Keane awoke to the taste of iron and perfume on his tongue, the scent of Sylvi's skin still etched into the rumpled sheets. He immediately noticed her absence as she was not in his room.
A sense of disappointment appeared in his mind, but it was instinctive and brief. Almost immediately after it disappeared, it was replaced by a surge of satisfaction as his system flickered into focus.
[You have gained 200 EXP!]
The notification he had seen before falling asleep. With 200 more EXP under his belt and a memory of Sylvi's hungry kisses fading on his lips, his goals felt less like bravado and more like prophecy.
He sat up, the sheet sliding down his bare torso, and stared at the mirror in the corner. His face, still infuriatingly young, no hint of the lines or weathered angles he'd grown fond of back on Earth, with eyes a vivid green that seemed even sharper in the light of the morning sun that shone through the open window. He splashed water on his face, and after a brief wash, reached for the towel.
Just as he reached the towel, that was when the voices came to his ears, muffled almost, but unmistakable. With his enhanced senses, even with the thick walls of the inn, he could pick up the raised voices, the shuffle of boots on stone, and the clash of crockery in the inn's common room. Keane paused, his senses sharpening as he focused. He was aware that his senses had become sharper, but perhaps he still needed to work on them to understand and gain better mastery.
The information he could gather was fragmented and unclear, speaking about banners, guards, patrols… if he wanted more clarity, he would need to go down.
'If I was on earth, I would be superman with all the thin walls.' He thought to himself as he walked towards his clothes.
He dressed quickly, slipping into the loose shirt and dark trousers Lina had picked out at the market. The fabric was coarse but clean and oddly soothing, the fit slightly baggy at the wrists and ankles, perfect for freedom of movement. He threw on the leather vest, checked the mirror again, and made his move.
He opened the door, just enough to catch the current of voices from the stairwell. After locking his door, he moved with intent, steps light but not suspicious, just another guest drawn by the promise of a free breakfast or maybe news of the world outside.
The common room was like a study in controlled panic. Merchants clustered in tight knots, their faces pale and mouths thin with worry it seemed. The inn's owner, Joren, barked orders at a pair of serving girls, who moved with a haste. At the far end, Keane noticed three guards in chainmail hunched over mugs of sour ale, eyes darting between the door and the windows with the intensity of men who'd seen too much violence for one sunrise. 'What's with them?' he wondered.
Keane leaned against the banister, feigning nonchalance, but his ears were wide open.
"Last night alone, two dead in the northern quarter. Some say they were Inquisitors, others blame the Red Guild—" One man said.
"—heard the Viscount himself is calling up every able-bodied man for a militia—"
"Hmm, that's news alright—"
Listening to these, Keane grinned. Trouble always made for the best opportunities after all.
He shifted his weight, scanning the room for Elara or Mara, but neither was in sight, probably still in their room.
Instead, he caught the gaze of one of the guards, a man with a nose that looked like it had been broken more times than a tavern chair. The guard stared back, measuring, then looked away, pretending to care more about his drink than the dangerous stranger in the doorway.
Keane descended, his mind working. The city's unrest was both a complication and an invitation. He could feel it, something big was about to drop, and that the right leverage, at the right moment, could buy him more than all the EXP in the world… perhaps not literally.
But first, he needed information. He needed to find Elara. He would do so himself, but the time wasn't right for a stranger to go around sniffing for information.
Just then, the the energy seemed to have shifted, if only subtly, as Elara entered, truly a strange thing to witness, as it was like her mere presence carried with it an aura of reverence. She moved with her usual precision, but this morning something was different. Her jaw was set, and her hands gripped the folds of her robe a little tighter than normal.
Elara surveyed the room, eyes skipping over each cluster of merchants, each huddle of hired swords, until she found Keane. For a heartbeat, her composure faltered, then she schooled her features back into icy perfection and started walking his way.
She didn't make it three steps before the door slammed open, and a figure sweeping in with a gust of cold air. The figure wore a cloak, hood shadowing the face, but the posture and feeling the figure gave off announced that this was no simple messenger.
The room went dead silent. The guards straightened. Even Joren, for all his bluster, paled a shade and took a careful step back.
'And who's this guy?'