"The gods speak in silence, in rot, in rebellion. They don't answer prayers. They wait for the moment we damn ourselves."
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The farmhouse felt smaller than it should have, its low ceiling pressing down like the weight of impending doom. Nisheena stood by the single window, her crimson eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the glass, watching for movement that might herald either salvation or disaster. The northern district of Baelur stretched out before her. a collection of modest homes and working farms where honest folk tried to scratch out lives from unforgiving soil. It was a far cry from the political intrigue and careful manipulations of her inn, but tonight it might be the only safe haven left in a town about to tear itself apart.
Kael's house embodied the simple pragmatism of farming folk. Rough-hewn timber walls, a stone hearth that had seen decades of use, furniture built for function rather than beauty. The main room served as kitchen, dining area, and gathering space all at once, with two smaller chambers branching off one for sleeping, one for storage. It was clean, well-maintained, and utterly ordinary. The kind of place where decent people raised their children and planned for harvests that might never come.
She had arrived an hour ago, her usual composed demeanor cracking under the strain of what she'd set in motion. Convincing those boys to attempt a rescue had seemed like calculated pragmatism at the time. the mysterious stranger's reaction to news of the king's blessed suggested forces at work beyond simple town politics. But now, waiting in this humble farmhouse while young men risked their lives in the darkness, her certainty wavered like candleflame in a draft.
"Lady Nisheena," Kael's mother said softly from where she sat mending a torn shirt by the firelight. "What if they were captured? They'll kill my boy."
Miren was a woman weathered by years of frontier life, her brown hair streaked with premature gray and her hands callused from endless work. She'd lost her husband to the cursed lands three winters past, torn apart by something that howled in the night and left only scattered bones by morning. Since then, she'd watched her son grow from grieving boy to determined young man, taking on responsibilities that should have belonged to his father. The fear in her voice now spoke of a mother who had already lost everything once and couldn't bear to lose what remained.
Nisheena turned from the window, forcing her expression into something approaching confidence. "Don't worry about him. Kael is a smart boy; he'll be careful. He knows this town better than Tarkun's men do."