The border town appeared at dawn.
Eren saw it first as a smudge against the horizon—low walls of dark stone rising from the mist, uneven and chipped, more suggestion than defense. A single watchtower leaned at an angle near the eastern gate, its upper half blackened by old fire. Smoke curled lazily from within the walls, thin and gray, the kind born from hearths rather than battle.
The town was alive.
Barely.
Eren slowed his pace as the road widened, packed earth giving way to broken cobblestone. The remnants of carts littered the roadside—wheels without axles, planks stripped of iron fittings. Someone had taken anything of value long ago.
He adjusted his cloak and kept his head down.
Cities meant rules. Guards. Eyes.
He passed beneath the gate without incident. Two men stood watch, their armor mismatched and dull, spears held more out of habit than readiness. One glanced at Eren, then looked away. No challenge. No questions.
That, more than anything, told Eren what kind of place this was.
Inside, the town felt hollow.
Buildings leaned inward as if tired of standing. Windows were shuttered even though the sun had risen, doors barred or reinforced with scavenged wood. People moved quickly through the streets, avoiding eye contact, hands never straying far from knives or pouches.
Fear lived here.
Not the sharp kind that screamed.
The quiet kind that endured.
Eren walked with measured steps, absorbing everything. A smithy near the center square hammered weakly at metal, sparks dull and infrequent. A shrine—once dedicated to some minor god—had been defaced, its symbol scratched out and replaced with crude sigils painted in ash.
The religious kingdom's mark.
So they had reached this far.
Eren felt something tighten in his chest, old and familiar. He pushed it aside.
He found an inn without effort. It was the only building with light spilling openly onto the street, lanterns hung near the entrance like an invitation—or a trap. The sign above the door creaked in the wind, its paint flaking, the name half-lost to time.
The Split Crown.
Eren paused before entering.
The hunger was quiet.
Still watching.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sour ale. Conversations died down as he stepped in—not completely, but enough that he noticed. Eyes flicked toward him, lingered, then slid away. Travelers, mercenaries, a few locals pretending not to be locals.
No one smiled.
Eren approached the counter.
The innkeeper was a broad woman with scarred hands and tired eyes. She looked him over once, quickly and efficiently. "Room or drink."
"Room," Eren said. "One night."
"Two silver."
He placed the coins on the counter without comment.
She slid a key toward him. "No trouble."
Eren nodded. "None."
As he turned away, her voice followed him, quieter. "Curfew at sundown. Guards don't care who you are."
"Understood."
The room was small and clean enough. A narrow bed, a table, a shuttered window overlooking the inner yard. Eren closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, letting the silence settle.
Only then did he allow himself to breathe.
The town pressed on him in a way the wilderness had not. Too many lives. Too many choices. Every step here mattered—not because it was dangerous, but because it was observed.
Eren sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands.
They did not look different.
They never did.
The hunger stirred faintly, as if aware of his attention. It did not intrude. It did not speak—if it could be called speaking at all.
It waited.
Eren lay back and closed his eyes.
Sleep came slowly.
—
He dreamed of roads.
Not this one. Others. Endless stretches of gray beneath unfamiliar skies. He dreamed of watching people pass him by while calculating distance, speed, outcome. Of learning early that hesitation was not kindness—it was risk management.
He woke before noon.
The room felt colder than before.
Eren sat up, alert instantly. Nothing moved. No sound beyond distant voices and the creak of wood. He exhaled slowly.
The dream lingered longer than he liked.
He stood, strapped on his gear, and left the room.
The common area was busier now. A group of mercenaries argued over a map near the hearth. A pair of guards drank quietly in the corner, armor unpolished, eyes dull. The refugees from the road were not here.
Good.
Eren ordered a simple meal—bread, broth, dried meat—and ate without savoring it. Food had become fuel. Nothing more.
As he finished, a presence settled across from him.
"You don't look like a pilgrim."
Eren raised his eyes.
The man was older, beard shot through with gray, one eye clouded and useless. His armor was worn but well-maintained, the sigil on his shoulder deliberately scratched away. A veteran.
"I'm not," Eren replied.
The man grunted. "Good. Pilgrims don't last."
Silence followed.
Eren did not ask questions.
Eventually, the man leaned back. "Name's Tomas."
The name lodged itself in Eren's thoughts.
Later than expected.
Eren nodded once. "Eren."
Tomas studied him with his good eye. "You came in alone."
"Yes."
"From the east?"
Eren did not answer immediately.
Tomas smiled faintly. "Thought so."
The hunger shifted—not toward Tomas, but around him. Not interest.
Recognition.
Eren felt it and kept his expression neutral.
"The eastern front's gone," Tomas continued. "Kingdom's bleeding. Priests say it's divine judgment. Soldiers say it's bad leadership. Truth is—doesn't matter."
Eren met his gaze. "You stayed."
"Someone has to," Tomas said. "Or monsters take what's left."
A pause.
"You a monster hunter?" Tomas asked.
Eren considered lying.
"I survive," he said instead.
Tomas nodded, as if that answered everything. "Town could use more of that."
The offer hung between them, unspoken but clear.
Eren felt the weight of the road behind him. Of the choices ahead. Of the hunger that measured him not by intention, but by outcome.
He looked around the inn—at the tired guards, the frightened civilians, the mercenaries who would leave as soon as the pay dried up.
Staying would complicate things.
Leaving would simplify them.
Efficiency whispered its preference.
Eren stood.
"I'll think about it," he said.
Tomas watched him go, his expression unreadable.
Outside, the town breathed quietly, unaware of the decisions forming within its walls.
Eren walked the streets alone, the hunger silent but attentive.
This place was weak.
That fact would matter.
Soon.