Chapter 4 – The Merchant of Chains
Night fell like a hammer.
The campfire was small, almost ashamed of itself. The guards rotated shifts; Gorran already snored, cocooned in his blanket.
Nyxarion sat on a flat stone during the first watch, motionless, counting the breaths of every living thing in the camp took.
Lucas, of course, couldn't keep quiet.
Look at them, man. A kid in chains. This is fucked up. Can't we do something?
Nyxarion surveyed the camp with ice-cold eyes.
No.
But it's wrong.
"Wrong" is a luxury for people who get to choose. We don't. Not yet.
Lucas pressed, voice shaking with anger.
So we just sit here and watch? Do nothing?
Exactly. Watch. Memorize. Record every guard's face, every key ring, every lock. Information is power, passenger. Real power comes later.
A low sob drifted from the middle wagon. The same brown-haired girl stared at the fire, eyes wide with terror and cold.
Lucas almost shouted.
She's scared out of her mind! Do something!
Nyxarion didn't even blink.
Do what? Free one child in a forest crawling with predators and bandits? She'd be dead in two hours. And we'd lose the caravan, the merchant's trust, and our clean entry into Karathar.
He turned his head slowly toward the girl. She met his gaze.
Nyxarion held eye contact for three heartbeats.
Then, with the tiniest flick of two fingers, he sent a thread of shadow thinner than a hair.
It brushed the lock on the girl's ankle chain and did absolutely nothing visible.
It simply read the tumblers, weighed the iron, memorized the key shape.
Data. Nothing more.
The girl frowned, confused. Nyxarion looked away, as if she had never existed.
Lucas erupted.
You pretended to help just to shut me up?!
No. I collected data. When the day comes that I want those chains open, every single one will fall silently, perfectly, without a single mistake. And it won't be out of kindness. It will be because, in that moment, it serves me. Dead witnesses are useless. Freed slaves can be very useful.
Lucas went quiet, processing.
You're a cold-hearted bastard.
Always have been.
You're finally learning how the game is played.
The girl lowered her head again, hope snuffed out.
The fire crackled.
The watch dragged on.
No heroic gestures.
No hidden tears.
Just an ancient king cataloguing pieces on the board, and a human being forced to understand that pity without power is just another word for weakness.
The night marched forward.
Karathar was two days away.
And Nyxarion kept counting breaths, keys, and possibilities.
End of Chapter 4