The iron gate groaned behind them. The sounds of the city slowly faded, swallowed by the mist and the gravel crunching beneath their boots. Neither of them spoke for a long stretch. The tension from the conversation with Clark still lingered between them, like the smell of rust that refused to fade.
Ian was the first to speak.
"He was from the Order."
It wasn't a question.
Akel kept walking.
"He was."
"And you tell me he only came to talk."
"That's what happened."
"And you believed him?"
Akel glanced at him. Ian's face remained hard, his jaw clenched.
"I believe he said what he came to say," Akel replied. "What he wants me to do with it is another matter."
"And what does he want?"
"For me to get involved."
"And you?"
"I refused."
Ian let out a short, humorless laugh.
"And that solves it?"
"We'll find out."
They walked a little farther. The gravel gave way beneath their steps, loose and uneven. The smell of smoke from the camp reached them before the voices did, mingling with the damp cold of the hills.
"I didn't like the way he was," Ian said.
"Nobody does."
"That's not what I mean. He looked at me like he already knew who I was. Like he'd studied the family before showing up."
Akel didn't answer immediately.
"Because he probably did."
Ian stopped.
Akel stopped with him.
"And you think that's normal?" Ian asked.
"I think that's what the Order does. They observe. Then they decide whether you're useful or disposable."
"And you?"
Akel held his gaze.
"I've already been both."
Silence began to grow again. Heavier. Colder.
They resumed walking.
---
The camp was alive when they entered. The sound of Thornin's hammer striking the anvil rang out in a steady rhythm, while the smell of stew rose from Perta's cauldron. Rurik sat on a bench, sharpening his axe with slow movements, while Perk and Pirk argued near the fence about who had lost the leather strap from the scabbard.
Akel removed his cloak and hung it from the post near the entrance.
Selena raised her eyes from the papers. She didn't ask anything. She simply looked at Akel's face, then at Ian, and returned to her work with an expression that revealed nothing.
Akel crossed the camp and sat near the forge.
The heat of the coals reached him in waves, drying the cold that clung to him from the road. Thornin didn't look up. He hammered a strip of steel, the sound of iron against anvil filling the space between them.
Akel remained silent.
After a long minute, Thornin spoke without interrupting his work.
"You look like you ate something rotten."
"It was the air in the city."
"Alfra's air ruins anyone."
The hammer rose and fell three more times before Thornin continued.
"Ian came through here with the same look."
"He worries."
"Worry is good. But when it sits wrong in the stomach, it becomes a problem."
Akel looked at the embers.
"And how do you get rid of it?"
Thornin plunged the steel into the water. Steam rose with a hiss.
"Work. Or drink. Or both."
Rurik approached at that moment, his axe resting on his shoulder.
"Or a bet. Nothing fixes a man's mood faster than taking money from an idiot."
"And when you lose?" Akel asked.
"Then I drink."
"You drink anyway."
"Exactly. That's why I never lose."
Akel let out a sound that didn't quite become a laugh.
Bjorn appeared with a cup of water. He said nothing. He simply handed it to Akel and sat down on a nearby bench.
Akel drank. The water went down cold.
"Ian told you?" he asked.
"Not much," Bjorn replied.
"And what do you think?"
Bjorn turned the cup slowly in his hands.
"I think a man from the past doesn't come to Alfra by accident."
"That's what I thought."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Wait."
Bjorn nodded.
"Sometimes that's the best thing."
"It's not the best. It's the only thing."
The rest of the day passed without much incident.
Akel ate with the others, sitting between Ian and Rurik. The food was hot, and the bread tasted like firewood. No one brought up the city. The conversations revolved around contracts, the price of iron, and the stubbornness of a horse Atreus was trying to tame.
At one point, Selena stood with her empty bowl and passed by Akel.
"Tomorrow I'm going into the city to get fabric for the tunics we'll wear to the audience," she said without looking at him.
Akel understood.
"Want some company?"
"Only if you don't spend the entire journey sulking."
"I'll see what I can do."
She continued toward the tent, and Akel realized there was nothing more to be said.
---
Night descended quickly.
The fires burned lower, and the voices gradually faded. Akel remained seated near the fence, watching the mist creep between the tents. The cold rose from the hills, and he could still feel the weight of his conversation with Clark settled deep in his shoulders.
Rodric approached in silence.
He stopped beside Akel.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
"Ian is restless," Rodric said.
"I know."
"He thinks that man is dangerous."
"He is."
Rodric looked toward the mist.
"And you?"
"Me too."
"But you refused."
"I did."
Rodric nodded slowly.
"Twenty-two days," he said.
"Yes."
"If anything changes, I want to know before it reaches the camp."
Akel turned his head.
"I'll tell you what you need to know."
Rodric didn't answer. He simply stood there, as though weighing the words before finally walking away.
When he returned to the tent, Akel remained where he was.
The mist concealed the first stars.
And somewhere beyond the hills, Alfra remained lit, waiting.
