Alaric needed three things before nightfall.
Food.
Information.
A place where he would not bleed in his sleep.
The first was already a problem.
His stomach tightened as he stepped beyond the ruined boundary stones. The dull ache wasn't hunger alone, it was exhaustion layered over injury. The circulation he'd forced earlier had stabilized his foundation, but it had left his ribs tender, his breath shallow if he moved too quickly.
If he circulated again tonight, he would vomit blood.
He slowed his pace.
Ahead, the ruins thinned into dirt roads and low stone walls. Smoke curled upward from clustered rooftops. A settlement small, functional, alive.
Too close to the ruins.
Which meant it was either ignored…
or watched.
Alaric wiped dust from his hands and adjusted his torn sleeve. The bloodstain near his ribs was already darkening. He would need new clothes soon, or questions would come faster than he wanted.
He stepped onto the road.
The air shifted.
Not pressure.
Recognition.
His jaw tightened. So this place was registered ground.
A pair of guards stood near the outer marker stones. Not sect disciples ,local muscle. Spears worn smooth by use, eyes sharp in the way of men paid to notice strangers.
One of them straightened as Alaric approached.
"You coming from the ruins?" the guard asked.
"Yes."
That was enough to change the man's posture.
"Name?"
Alaric hesitated.
Not because he feared giving it.
Because once spoken here, it would travel.
He tasted iron at the back of his throat irritation, sharp and unwelcome.
Running would make him a target.
Lying would make him interesting.
He exhaled.
"Alaric."
The guard scratched it onto a wooden tablet. "Any sect?"
"No."
The other guard glanced up. "Cultivation level?"
Alaric met his gaze.
"Unregistered."
The word hung between them, heavier than it should have been.
The first guard frowned. "Then you'll need to register at the notice pillar before sunset."
"I will," Alaric said.
A pause.
Then the guard waved him through, slower now, eyes lingering on the tear in his sleeve.
Alaric walked on.
Each step deeper into the settlement tightened something invisible around him. He felt it in the way conversations dulled as he passed. In the way shopkeepers watched without staring. In the way a child tugged her mother's sleeve and was pulled back wordlessly.
He found the notice pillar near the central well.
Azure Boundary Sect.
The sigil was fresh.
His fingers twitched once at his side before he stilled them.
So they were already here.
He read the posted regulations quickly. Registration procedures. Temporary residency rules. Consequences for concealment.
Efficient. Clean. Suffocating.
He reached the bottom line.
Unregistered cultivators must submit to verification upon request.
Alaric smiled faintly.
So the net was already woven.
He turned away from the pillar and headed toward the nearest inn. Each step sent a dull throb through his ribs. He counted his breaths, controlling the pace, refusing to show weakness.
Inside the inn, the smell of cooked grain hit him like a hammer.
His stomach clenched hard enough that he had to grip the counter.
The innkeeper noticed.
"How long since you last ate?" the man asked, not unkindly.
"Long enough," Alaric replied.
He paid in copper, keeping the rest out of sight.
The innkeeper glanced at it, then at Alaric's sleeve again. "Room's extra if you bleed on the sheets."
"I won't," Alaric said.
The words came out colder than intended.
The innkeeper shrugged. "Stairs on the left. Food's downstairs until sunset."
Alaric took the stairs slowly.
The room was narrow, the bed thin. He sat and let the door close behind him.
Only then did his hand tremble.
Just once.
He clenched it into a fist until the shaking stopped.
This is the cost, he thought. Being seen.
A knock sounded at the door.
Not loud.
Not polite.
Measured.
Alaric's pulse quickened despite himself.
Too soon.
He rose, suppressing the spike of irritation and the faint, unwelcome edge of anticipation.
When he opened the door, a man stood there wearing neutral robes with no insignia, no visible weapon. His eyes were sharp in the way of someone trained to notice irregularities.
"Routine verification," the man said. "Won't take long."
Alaric studied him for half a breath.
This wasn't a guard.
This was a scout.
He stepped aside.
"Come in."
The door closed behind them.
Outside, somewhere in the settlement, a bell rang once soft, deliberate.
Alaric felt it then.
The moment had passed.
He was no longer passing through.