By the time the sun slipped behind the roofs of Barcken, the streets had begun to glow under the amber hue of torches and the soft shimmer of lanterns hung outside the taverns. The faint scent of spice and roasted grain wafted through the air, mingling with the hum of evening chatter and the distant bell of a merchant cart closing for the night.
Gareth and the Nateron knights were long gone—hours beyond sight now, their silhouettes swallowed by the horizon. Luke and Ilyrana had watched them vanish before turning back into the city, letting the day's long walk give way to the calm of familiar cobblestone underfoot.
But before they reached the tavern, Luke's eyes caught a familiar figure lounging by the side of the street—a tall man in a half-unbuckled chestplate, posture casual but presence commanding even without effort. His dark brown hair was tied loosely, and the faint scar over his cheek glinted when the lantern light hit it just right.
