The rhythmic thud of heavy hooves against the dirt road had become the only sound tethering Doren, Katarina, and Anya to reality.
For seven grueling days, they hadn't stopped pushing forward. Ever since the events in Limka, ever since Meko's life was taken away, Doren had driven their mounts at a punishing pace. The grief was a physical weight in his chest, pressing down right alongside the suffocating, volatile hum of the Powerhart. If he let them stop, he knew the sorrow would completely swallow him, and the elemental power tearing at his seams would finally break loose.
So, they rode. The voices of the ancient firsts had quieted, allowing him to stay locked into his grief. He hadn't known Meko for very long, but the impact that that one man made on Doren was a lifetime of kinship. One that Doren would never forget.
They navigated the dense woods and winding valleys heading South, sleeping only in shivering bursts on the cold ground beside their tethered beasts. The last time any of them had felt the soft comfort of a real mattress was back in Havenport, the night before they had gotten attacked, Varen had gotten kidnapped, and Doren's name was negatively stamped. That felt like a lifetime ago.
Now, their clothes were stiff with sweat and road dust. Their muscles ached down to the marrow from days in the saddle, and dark, heavy circles bruised the skin beneath their eyes.
Finally, as the late afternoon sun began to cast long shadows across the landscape, the dense treeline broke.
Nestled in a quiet, sprawling valley before them was Iliadis. It was a modest, unassuming settlement, home to barely a few hundred people. Plumes of pale gray smoke drifted lazily from stone chimneys, and the faint, peaceful sounds of a blacksmith's hammer and barking canines drifted on the breeze. It was the final outpost nestled on the coast. It was the very last stop before they reached the ferry to Shifton Island.
Katarina let out a long exhale, shifting her weight in the saddle of her Fenhoof. She flicked two fingers upward, calling a cool, gentle current of air to weave through her dusty hair and dry the sweat pooling on the back of her neck. She stretched upward, dropping the reigns of her steer, several popping sounds coming from her spine.
"Tell me we're stopping," she rasped, her voice completely raw from the dry road, gently patting the side of her weary mount. "Tell me we are actually riding through those gates and renting a room." She grabbed a canteen from the side saddle and took a long gulp.
Beside her, Anya slumped forward, leaning her forearms heavily against the neck of her own Fenhoof. She didn't say a word, but the exhausted look in her eyes echoed Katarina's plea. She looked like she was ready to slide out of her saddle and collapse in the tall grass.
Doren sat completely still atop his Steernia, the six legged beast shifting restlessly beneath him, sensing its rider's unease. He stared down at the quiet cluster of wooden buildings and thatched roofs. His chest tightened.
Every time they entered a town, people died. Havenport. Limka. The Order of the Sunless was hunting them, tracking the Powerhart that radiated from his very core. Bringing this curse into another peaceful settlement felt like leading a pack of starving wolves into a sheep pen.
But as he looked at Katarina and Anya, the two women who had stayed by his side, surviving on scraps of dried meat and sheer willpower just to keep moving, he knew he couldn't ask them to sleep in the dirt for an eighth night in a row. They and their steers were running on absolutely nothing.
Doren swallowed the hard, dry lump of anxiety in his throat and gently pulled back on the Steernia's leather reins.
"We'll stop," Doren said, his voice quiet. He spurred his mount forward, taking the first slow step down the hill toward the village. "We'll find an inn. We get one night of actual sleep in a bed, stable the steers, and at first light, we head for the island. I have to find Fennix."
Katarina let out a long sigh, the tension in her shoulders unwinding just a fraction at the prospect. Her own room. The thought of a closed wooden door. Four solid walls. Absolute solitude. At this point those three things were the only thing keeping her upright in the saddle. She desperately needed a private, quiet place where she could finally drop her guard and fully grieve the staggering loss of her brother, her best friend. The brutal pace of the road had demanded her constant vigilance, forcing her to swallow her tears for the time being. Her only focus the last week was on survival, but tonight, she just wanted the grace to fall apart alone.