Morning came gray and damp, the low sky pressing against the hills like a ceiling of wet wool. The camp woke slowly, without hurry, as if the air itself carried the weight of a day that promised nothing but work and patience.
Akel stepped out of the tent when the distant bell of Alfra struck its seventh chime. Perta was already up, blowing on the embers of the central fire, while Thornin worked at the forge, sending short sparks into the damp ground. Rurik had yet to appear, which meant the morning could still be bearable for a few more minutes.
Selena stood beside the wagon, fastening a wide belt over her tunic. She wore dark trousers, worn boots, and a simple wool cloak without ornamentation. The serrated dagger hung from her waist, visible but discreet. When she saw Akel, she adjusted the strap of her canvas backpack and gave him a brief nod.
"If you're going to stand there, I don't need company," she said, without irritation.
Akel finished fastening his sword to his belt.
"I'm coming."
"Then walk. I want to reach the market before the good fabrics are gone."
They passed through the Iron Gate with the sun still struggling against the mist, and its failure was obvious in the weak light spreading across the stones without warming anything. The road toward the center of Alfra was busy, crowded with carts, mules, and hurried men. The smell of fresh bread mingled with mud and wet wood. Akel walked one step behind Selena, his eyes sweeping across the streets with an old vigilance that never fully switched off.
"Have you been to this shop before?" he asked, stepping around a wide puddle.
"A few times."
"And do you trust the fabric?"
"I trust the prices. I check the fabric with my hands."
Akel let out a low sound that was almost a laugh.
"You're going to make me carry the rolls?"
"I'm going to make you carry the rolls and keep your mouth shut while I haggle."
"I know how to haggle."
Selena gave him a sidelong glance.
"You know how to kill things. Haggling is a different art."
"Once, I negotiated a horse for half the price."
Selena raised an eyebrow.
"And was the horse blind?"
Akel hesitated.
"No. But it limped."
Selena let out a short, dry laugh.
"Then you didn't negotiate. You were elegantly cheated."
"It still walks."
"And you still believe you got a good deal. That's the problem."
The street widened, opening into a square where merchants were setting up stalls beneath faded awnings. The sound of hammers, shouting, and wagon wheels formed a continuous, dense mass of noise that made Akel's head throb slightly. He stayed close to Selena, the two of them moving through the crowd without getting separated.
The fabric shop stood on a side street, squeezed between a stable and a grain warehouse. Its facade was narrow, with a dark wooden door and a single barred window. Inside, the air smelled of linen, wool, dust, and something faintly sweet, like dried flowers forgotten in a corner.
A thin, middle-aged woman with sharp eyes attended to them from behind a counter covered with fabric samples. Selena went straight to the point, pointing to a dark-blue fabric on a high shelf.
"I want enough for three tunics, two cloaks, and a short cape," she said.
The shopkeeper wrote it down with a worn pencil.
"Any of the three shades?"
"The darkest. And no flaws in the weave. If there's a pulled thread, I'll take it and come back to return it."
The shopkeeper smiled with her mouth, not her eyes.
"You know what you're looking for."
"I know what I don't want."
While they negotiated, Akel stayed near the door, his back against the wall. From there, he could see part of the street, people passing by, and a parked wagon. The movement was constant, but nothing caught his attention until a man stopped across the street.
He wasn't doing anything wrong. He simply stood there, like someone waiting for another person. He wore a faded brown tunic, dusty boots, and a hood that concealed part of his face. There was something about his posture—a calculated stillness—that made Akel shift his gaze and turn his attention to the entire street rather than just the man.
"Are you going to buy the fabric, or do you want to touch it again?" Selena asked, pulling him from his silence.
Akel turned his head.
"I'm watching."
"I noticed. And you look like you've seen a rat."
"Maybe I have."
Selena didn't look toward the street. She simply lowered her voice.
"Here?"
"Across the street. Brown hood."
She nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Finish this. We'll leave through the other side."
They paid and left through the back door, taking a narrow corridor that led into an alley. Akel walked ahead, the fabric rolls tucked beneath his left arm, his right hand loose near the hilt of his sword. The alley was empty, with shallow puddles and the smell of rotten wood. Selena followed closely, her steps quiet despite her boots.
When they reached the main street, Akel looked back.
The hooded man was gone.
"Could've been nothing," he said.
"Or it could've been a Parda doing what they do."
"If it were a Parda, he wouldn't have stood in front of the shop. He would've followed you inside."
Selena considered that.
"Maybe he was watching you."
Akel didn't answer.
They returned to the camp by the busiest route, blending into the crowd. The sun had risen high enough to tear the mist into tatters, but the light remained weak and pale, as though the day didn't have enough strength to fully awaken.
Just before the Iron Gate, Selena touched Akel's arm.
"I don't like being followed," she said quietly.
"Neither do I."
"Then let's find out who it is."
Akel looked down at the reflection in a wide puddle.
"I'll go back later. Alone."
"You won't."
"I'm not going to do anything reckless. Just look."
