We pass under a perfect arch, symmetrical to the point of inhuman, made of polished and shiny stone as if each block had been carved by divine hands. The gates, now open, showed their black steel toothed mechanisms, designed to close each night with a roar that they said could be heard from the slums. They were doors designed not only to protect, but to intimidate.
As we passed, the guards barely glanced at the carriage. We had been given the go-ahead, but his eyes were still just as sharp. I could feel them staring through us, even without turning.
Just before I crossed the threshold, I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
A scream. Then a sharp blow.
To my left, another stopped carriage. The driver, a humble-looking man, lay on the ground, his face against the dust and a boot pressing against his back. Their merchandise was scattered along the road: fruits, fabrics and something that looked like a musical instrument broken in two.
"I swear I have permits!" I have the guild seals! The man shouted, his voice cracking.
The guard holding him showed no expression. Neither fury, nor haste. Only efficiency.
Forged permits are federal crimes. You have the right to be silent, if you know what is good for you," replied the soldier, without raising his voice.
No one around him intervened. No one asked. Not the merchants, not the other guards, not even those who seemed to know the detainee. The scene was part of the landscape, like the arch or the stones on the ground.
I swallowed hard.
"Come on, inside," murmured Dorian, without looking to the sides, pulling firmly on the reins. His expression hardened. Even Lyana, who had maintained a gentle face until now, pursed her lips.
Walked.
The shadows of the bow swallowed us up for an instant. On the other side, the city of Tirgaleth opened up in all its majesty. But in my head the image of the man reduced to dust kept spinning.
As soon as we crossed the arch, as if an invisible layer of silence had been left behind, the bustle of the city enveloped us with all its force. The contrast with the outside was overwhelming. Suddenly, we were immersed in a world where everything seemed to be perfectly measured, organized down to the last detail.
The roads on which the carts circulated were so polished that it was hard to believe that they were stone. There were no potholes, no cracks, and no imperfection. The sheen of the surface reflected the light of the sky with an almost magical glow, as if the ground itself was enchanted to remain eternally spotless.
On either side, the sidewalks were wide and raised just a few centimeters above the road, bounded by gently rounded edges of white stone. Dozens — not hundreds — of people walked through them. But there was no chaos or pushing. Each one seemed to know exactly where he was going. It was as if the whole city moved to the rhythm of the same silent score.
The buildings that stood on both sides of the road were not excessively high: two or three stories at most. But what they lacked in height they made up for in design and beauty. Each structure seemed to be built with a clear purpose and carefully thought-out aesthetics. Some were made of pale marble that glistened in the light as if it were wet, while others showed details in smoked glass that reflected the surroundings like broken mirrors.
As soon as we entered, we could clearly distinguish some of the first establishments: a tavern with a floating sign that slowly rotated in the air, projecting golden letters in different languages; a traditional-looking roofed market, with carved wooden arches that gave way to a symphony of colors, smells and shouts of merchants offering everything from rare spices to low-power magical artifacts.
There were street food stalls, where steam and aromas intertwined with the urban breeze; blacksmiths that, instead of smoke and dirt, looked clean and shiny, as if even the fire had been tamed by the order of the city.
I saw a child running down the sidewalk without being scolded, jumping right over the edges marked for pedestrians, as if that were part of a game. I saw an old man reading a book in the middle of a square without anyone interrupting his peace. I saw street lamps that didn't seem to need fire or electricity, but shone with a faint blue glow, almost like enchanted fireflies.
Everything worked. Everything was in its place.
Tirgaleth was not just any city. It was a living example of what happens when tradition, magic and order are seamlessly combined. But also, under that veneer of perfection, something else was felt. A subtle tension, as if all that order could be broken with the slightest mistake.
"Dorian, Lyana—how far do you intend to go?" I asked, in a neutral tone, trying to sound casual. Although the truth was that it wasn't.
He did not want to abuse his generosity. They had brought me here without asking for anything in return, and that was enough. But if, by chance, they planned to cross Tirgaleth and come out at the other end, perhaps I could stay with them a little longer. At least until you have a clear plan.
