The morning had not yet fully broken when Akel left the inn.
The previous night's rain still clung to Mirior, gathered in dark pools on the uneven stones of the streets and running in thin, steady streams through the narrow channels beside the houses. A thin mist covered the lower parts of the city, curling around doorframes and slipping between the buildings like something alive, while the first stalls were beginning to appear along the main street. Only a few merchants had raised their awnings, and most were still working in silence, arranging their goods beneath the faint, wavering light of small oil lanterns that hissed softly in the damp air.
Akel walked beside his horse, holding the reins loosely in one hand. The animal seemed more interested in the stalls than the road, its ears swiveling toward every new sound, its head turning whenever it caught the scent of something that might be edible. When they passed an open sack of grain left too close to the edge of a stall, the horse lowered its head with deliberate intent.
"Don't even think about it," Akel said, tugging gently on the reins.
The horse raised its ears but continued staring at the sack, its dark eyes fixed on the exposed grain with an intensity that bordered on theatrical.
"I know you," Akel added, not breaking stride.
The animal snorted, a puff of warm air visible in the cold morning, and started walking again with something that almost resembled dignity.
The first stall to catch Akel's attention sold horse feed, hay, and a few travel supplies. The merchant was still arranging the sacks when Akel approached, his hands moving with the practiced rhythm of someone who had done the same work a thousand times before. The man looked up and, upon meeting the red eyes beneath the dark hair, took a little longer than necessary to react. His fingers paused over the knot he was tying, and his mouth opened slightly before he remembered himself.
"Horse feed," Akel said, stopping in front of the counter. "Enough for a few days."
"A few days?" the merchant repeated, as though he hadn't heard correctly.
"Yes."
The merchant nodded and began separating the sacks, his movements slightly more hurried than before. His hands hesitated for a moment over the clasp of one of them, and his eyes briefly passed over the sword at Akel's waist before returning to his work with renewed focus.
While he waited, two voices from the neighboring stall reached him.
"I heard about it yesterday," one of them said, the voice low and rough.
"Then forget about it," the other replied, the words carrying a hard edge.
"As if it were that simple."
Akel did not turn around. He continued checking one of the saddle straps, his fingers working the leather with slow, deliberate movements, while the two men talked behind a partially raised awning.
"They're saying vampires shouldn't be treated as lesser creatures," the first man said, lowering his voice even further.
The other man made a sound of disapproval, a sharp exhale through his teeth.
"That's nothing new."
"No, but now they're preaching it."
A brief silence followed, broken only by the sound of something being moved behind the awning.
"Preaching where?"
"In the larger cities. At first, they were just small gatherings. Now there are people saying monsters have been persecuted for generations and that humans should give back what they took from them."
"And you believe that?"
"I didn't say that."
The answer came more quietly, almost defensive.
"I'm just saying people are talking."
The second man took a moment to respond, and when he did, his voice was heavy with something that might have been anger or fear.
"Then let them talk somewhere far from here."
"That's exactly what worries me."
Akel lifted his eyes for a moment, his gaze fixed on the middle distance.
He did not need to hear anything more.
The merchant seemed to have heard enough as well. He placed the last sack on the counter with more force than necessary and cast a brief glance toward the two men, his jaw tightening.
"If you're going to keep talking, find somewhere else," he called out, his voice cutting through the morning quiet.
One of them appeared partially from behind the awning, a man with a thin face and eyes that darted nervously.
"We're just talking," he said, spreading his hands in a placating gesture.
"Then talk out in the street."
The man looked at Akel.
The next sentence died before it reached his lips.
His eyes remained on the Hunter's face for a moment before dropping to the sword at his waist. The discomfort was immediate. It was not the kind of fear that made someone run, but an old, almost instinctive caution, as though speaking to a Hunter required choosing every word with the utmost care.
The man looked away.
Akel turned his attention back to the merchant.
"How much?"
The merchant gave him the price, his voice steadier now that the conversation had returned to business.
The coins changed hands, and the sacks were tied to the saddle with quick, efficient knots. Akel also bought a small amount of hay for the animal, which watched every movement with far more interest than it had shown during the conversation.
When he was finished, he mounted and left the main street.
He did not carry the discussion with him. Not because he had forgotten what he had heard, but because strange ideas were nothing new in Arkham. What had caught his attention was something else: those people were talking about a movement that had already ceased to be nothing more than a conversation between strangers. Someone was carrying those ideas from one city to another.
And when an idea began traveling faster than people did, it rarely remained small for long.
Akel returned to the inn and left the supplies with the rest of his equipment. He did not leave immediately. For a few minutes, he stood by the window, watching the rain grow heavier over Mirior's rooftops. The street below was almost empty, and the first wagons were beginning to disappear behind the curtain of water.
It was not the religion that bothered him. Vampires were nothing new to him, nor was it the first time he had encountered humans willing to see monsters in a different light. What interested him was the speed at which it seemed to be spreading.
Mirior was far from the major centers.
Ideas did not reach a place like that by accident.
He took his cloak and left again.