Selena tightened the strap of her backpack.
"And if it's a trap?"
"A trap for what? No one knew we were going to the fabric shop."
"The Pardas know what we eat, how much we earn, and where we shit. Don't underestimate them."
Akel stopped.
Selena stopped as well.
"Then I'll be careful," he said.
"No. You're going with me."
Akel stared at her for a moment.
"Rodric won't like it."
"Rodric doesn't command me. And neither do you."
She resumed walking, and Akel followed, feeling the weight of the fabric rolls and the smell of new wool mingling with the cold air.
Back at the camp, Perta took the fabric and cleared a space in the wagon to store it. Almir was sitting near the forge, sharpening a wooden sword, and when he saw Akel and Selena returning, he raised an eyebrow.
"You came back without blood. Is that good or bad?"
"Depends on your point of view," Akel replied.
"For a merchant, it's good. For a swordsman, it's boring."
"You're not a swordsman anymore. You're an instructor."
Almir smiled, showing his yellowed teeth.
"And you still have that sharp tongue. Who taught you that?"
"The woman who talks to me at breakfast."
Selena, already walking past them, called without looking back:
"And he still hasn't learned how to haggle."
Almir laughed loudly.
"That's my fault. I only teach what matters."
Akel shook his head and went to sit near the fence, where the mist had yet to fully dissipate.
The rest of the morning dragged on. The city bell rang a few more times, and the sun remained weak, hidden behind clouds that never quite seemed to move. Akel stayed there, watching the camp, the training, the mercenaries coming and going. Ian appeared for a moment, carrying buckets of water, and exchanged a brief nod with him. Bjorn passed by with a broken saddle over his shoulder. Elbi sorted through papers beneath the awning. Everything went as it should.
But something was nagging at the back of Akel's mind.
The man in the brown hood.
He wasn't certain he had been followed. But his instincts—that old animal sleeping beneath his ribs—remained wide awake.
In the middle of the afternoon, he stood.
Selena saw him from a distance but said nothing. She simply watched him for a moment before returning to her work.
Akel grabbed his cloak and left.
The road to Alfra was less crowded. The cold grew stronger as evening approached, and the shadows, previously hidden by the mist, began stretching across the gravel road. He walked to the market district, passed the fabric shop, and continued into a side alley.
Nothing.
He circled the block, entered a street lined with cheap inns, and stopped in front of a doorway where three men were playing dice.
"Looking for someone?" one of them asked without taking his eyes off the game.
"Maybe."
"Maybe is expensive."
Akel tossed a copper coin onto the ground between the dice.
The man looked at the coin.
"What do you want to know?"
"A man in a brown hood. He was standing near the fabric shop this morning."
The three exchanged glances.
"There are plenty of brown hoods."
"This one wasn't passing through. He was waiting."
The man who had received the coin picked it up and bit it.
"There's one who comes around here sometimes. Stands at the corner of the fountain, near the dyers' alley. Never talks."
"What does he do?"
"Nothing. Just watches."
Akel thanked him with a nod and moved on.
The fountain was two streets away. The water ran dark, and the dyers' alley reeked of old dye and urine. Akel stood in a narrow gap between two buildings, his back against the wall, and waited.
The cold deepened.
The shadows advanced.
And he remained motionless, like a blade kept in its sheath.
Time passed slowly. The movement in the streets dwindled, the vendors began packing up their stalls, and the light drained from the sky like dirty water. Akel didn't move. He simply watched the fountain, the alley, the figures passing by.
When the sun finally began to sink, the man appeared.
He approached slowly, the brown hood hanging over his face, his hands in his pockets. He stopped near the fountain, staring down at the water, and remained there.
Akel waited.
The man stood still for a long minute. Then, without hurry, he turned toward a side street and began walking.
Akel stepped out of the gap.
He followed from a distance, his footsteps silent against the wet stones. The man never looked back. He walked with the steady pace of someone who knew exactly where he was going, turning left, then right, entering streets that grew narrower and emptier with every turn.
The smell of dampness and garbage rose around him. The buildings became lower and darker, their windows boarded shut. No lanterns were lit. The sounds of the city grew muffled and distant, as if all of Alfra had ceased to exist a few streets away.
Akel quickened his pace.
The man turned another corner.
When Akel caught sight of him again, the watcher was standing in the middle of the alley, his back turned.
"You know you shouldn't have come," the man said without turning around.
Akel stopped.
His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.
"And you know who I am."
"I do."
The watcher turned slowly. Beneath the hood, his face was thin and unremarkable, with sparse facial hair and small eyes. There was no fear in them. Only the resignation of a man who had already been paid to play his part.
"And that's why I didn't come alone," he said.
Akel heard footsteps behind him.
Three, perhaps four.
From both sides of the alley.
The trap closing.
Akel didn't move. He simply measured the distances, the wind, the smell of steel and sweat beginning to fill the air.
"Shit," he muttered through his teeth.
Darkness descended over the alley.
And blades slid from their sheaths.