Beside her, Anya let out a long, pathetic groan, shifting her stiff limbs on the Fenhoof. "I can't wait to wash up," she mumbled, swatting a layer of dust off her sleeve. "I feel like I'm wearing half the dirt these beasts have kicked up."
They certainly had the means for comfort. The heavy pouches of gold they had secured from their business deals back in Limka clinked softly against their saddlebags. They could easily afford a night of total privacy, hot baths, and as much food and ale as the local tavern could provide.
Doren nudged his Steernia forward, taking the point and leaving the girls a few paces behind. With Meko gone, the mantle of leadership had fallen squarely onto Doren's shoulders. It was a heavy, uncomfortable burden to bear but Doren forced himself to sit tall. Someone had to guide them, and he owed it to Meko's memory to step up.
He rode up to the sturdy wooden gates of Iliadis. The town guard standing watch was a young man, dressed in thick, layered leather and fur armor. The armor was different compared to the standard chain link and steel they had grown accustomed to seeing on the guards in Havenport, Limka, or even the patrols they had skirted around near Bralty and Mixento. The rugged, practical attire spoke heavily to the isolated, harsh nature of the coast.
Doren met the young guard's eyes, doing his absolute best to project a calm, steady authority he didn't actually feel.
"We've come to stay a night and catch the next ferry to Shifton Island," Doren stated, his voice carrying a dusty, exhausted grit.
"No chance, mate," the guard responded, casually leaning against the heavy wooden post. "Tomorrow's the island's shifting. Waters will be too rough to sail. You can probably catch the ferry the day after. Welcome to Iliadis." He motioned to another guard stationed above, and the guard started hauling the wooden door open using a wheel.
Doren hid a grimace as he moved his Steernia forward. An extra day. An extra twenty-four hours sitting perfectly still in a populated area, giving the Order of the Sunless time to close the gap. But as he glanced back at Katarina and Anya, who looked entirely dead and defeated, he reasoned with himself that the rest was non-negotiable. If they pushed themselves onto a ferry in this condition, they wouldn't survive the crossing anyway.
They walked their mounts through the quiet streets of Iliadis. The town was built for utility against the coastal weather, with low-slung stone foundations and steeply pitched thatched roofs. The salty bite of the ocean was noticeably stronger here, mixing with the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth. The coastal waters crashed violently against the rocky coast.
A giant island could be seen off in the distance, appearing sliced in half. One side of the island was much higher than the other. The silhouette was eerie. Doren watched the island for some time as they traveled down the dirt street.
They found a stable near the center of town. The stable master, an older man with rough hands and haystraw hair, came out to greet them, wiping his hands on a stained leather apron. He took the reins of Anya and Katarina's exhausted Fenhoofs first, murmuring soft words to the beasts. He then stepped up to Doren's massive mount.
The old man paused, his thumb tracing the polished metal insignia stamped into the saddle's leather. "This one's got Limka's crest on it," the stable master noticed, his brow furrowing slightly.
Doren didn't miss a beat. He channeled the practiced, smooth deception he had watched Meko use before.
"I bought it off a drunken guard for ten gold," Doren said, lying effortlessly through his teeth, keeping his expression flat.
The stable master let out a raspy chuckle, shaking his head. "Sounds 'bout right," he said, taking the Steernia's heavy reins. "Them city guards would sell their own children for a flagon of mead. We'll take good care of 'em, lad. Give 'em a proper brush and a heavy feed. Come back whenever you're ready."
With their mounts secured, the trio grabbed their packs and stepped back out into the coastal, evening air. The promise of rest pulled them forward down the dirt street toward the loudest building in the village.The light emanating from it matched the warmth it radiated.
The Greet, Eat, and Sleep was carved on a wooden plague hung proudly, but unproffessionally, above the door. When Doren pushed the heavy oak door open, the sudden rush of heat and the thick, savory aroma of roasted meats, baked bread, and spiced ale practically knocked them backward.