Lyana barely turned her head, still looking at the bustling road.
"We are staying at Tirgaleth, my dear," he replied with a gentle smile. We only offered to bring you all the way to the city. Now, everyone goes their own way, right?
His tone was not cold, but it was clear. A friendly farewell disguised as a conversation.
"Of course... Of course. I nodded, trying to hide the slight tremor in my voice. Not because of sadness, but because of uncertainty.
Dorian, at the wheel of the car, let out a slight snort between laughter and tiredness.
"We must sell the goods before the sun goes down." Then we will go to visit our son, who lives in here, so we will not leave the city.
"I understand," I murmured, looking ahead.
The streets were getting more and more crowded. The noise increased, and the conversations were intertwined between the shouts of merchants, hurried steps and children running between the carts.
It was official: I was alone again. But at least, he wasn't in the woods anymore.
Oh, well... He still had an oni hidden in the back of a car. What could go wrong?
I tapped the canvas with my foot, just enough for Nimue to notice the sign. Instantly, he poked part of his head out, staring at me intensely, his eyebrows raised as if asking silently: What happens now?
"We're out of here," I whispered firmly. Be prepared to get out of the car without drawing too much attention.
Nimue didn't respond immediately. His eyes wandered around him, assessing the situation. His expression was one of doubt, almost fear.
"I can't go out now," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. We are in the middle of the street... If everyone sees me...
"Take the tarp with you," I replied without hesitation. They'll look at us funny, yes, but at least they won't know what you look like. As soon as we touch the ground, we will go straight to an alley.
She didn't seem convinced. His gaze was fixed on the people passing by a few meters from us: merchants, families, soldiers... all immersed in their routine, but with eyes that could become dangerous if they saw an oni among them.
"Trust," I said quietly. Just a few seconds and we'll be out of sight.
Finally, he nodded.
Carefully, he rearranged himself under the canvas, doing his best not to get tangled. She fitted the fabric like a makeshift cape, leaving room for her feet not to trip when running. It was an absurd scene... but it was the best we could do.
"The three-year-old," I whispered as I prepared to jump out of the car. One... two...
As stealthily as possible, we slide out of the car, dropping right in the middle of the cobblestone road. As soon as we touched the ground, an abrupt screech made our heads turn.
The car behind stopped abruptly. The horse neighed loudly, rearing from the jerk. Its neighing echoed through the walls of nearby buildings, like an alarm announcing our clumsy landing.
"Hey, be more careful!" The driver shouted, raising an arm in protest.
I didn't answer. I grabbed Nimue by the arm—through the canvas that covered her completely—and began to move at a brisk pace, almost trotting, looking for a side street where she could disappear.
The street was full to the brim. People everywhere, moving in all directions, talking, laughing, selling, carrying sacks or pushing carts. They pushed me from one side to the other. Sometimes carelessly, sometimes with bad temper.
"But what's wrong with that one?" I heard a man say just as I got in front of his passing.
"Is she disguised?" And that rag he wears? A woman asked, frowning at Nimue.
"I'm sure they're from outside—" someone else muttered, almost disdainfully.
I couldn't even turn to answer. He just quickened his pace through the crowd, dodging bodies as best he could. The tarp that covered Nimue moved with difficulty between people's legs, and a couple of times it almost fell over.
The market stalls stood out on the margins of the street, the aromas of spices, hot bread and rotten fruit mixed with the heat of the bodies and the sweat of the midday. The bustle was a cacophony: shouts of merchants, laughter, wheels rolling on stone, accelerated steps... And among all that noise, the fear in my chest was a constant drum.
"This way!" I shouted above the crowd, seeing at last an opening between two buildings.
A narrow and dark alley, half covered by a tower of empty barrels and wooden boxes. It wasn't the best hiding place in the world, but at least it would take us out of public view.
Nimue stumbled up the curb, but I grabbed her in time and pulled her into the alley with me. A couple of people looked at us out of the corner of their eye, as if they suspected something, but they didn't say anything. As soon as we turned the corner and the bustle was behind us, I leaned against the wall, wheezing.
"We made it," I murmured between gasps. At least for the moment.