______________________________________________
The Guild was busier when he arrived.
Several mercenaries occupied the tables near the windows, their voices rising and falling in animated discussion, while the employees organized contracts and checked records behind the counter. The smell of damp wood and hot food still lingered in the hall, mixed with the scent of wet leather brought in by the men who had just come through the rain.
Akel had barely crossed the door when one of the attendants looked up, her eyes finding him immediately.
"Levis," she called, and there was something in her voice that made him stop.
He approached the counter.
"Harlan wants to see you."
"Now?" Akel asked, his brow furrowing slightly.
The woman hesitated for a moment, her fingers tightening around the quill she was holding.
"He said it was important."
Akel looked toward the stairs.
Then he went up.
Harlan's office was on the second floor, at the end of a narrow corridor. The door was partially open, and Akel knocked twice before hearing the answer.
"Come in."
Harlan sat behind the desk. Papers were scattered before him, but none seemed related to the Guild's usual contracts. A map covered most of the wooden surface, held down at the corners by small metal weights. The window behind him was partially open, and rain slipped inside in tiny drops that ran along the sill and gathered in a small puddle on the floor.
Harlan looked up as Akel entered.
"Close the door," he said, gesturing toward it.
Akel entered and did as he was told, the latch clicking softly into place.
Harlan pointed to the chair in front of the desk.
"Sit."
Akel sat down.
For several seconds, Harlan said nothing. He picked up a sheet of paper, read a few lines, then placed it back on the desk. The gesture seemed casual, but there was something strange in his movements, as though he were trying to decide where to begin. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the desk before going still.
"You've been in Mirior for a few days," he said finally.
"Yes."
"And you've already taken two contracts."
"Three."
Harlan raised his eyes, one eyebrow lifting.
"Three?"
"The last one was registered this morning."
A brief silence fell between them.
"What are you looking for here?" Harlan asked, leaning back in his chair.
Akel leaned back as well, crossing one leg over the other.
"Work."
Harlan exhaled through his nose, a short, humorless sound.
"That's a convenient answer."
"It's the truth."
Harlan did not press him. Instead, he opened a drawer and pulled out an old sheet of paper, yellowed around the edges. There was no name on it.
He placed it on the desk.
"You know the Order," he said, his voice dropping slightly.
Akel looked at the document, his expression unreadable.
"I know enough."
"I thought you'd say that."
Harlan's hand remained on the sheet, his fingers spread across its surface.
"A few years ago, the Order lost contact with a group during a training operation. The records that reached other institutions were incomplete. In some cases, there were no names. Only descriptions."
Akel did not touch the paper.
"And why should that interest me?" he asked, his voice carefully even.
Harlan held his gaze for several seconds.
"Because one of those descriptions could be you."
Akel remained still.
On the outside, almost nothing changed. His hands stayed relaxed on the arms of the chair. His breathing remained steady. But inside, the memory came before he could stop it: cold, mud, the metallic smell of blood, and a scream lost somewhere behind him. He did not see a face. He did not hear a name. Only the sensation of running without knowing whether anyone was still running beside him.
The memory disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Harlan had noticed the change.
He said nothing.
"There's no name," Harlan continued, breaking the silence carefully. "Only characteristics. Black hair. Red eyes. Specific physical alterations. Unusual knowledge of monsters. A survivor who disappeared after the last mission."
Akel finally picked up the sheet.
He read a few lines.
Nothing there identified him directly.
Even so, there were too many details.
"You put the pieces together," he said, setting the paper down.
"Some of them."
"And reached a conclusion."
Harlan leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach.
"I reached a possibility."
Akel returned the document, sliding it across the desk.
"That's different."
"It is."
Harlan stared at the sheet for a few seconds before putting it away again, returning it to the drawer with slow, deliberate movements.
"If I wanted to turn you in, I wouldn't have closed the door," he said quietly.
Akel turned his eyes toward the window.
"Maybe you were waiting to find out how much I'm worth."
Harlan fell silent.
This time, his answer took longer.
"Do you really think everyone has a price?" he asked, and there was something in his voice that had not been there before.
Akel looked back at him.
"No."
"Then why ask?"
"Because you know the Order could find me."
Harlan lowered his gaze.
The statement seemed to strike exactly the point he had been trying to avoid.
"They could."
Akel said nothing.
Harlan ran his fingers along the edge of the map, his touch light and absent.
"And perhaps that's exactly why I didn't want you to know I had noticed."
"Too late."
"I know."
The sound of the rain grew louder for a few seconds, filling the space between them.
Harlan then unfolded the map, spreading it flat across the desk.
The border between Umbria and Valaria was marked with small circles and handwritten notes. Lines ran into both regions, some ending at points where small villages had been crossed out.
Akel leaned over the desk, studying the markings.
"Is this recent?" he asked.
"Some of it."
"Attacks?"
"Some. Others are disappearances."
Harlan pulled out another report, the paper creased from frequent handling.
"And here, three patrols found the same signs," he said, tapping a spot on the map.
