The hall was alive with light.
Candles glowed in tall iron holders, their flames bending with the faint draft that slipped through hidden cracks in the stone. The chandeliers above shivered with brilliance, gold and crystal catching every spark until the ceiling itself seemed hung with stars. The long table ran like a river through the chamber, white linen draped and spilling over its edges, goblets lined like sentinels of glass and silver.
Servants moved quietly around its edges, their steps soft, their faces lowered, bearing trays heavy with roasted meats, steaming bread, and pitchers of deep red wine. The air carried layers of scent—charred fat, rosemary, citrus peel, the faint sweetness of candied figs. It pressed warm against the chest, inviting and heavy all at once.
At the far end sat Garric.
The candlelight made him both distant and present, a figure carved of iron and ember. His hands rested on the arms of his chair, rings glinting, his eyes calm but searching, as though every smile and every silence at the table were written for him alone.
Closer to the center sat Gareth and Kael. Gareth's plate filled quickly—slices of roasted lamb, flatbread still smoking, fruit laid carefully by unseen hands. A maid leaned close to pour him juice from a tall jug; he caught her wrist gently when the cup brimmed too high. She blinked at him, startled, but he only smiled—quiet, soft, the kind of smile that asked nothing in return. She bowed and withdrew, the faintest warmth rising in her cheeks.
Kael, meanwhile, was less composed. Aelina sat across from him, her chin resting lightly in her hand, her eyes glimmering with mischief. Every time Kael reached for something—bread, a knife, even his goblet—she seemed to find a reason to tease him.
"So, Ser Draven," she said, tilting her head. "Is it true you once defeated three classmates at once? I hear the story's grown with every telling."
Kael coughed, nearly spilling his wine. "That—wasn't… they weren't serious duels. More like… training accidents."
Her laugh was low, musical, slipping through the hum of the feast. "Training accidents, hm? The way you blush tells another tale."
Kael's ears burned crimson as he ducked his head, muttering something into his cup. Gareth watched the exchange with a twitch at the corner of his lips, tearing a strip of bread and chewing slowly, his eyes dancing though he spoke not a word.
The hall itself seemed to breathe with them—the servants flowing in and out like tides, the flicker of light softening every shadow, the clatter of plates subdued beneath the undercurrent of quiet talk. Every so often, a laugh broke—a small, honest sound, spilling from Gareth or Kael or Aelina, and it lingered like incense in the air.
Gareth leaned back, the sweet juice cool against his tongue, the lamb tender with smoke. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, letting it sink into him—the warmth, the voices, the strange peace of it all. For months, meals had been rations, hurried bites stolen from the sea or the road. This—this felt like a memory he had never lived.
When he opened his eyes, Garric was watching.
The man's expression was unreadable, caught between pride and distance, but his gaze softened for just a moment before slipping away into shadow.
The meal stretched long, yet it passed like water in cupped hands—gone before one realized it had begun. Plates cleared, goblets drained, the servants moved once more with practiced grace. Gareth finished the last bite of roasted peach, savoring the sweetness, before he set his fork down with care.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice low but certain.
The words seemed to settle over the table like a vow. Aelina's eyes flickered to him, Kael's jaw eased, even Garric gave the faintest nod, his ringed hand closing once on the armrest as though in agreement.
The hall dimmed as the night waned. Candles burned lower, shadows stretched longer, and the warmth of food gave way to the cool hush of early dawn pressing at the windows.
The feast was over, but its weight lingered in the air—like the echo of music, like the aftertaste of wine.
The hall emptied slowly, like embers fading from a fire. Candles guttered low in their holders, servants drifted into silence, and the heavy doors whispered shut behind the last of the guests. The warmth of roasted meats and wine clung faintly to the air, but the night beyond had turned sharp and clean.
Gareth stepped into the corridor, his hand brushing the cold stone as he moved. His stomach was full, but it was not heaviness he carried—it was stillness, the kind that presses in after laughter and firelight. Kael had already vanished somewhere into the barracks, muttering about sleep, though not before stumbling over one of Aelina's parting remarks, which left her smiling to herself.
She caught Gareth's eye as the corridor bent into shadow.
"Too loud in there," she said softly. "Come."
Her voice carried no command, only invitation. He followed without a word.
They passed under archways where torchlight guttered, their footsteps echoing against marble tiles. The world outside was changing as they walked—the deep night thinning, a pale silver beginning to thread the horizon. The castle doors groaned open at their touch, and suddenly the air struck them cool and alive, filled with the faint scent of dew and pine.
