black stone wall. A depiction of some forgotten battle — sunlight and shadow locked in eternal war, the figures so weathered by time they barely resembled men.
At the center stood a crowned figure. Fangs carved into their smile.I didn't know it then.But I had just looked into the eyes of the city's true master.
The Copper Veil Inn sat nestled in a quieter corner of Kithra's middle tier — far enough from the harbor to avoid the stench of fish, but not so close to the upper district that it became unaffordable. Ivy crawled up its stone façade, and its copper fixtures caught the afternoon sun in warm gleams.
Inside, it was clean and welcoming, with the faint scent of honeyed tea and woodsmoke in the air.
Marla, the innkeeper, was a stout woman with salt-and-pepper hair. She greeted us with a practiced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her tone was polite, her prices fair. She handed me a heavy brass key — but her gaze flicked to the tattoos on my forearm. Not with curiosity. With recognition.
She said nothing.But I remembered.
The next few days passed in a haze of rest and routine. Hot meals. Hot baths. Auralia dove into the city like a girl seeing the world for the first time. She dragged me through harbor markets, haggled with jewelers and spice merchants, and sampled strange foods with gleeful abandon.
I played along.Tried to relax.
But something about Kithra gnawed at the edges of my thoughts.
It began with little things.
A vendor's smile faltering when Auralia asked how long they'd lived here.A guard stiffening when I asked directions to the city library.A child staring too long, then bolting when we met their eyes.
In the Temple District, a priest in crimson robes gave blessings on the steps of a shrine. No one approached. Not one offering. Not one prayer. The air around him felt cold, despite the sunlight.
And then, at dusk, we saw them.
A procession of nobles crossing the street ahead — silent, dressed in dark silks, their eyes hidden behind silver-mirrored masks. They moved in eerie unison. No one spoke.
Every civilian turned away. Even the beggars lowered their heads.
I glanced at Auralia. She saw it too. She wasn't smiling anymore.
That night, we sat by the hearth in silence. The fire crackled, throwing flickering shadows across the stone walls.
"This place is… strange," she murmured.
I nodded. "Like something's wrong, but no one will speak it aloud."
She pulled her knees to her chest. "Do you think it's magic? A curse?"
I didn't answer. Because deep down, I wasn't sure if it was magic — or just fear.A fear buried so deep it had shaped the city's very breath.Whatever ruled Kithra — crown, coin, or something darker — had its claws in everything.And it was watching.
The next morning, we sat in the Copper Veil's modest dining hall, tucked into a corner booth where sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains. Warm bread and herbal tea softened the edges of unease. But only just.
"I don't like it here," Auralia said, stirring her tea absently. "Everything feels… too quiet. Too rehearsed."
I nodded slowly. "Like a play where everyone knows their lines — and we're the only ones without a script."
We didn't mention the silver-masked nobles again. But the image lingered.We agreed — silently — to stay out of it.For now.
Our days settled into routine. We explored the safer, busier parts of the city by daylight: markets, bookshops, apothecaries. Auralia marveled at sea-glass trinkets and ornate jewelry, and I kept close, pretending to browse — watching the crowd more than the wares.
But we never wandered after sunset.
At night, we returned to the Copper Veil, shut the windows, locked the door. Even the inn seemed quieter after dark, as if its very walls knew better than to let sound travel.
Still, despite the tension, we had moments that reminded us why we'd come. Why we'd left home.We shared jokes over dinner.She leaned her head against my shoulder by the fire.Sometimes, her touch lingered.
But beneath it all, we were cautious.Wary.
Villagers at heart. Not heroes.Not yet.
But cities like Kithra have a way of pulling people in — unraveling quiet lives, thread by thread.And I couldn't shake the feeling that, no matter how carefully we stayed at the edge…sooner or later, we'd be caught in its web.
The sky was turning velvet gray as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the winding alleyways and towering spires.
We had just returned from a walk along the sea cliffs, the wind sharp with salt and the scent of coming rain.
Auralia had smiled more that day — even laughed as we passed a street performer juggling knives and fire. She always liked things that danced on the edge of danger.
"We should head back before dark," I said with half a smile. "The city gets too quiet after sunset. Feels like it's holding its breath."
"I just want to stop by that glass shop again," she said, flashing me a grin. "I promise not to disappear into a back alley."
I let her go, just a few steps ahead. Her red cloak fluttered like a flame in the wind.
Then — I looked away. Just for a moment.To adjust my pack.To glance down a shadowed side street where something flickered — something that moved.
When I looked back… she was gone.
"Auralia?"
I stepped forward, heart already racing.The street was empty.Still.
Too still.