Chapter 5 – Shadows and Whispers
Max's POV
I had always preferred moving at my own pace — letting the city lead me rather than following the
others. While the group drifted toward the waterfront markets, I slipped away into the quieter
streets, chasing the scent of salt and smoke through Mare Rosso's twisting alleys.
The city changed when you walked it alone. Without the chatter of friends, every sound seemed
sharper — the clatter of a loose shutter rattling against an old brick wall, the faint hiss and hum of a
steam engine powering a distant factory, the low murmur of voices spilling from shadowed
doorways. The narrow alleys here felt alive with whispered secrets and half-forgotten stories.
A cat darted across my path, tail flicking as it disappeared beneath a stack of crates. An elderly man
leaned out of a cracked window, squinting as he mended a fishing net, nodding a quiet greeting that
I returned with a subtle tilt of my chin. Nearby, a group of dockworkers laughed heartily, passing
around a flask as they wiped sweat from their brows, the smell of tobacco and sea salt thick in the
air.
Despite the solitude, I felt connected — not to the crowd, but to the pulse beneath it. I wasn't
exactly the life of the party, but I had my ways. Friendly enough when approached, but mostly
content to observe. The city had its rhythm, and I preferred to move to its quieter beats.
A street vendor called out, offering freshly roasted chestnuts in exchange for a coin or two. I shook
my head, smiling faintly. "Maybe later," I muttered.
Passing beneath a wrought-iron balcony draped with drying laundry, I caught a glimpse of a young
woman sketching on her window ledge, her eyes bright with curiosity. I nodded briefly, sensing a
shared appreciation for the unnoticed details.
Here, alone, Mare Rosso felt less like a bustling port and more like a living story — one I was slowly
unraveling, one step at a time.
I stopped at a small dockside tavern I hadn't noticed before. Its sign was a painted brass ship's bell,
worn and creaking in the breeze. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the salt tang of the sea,
the low hum of a few patrons blending with the hiss of steam from the pipes behind the bar.
I slid onto a stool, ordered a dark ale, and let the silence settle around me. The barkeep was a
grizzled man, beard shot through with grey, eyes sharp and knowing. He slid my drink across
without asking for coin.
"Not from around here," he said, voice rough as weathered rope.
"Just visiting," I said. "Friends and I came down from Nareth."
He nodded slowly. "Folks come and go. Some stay, most keep moving north."
"North to what?" I asked, mostly to fill the quiet.The man's gaze lingered on me a moment before dropping back to the glass. "Depends who you ask.
Some say good fishing, better weather. Others say there's nothing worth finding."
I took a slow sip, letting the words hang between us.
"I've lived here all my life," he said after a pause. "Seen a lot, heard more. Heard stories about a
place up the cliffs — not far, as the crow flies. Folks don't talk about it much. Some say it's gone.
Some say it never was."
"What's it called?" I asked, curiosity pricking.
The barkeep's mouth tightened beneath his beard. "Didn't say it had a name."
Before I could press, he moved down the bar, leaving me alone with the growing shadows and an
uneasy feeling that some secrets here were best left buried.
Group's POV
By evening, the sun had dipped low, and we made our way toward the tavern Max had mentioned,
promises of meeting him at a place marked by a faded brass ship's bell.
The streets grew narrower, shadows longer. The gas lamps flickered uncertainly, casting weak
pools of light on slick cobblestones. The city felt different here — quieter, more watchful.
Liza walked beside Elli, her steps slower than usual, her eyes clouded with thoughts she wouldn't
share. John glanced back several times, worry creasing his brow.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" John asked, voice low.
Elli checked her journal, flipping pages with a frown. "It should be just up ahead, past the market
stalls."
Ren rolled his eyes, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. "Great. Getting lost in a city that's
already full of ghosts."
The narrow alleys twisted like a maze. Voices echoed faintly from shadowed doorways. Somewhere
behind them, the faint cry of a night bird pierced the air, a mournful note threading through the
silence.
Suddenly, the group paused. The tavern's sign was nowhere in sight. Liza's hand trembled as she
clutched her sketchbook tighter.
"We must've missed a turn," Elli muttered, frustration and unease flickering across her face.
John's smirk faded as he scanned the empty street ahead. "Feels like we're walking in circles."
Ren scoffed. "Maybe Mare Rosso doesn't want us to find Max."From the darkened corner, an old woman emerged like a shadow given shape. Her shawl hung
loose and threadbare, whispering against the cracked stones beneath her feet. Her eyes—sharp,
unreadable beneath heavy, furrowed brows—pierced the group with a slow, deliberate gaze. She
moved with the quiet certainty of one who has seen more than she should, stopping just before
them.
Her voice was low, gravelly yet steady, carrying the weight of forgotten things. "You seek the truth
of Vale," she said, her words almost a whisper, as if afraid to stir the night itself. "But some truths
are not kind to those who ask."
Elli's brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "Who are you?" she asked quietly, tone
steady but cautious. "And what do you mean by 'truth of Vale'? I don't understand what you're
asking."
The woman's eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing Elli's words. Her gaze shifted to Liza, who
instinctively clutched the sketchbook tighter. The air between them thickened, charged with a silent
warning. "Beware the red sea's warning," the old woman murmured, voice dropping to a ghostly
hush. "The bird that flies in the bleeding light carries more than shadow."
She lingered a heartbeat longer, her gaze seeming to pierce through the gathering darkness, before
slipping away like smoke, dissolving into the night's folds. The silence she left behind hung heavy—
an invisible weight pressing on their shoulders, seeping into their bones.
The distant crash of waves against the rocky shore was the only sound, steady and relentless like a
heartbeat echoing through the stillness.
Ren cracked his knuckles, breaking the silence with a forced laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Perfect. Just what we needed — cryptic warnings from creepy old ladies. This vacation's shaping
up nicely."
John shot Ren a pointed look. "Maybe it's time we start listening."
Ren rolled his eyes, flashing a grin. "Yeah, right. Next thing you know, we'll be swapping ghost
stories around a campfire. This is a vacation, not a séance."
Elli crossed her arms, her green eyes narrowing thoughtfully but her tone calm. "Sometimes
warnings are just that—warnings. But often, they're drowned out by noise. Maybe it's better to ask
questions than chase shadows."
John chuckled. "Leave it to Elli to turn a creepy old lady into a research project."
The others laughed, the tension easing like a breath released. All except Liza.
She sat quiet, fingers clutching her sketchbook, her eyes distant and troubled. The woman's words
echoed in her mind— "Beware the red sea's warning. The bird that flies in the bleeding light carries
more than shadow." Something about the tone, the urgency, planted a seed of unease deep within
her.As the group moved on, Liza lingered a moment longer, watching the shadows ripple against the
harbor water. The city's light and life seemed to mask something darker beneath the surface,
something only she could feel.