Nimue removed the canvas from her face a little, revealing her violet eyes full of tension.
"Don't drag me like that in front of so many people again, Zaydir," he said, his voice low but sharp as a dagger.
"You're alive, aren't you?" I replied, trying to catch my breath. It's the only thing that matters now.
Suddenly, I felt it. Like a spark running through my body from within, a burning that was already familiar to me. A current of energy rose up my spine and concentrated in my chest, where the rune burned again as if lit by an invisible flame.
I looked at my hands and there they were: red, thick, marked by the characteristic lines of my race. The skin seemed denser, stronger. My nails turned back to claws. My body heat increased a little, but it didn't bother me anymore. It was like returning to my real self.
Nimue, who was still under the tarp, turned to me when she heard the small crack that my body emitted as it changed.
He opened his eyes wide.
"At last!" He exclaimed angrily, coming out a little more from his hiding place. "A little more and he would cast a spell to burn you alive."
"Did my human form bother you so much?" I said, raising an eyebrow with a mocking smile.
"Bother me?" He snorted with an expression mixed with grimace and laughter. You looked like a puppy without fangs. If you spent more time like that, I swear I'd have started talking to you like a human child.
"Well, you can rest assured now. "The ogre is back," I said, craning my neck proudly, feeling again the weight and presence of my real body.
"Oni." Not ogre. Don't insult me," he replied, giving me a little push with his knee.
The pent-up tension began to dissipate between us as the noise of the city continued in the background, like a distant sea. We were safe... for now.
"Good. Time to find a place to get before another guard with magic spears shows up here.
"And no wagon this time," Nimue added, wrapping herself in the tarp as if it were a makeshift cloak.
As if it were an improvised melody, the silence of the alley was dissolved by a most peculiar sound. A roar, deep and trembling, that seemed to come from the very bowels of the underworld. Or a desperate stomach.
I turned slowly to Nimue. She looked at me. Silence.
"Nimue?" I said, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.
"Hmm... Yes?" He replied feigning a soft, innocent voice.
"Did that sound come from you?"
"What?" No, what's the point," he said with an exaggerated naturalness as he looked away. With quick movements, she covered herself entirely with the tarp as if she were an embarrassed worm cocoon. It was clear that he didn't want me to see his face, probably redder than my own skin.
"Come to think of it—" It would be a good idea to find something to eat," I said, while caressing my belly as well. Apparently, his hunger had awakened mine.
"We don't have money to buy food," Nimue said from inside her cloth cave, her voice muffled.
Freeze me.
"Damn!" It's true...
Silence returned, this time accompanied by two stomachs sounding in unison, like a sad symphony of poverty.
"We could... I don't know, look through the cubes," Nimue suggested in a tone of resignation.
"Eat human leftovers?" Weren't we Onis supposed to be more worthy than that?
"And weren't you supposed to be a 'brave ogre'?" He sneered, barely poking his eyes over the edge of the canvas.
"I said oni, not ogre. And ogres have pride, too. And hunger, especially hunger.
"Then use your pride to hunt a pigeon," he replied.
I put my hand to my forehead, sighing theatrically.
Just as a small breeze passed through the alley, caressing the walls and generating a gloomy melody, an idea came to my head. It wasn't a good idea, but it was one that would help us survive, at least, that day in the city.
"I have an idea, but I don't know if you're going to like it. I said, resting my hands on the ground and, with a small impulse, sat up.
"Steal food?" She asked, sure of herself.
Bingo! Yes, it was just that. Well, I'm glad to see that we have similar thinking.
"You got it right," I replied without hiding my surprise. How did you know?
"Only someone as stupid as you would come up with such a stupid idea as that. He said in his usual cold, mocking tone.
Joe... for a moment I thought that Nimue had lowered her hatred of me, but I see that she hasn't.
"Okay, okay, you don't need to remind me how smart I am. I blurted out as I scratched the back of my neck. But if we don't do something, we're not going to last long.
She sighed, lifted the tarp a little to poke her head out, showing a crooked smile.
"Okay, you idiot. But this time you have to plan the shot well, because last time we were almost caught in the first corner.