It was absolute heaven. The tavern floor was scattered with a few dozen locals, fishermen and merchants wrapping up their day in the dim, smoky light. Doren led Katarina and Anya straight to the sturdy wooden bar at the back of the room. The innkeeper, a stout woman with flour dusted across her apron, wiped down the counter and gave the three battered travelers a knowing look.
"You look like you've been on the road for a while," she noted dryly. "What can I do for you?"
"We need food," Doren said, pulling one of the heavy gold pouches from his belt and setting it on the polished wood. "A lot of it. Three rounds of ale, access to hot bathwater, and three private rooms for two nights."
The innkeeper's eyes flicked to the gold pouch, and her customer service smile became instantly genuine. "You'll have hot plates on a table by the hearth in five minutes, and the rooms are yours. Go sit, warm your bones. I'll get the ale pouring."
The three of them made their way over to a table situated right beside the roaring stone hearth. They sat on the wooden chairs and felt the long ride there wear off instantly.
Doren took a quiet moment to look around. Iliadis really was just a miniature reflection of Havenport. It was just stripped of the overwhelming bustle.
Katarina leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands. The firelight flickered across her dirt-stained knuckles. "Two nights," she mumbled into her palms, the fact that she could finally rest caught up to her body. "I don't think I'm leaving my room for the entire forty-eight hours."
Anya let her head hang back against the top of her wooden chair, staring blankly up at the exposed beams of the ceiling. "If the mattress is even slightly softer than a rock, I might never leave it at all."
Before Doren could reply, the innkeeper appeared beside their table, balancing a massive wooden tray. She set down three heavy tankards of dark, spiced ale, followed by deep bowls piled high with thick slices of roasted meat, steaming root vegetables, and torn hunks of fresh bread.
"Eat up," the woman ordered with an authoritative motherly tone. "Water's heating for the baths. You can wash the road off when your bellies are full."
Katarina and Anya didn't even bother with the utensils laid on both sides of the bowl. Driven by seven days of near starvation, they tore into the thick slices of meat and crisp bread with their bare hands, the grease shining on their dirt smudged fingers.
Doren bypassed the food entirely. He reached for his tankard of ale sitting in the center of the table, and tipped his tankard back and took a long swallow. He had never been one to drink alcohol, but after the sheer, unrelenting horror of the past two weeks, he wanted to bathe in the liquid to momentarily numb the energy of the Powerhart and wash away the image of Meko perishing in Limka.
Beside him, Anya paused eating to let out a satisfied sigh. She used her forearm to slick her greasy, sweat ridden hair back from her forehead. "I can't wait for that bath," she declared, her voice muffled slightly by the bread.
Katarina paused her own eating, managing to pull her lips up into a small, faint smile. "Neither can I," Katarina agreed softly, staring down at the grain of the wooden table. "It's been way too long."
Doren didn't respond. His gaze had drifted away from his companions, locking onto the far wall of the tavern. The low hum of the inn faded into a dull white noise. Near the front door, a large, scratched wooden board was nailed to the wall, plastered with overlapping pieces of weathered parchment. As the girls continued talking softly amongst themselves, Doren slowly stood up. He grabbed his tankard of ale and walked away from the table.
He stopped a few inches from the board, his eyes scanning the mess of town schedules and local bounties. But one specific piece of parchment stood out against the rest. It looked freshly pinned, the black ink still wet.
It simply read:
The Elemental Assassin's
Join Today
Shifton, Shifton Island
Doren stared at the words, his curiosity peaking. He tilted his head, taking another slow drink from his tankard.
Assassins. The word played over in his mind. The fact that an entire organization of elemental mercenaries was bravely advertising on a tavern wall was intriguing enough on its own, but the location was what really hooked his attention. Shifton Island. Their next destination.
He leaned a fraction closer to the parchment. With the Order of the Sunless relentlessly hunting him for his power,, walking blindly onto an island that housed a guild of elemental assassins was a massive, unpredictable variable. It could be a deadly trap, or it could be the exact kind of cover they desperately needed. For the first time in seven days, his mind shifted away from sheer survival and began to analyze the possibilities.