Aurensport slept beneath them, its countless roofs black against the faint glow of stars. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, drifting into the dawn. Ships stood in the harbor like a forest of masts, their sails furled, their hulls rocking in the tide's slow breath. The sea shimmered faintly, catching the first hints of light.
Aelina walked just ahead, her dark hair unbound, stirred by the breeze. The pale silk of her dress whispered at her ankles, silver in the half-light. She looked not at the city, but at the horizon itself—as though it had spoken to her and she alone could answer.
The cliffs waited beyond the gardens, their grass wet with morning. The two of them stood together at the edge, where stone fell sheer into the vastness of sea and sky.
"It's quieter here," she said, her voice almost lost to the wind.
Gareth breathed in the salt air, letting it cool him. For a long while he said nothing. The horizon stretched forever, a faint blaze of orange beginning to rise. He felt the urge to speak—about the sea, about the things he had seen upon it, about storms and freedom and loss—but he said none of it.
Instead, he only smiled. A small thing. Quiet.
Aelina turned and saw it, and though she didn't ask what it meant, her own lips curved, as if to answer in kind.
The sun broke then, spilling its light across the water, setting the harbor aflame with gold. The cliffs caught it, the wind caught it, and for a moment it seemed as though the world itself held its breath with them.
Neither spoke.
There was no need.
The light of dawn was still spilling across the cliffs when movement stirred the grass behind them.
A man stood there, as though he had always been waiting.
Tall, his coat dark as midnight, a broad black hat shadowing his face. He said nothing, but in his hands he held the reins of three horses—creatures the color of storm-clouds, their eyes burning faintly like embers. They pawed the ground restlessly, their breath misting in the morning air.
Kael was the first to move. He squinted, then gave a small, half-grin that betrayed his nerves.
"Well," he muttered, "I suppose one doesn't argue with chance."
He stepped forward, swung himself onto the nearest horse, and the animal snorted as though accepting him.
Gareth lingered. His gaze shifted to Aelina. The breeze carried her hair across her face, and for an instant she looked too fragile for the world, standing there against the edge of sea and sky.
He raised a hand, resting it gently atop her head.
"You'll learn, Aelina," he said softly, "life isn't about how long we hold it—it's about what we leave behind in its passing."
Her lips parted, but no words came. Only silence. Only the sea.
The man in the black hat swung onto his own horse with quiet ease. His presence was heavy, but not cruel—like the inevitability of a tide. Without a sound, he lifted one hand. The air shivered, tore.
Before them yawned a portal, vast and swirling black, its edges lined with faint violet sparks. It hummed like the memory of thunder.
Kael's horse reared, then plunged forward, carrying him into the void. His laughter echoed, raw and reckless.
"Goodbye!" he shouted, voice flung against the collapsing sky.
Gareth mounted the second horse, sparing Aelina one last glance, that same quiet smile upon his face. Then, with the man in the black hat following, they rode together into the darkness.
The portal sealed behind them like the closing of an eye, and the dawn cliffs were empty once more.
Hooves struck nothing, yet the sound still echoed—hollow, endless. The void stretched in every direction, an ocean of black with no stars, no ground, no sky. Only the faint glow of their horses' breath marked the air, drifting like smoke before vanishing.
Kael rode close, his usual grin dimmed by awe. The figure in the black hat rode ahead, silent as a shadow, coat flowing like smoke.
Gareth's voice cut into the stillness, quiet but certain.
"Aurensport isn't what it seems," he said, eyes forward. "It's not one city—it's two."
Kael glanced at him, frowning.
"There's Port Town—City P. That's where Garric lives, where the harbor breathes, where the ships come and go. The face the world sees."
His words floated in the dark, steady, like a map drawn in the air itself.
"And then," he continued, "there's Trade Town—City T. A place so vast it feels endless. Walled markets upon markets. Alleys that hide a hundred doors. Tunnels beneath streets no one admits exist. They say you can buy anything there—power, secrets, souls. It's not a city of stone." His lips curved faintly. "It's a city of whispers."
Kael exhaled, a low whistle. "And we're heading straight into it, aren't we?"
The figure ahead gave no answer, only guiding his black horse deeper into the void. The darkness pressed closer, alive with silence.
Side by side, Gareth and Kael rode onward, their shapes swallowed by the endless black.
And the void listened.