"Tracks?" Akel asked.
"Not just that."
He pointed to a section of the report.
"Abandoned nests. Territories left behind. Creatures that had remained near the same regions for years have started moving."
Akel examined the map, tracing the lines with his eyes.
"In the same direction?"
"Not exactly."
Harlan pointed to three different areas.
"But all of them are moving away from the borders of Umbria and Valaria."
Akel stared at the markings for several seconds.
"And the Order?" he asked.
"They were the first to notice."
"How?"
Harlan let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.
"Because they pay attention where no one else does."
He closed the report.
"The Order doesn't just hunt monsters. They keep observers in the most unstable regions, track migrations, record changes in creature behavior. Sometimes they send Hunters. Sometimes they don't."
"And this time?" Akel asked, his voice flat.
Harlan looked at the map.
"This time, they did."
Akel remained silent.
"How many?" he asked after a moment.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"The Order doesn't usually share everything with a Guild."
Akel raised an eyebrow.
"Even when they ask for help?"
"Especially when they ask for help."
Harlan leaned back.
"The situation along the border has drawn too much attention. Umbria wants to know what's happening inside its own territory. Valaria wants to prevent it from looking as though they've lost control of something. And the Order wants enough room to investigate without an entire army following their every step."
"So they're all working together," Akel said.
Harlan gave a brief laugh.
"No."
He looked at Akel.
"They're all pretending they are."
The silence that followed was different.
Akel looked back at the map.
"If things get worse?"
"Then Umbria will blame Valaria. Valaria will blame the monsters. Both will ask why the Order didn't warn them sooner, even if they did."
"And Mirior?"
Harlan looked toward the window.
"Mirior will wait and hope nothing crosses the border."
Akel nodded.
"Sounds likely."
"It isn't."
Akel raised his eyes.
Harlan pointed at the map again.
"Monsters don't respect borders. Or treaties. If whatever is happening continues, someone will discover that the hard way."
Akel remained standing before the desk.
"How long?"
"I don't know."
"You expect me to go there?" Akel asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Harlan shook his head.
"I'm not asking you to do anything."
"Then why tell me?"
Harlan took several seconds to answer.
"Because you were already thinking about going."
Akel did not deny it.
Harlan studied his face.
"And because, if the Order really is mobilizing Hunters in that region, staying in Mirior might be more dangerous for you than getting near the border."
Akel looked at the map again.
Umbria.
The word seemed simple on the paper.
In practice, it meant another border, another kingdom, and the possibility of crossing paths with people he had spent years avoiding.
"I'm going to Umbria," he said.
Harlan did not seem surprised.
"I figured."
Akel picked up the report.
"If someone asks?" he said.
"You came looking for work."
"And after that?"
Harlan looked at him.
"Then you decided to head south."
Akel nodded.
When he reached the door, he stopped.
"Harlan," he said, his hand resting on the doorknob.
"Yes?"
Akel remained with his back to him.
"Why didn't you turn me in?"
Harlan was silent for several seconds.
When he answered, his voice had lost any trace of formality.
"Because I don't know what happened to you."
Akel tightened his hand around the doorknob.
"That never stopped anyone before."
Harlan did not answer immediately.
"Maybe that's exactly the problem," he said finally.
Akel opened the door.
Before he left, he heard Harlan add:
"If anyone asks about you, I won't know where you are."
Akel glanced over his shoulder.
Harlan held his gaze.
"And if anyone asks what we talked about, I'll say you came to discuss contracts."
Akel nodded.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet."
The door closed.
Akel descended the stairs without hurrying, but he did not return to the hall.
He passed through the entrance and found his horse waiting beneath the Guild's awning. The animal raised its head when it saw him and let out a low snort, its breath misting in the cold air.
Akel placed a hand on its neck, feeling the warmth through his glove.
For a few seconds, he stood there, listening to the rain fall beyond the shelter. Then he adjusted the saddle straps, checked his sword, and mounted.
The leather creaked beneath his weight.
Cold slipped through the opening of his cloak and reached the skin of his neck. The rain began striking the fabric harder, and the damp smell of the streets mingled with wet leather and earth.
Akel pulled on the reins.
The horse began to walk.
When they reached the gates, he looked back at Mirior one last time. The rain-darkened walls concealed most of the city, but a few lights still burned behind them.
For a few days, the place had been nothing more than a stop along the way.
Now he left behind a Guild where his past was beginning to be recognized, two old companions, and a city where rumors about monsters were already finding people willing to listen.
Akel looked away.
The road south stretched between waterlogged fields, gradually disappearing beneath the rain.
For a moment, a memory crossed his mind.
Snow.
A ground stained red.
The sound of footsteps running behind him.
Then silence.
Akel tightened his grip on the reins.
The memory faded before it could take on a face.
He did not need to remember.
He knew where he was going.
Umbria lay to the south.
And somewhere beyond that border, the Order was already beginning to move its pieces.
The horse continued along the rain-soaked road, while behind them the hoofprints slowly disappeared beneath the rain.