"Trust me," I said, with a smile as false as it was determined.
We looked at each other, and at that moment I knew that, although Nimue didn't trust my ideas one bit, she was at least willing to follow me.
"This is the last time I do it," he said.
"Received, last time. I replied
Just as I was about to leave the alley, Nimue stopped me in my tracks, grabbing my sleeve with a force I hadn't shown before.
I turned my head, confused, expecting a biting joke or some reproach... But what I saw left me cold.
His eyes were wide open, dilated, almost unblinking. He breathed heavily, as if the air in the alley wasn't enough. He had one hand on his chest, clutching tightly his robe, that somewhat worn garment he used to wear with such dignity. Now he squeezed it as if it depended on it to stay on his feet.
"What's wrong, Nimue?" I asked in a calm, soft voice, as if I were talking to a wounded family member or a frightened child.
There was no immediate response. Her lips trembled, parted, struggling to find the right words between irregular breaths. I saw in his face something I would never have imagined: fear. But not the instinctive fear of someone fleeing from a predator. It was a deeper, older fear. One that digs into the soul and stays there, whispering threats in silence.
"Maybe," he began to say, his voice breaking—... It's better that I stay here.
He did not say it out of cowardice. I knew it instantly. It was something else. A wound older than me, than this alley, than this whole city. A trauma as invisible as it is indelible.
I looked back at the street outside the alley. The crowd passed and passed in large numbers, forming a human river that moved endlessly. It reminded me, inevitably, of the big cities of my country. The noise, the bustle, the feeling that everyone is in a hurry except you.
I turned to Nimue. It was still there, standing, like a broken statue. Tense. The canvas still wrapped around her like a second skin, but she still trembled slightly. It was as if every step of the people out there was an invisible blow to her.
"Can you tell me what's wrong with you?" I asked at last, my voice calm, already worried about how nervous she was getting.
"N-no," he denied instantly, with a slight tremor in his voice.
His gaze, fixed on the people passing by, said it all. There was something there, something big. A weight from the past that tightened tightly in her chest.
"Are you afraid of the—?"
"NO! He exclaimed, sharply, before he could finish the sentence.
The scream caught me off guard. I was startled. My body took a small step back, and I noticed my brow furrow automatically. It wasn't just the surprise. It also hurt... not physically, but on the inside. Not for me, but for her.
That denial... that crude and desperate way of rejecting the idea... It left me speechless.
I didn't insist. I couldn't. He shouldn't. Forcing her now would be like pushing her to the edge of a cliff that she had barely managed to dodge.
"All right," I said after a few seconds, looking down for a moment. I will say no more.
She didn't answer. But his shoulders barely relaxed. Enough to make me think that, deep down, I was grateful that he didn't keep asking.
We remained silent for a while, the distant noise of the city muffled by the walls of the alley. Me, sitting on an empty box. She, standing by the exit, as if caught between the decision to take a step or hide again.
He knew he couldn't force her out there. But I also knew that if we didn't go out soon, we wouldn't eat anything that day.
So I waited.
Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do for someone... it is simply waiting.
***
The sun was beginning to disappear over the horizon, saying goodbye to the afternoon and welcoming the night. The sunset was beautiful, reflecting off the clean, gleaming glass that decorated some of the nearby buildings. Each orange ray broke into multiple reflections, as if the sky had fragmented into a thousand pieces on the facades of the city.
My eyes were grateful for that spectacle. After so many years trapped in a village that seemed frozen in time, without light, without movement, without a city... Seeing that was like a direct caress to the soul.
"To my house," I muttered to myself, barely audible.
The word "home" hung around in my chest with a sour taste. Where was my house now? To what corner of this world did he belong?
I turned to look at Nimue. She was sitting against the wall, her head sticking out of the canvas. It covered her like a blanket that was too large, exposing only her face. Slept. Deeply, I would say. Her expression, relaxed for the first time all day, made her look almost... human. Without the grunts, the murderous looks, or his acidic comments, he looked like a different person.
I sighed. That scene almost made me smile. Almost.
After the anxiety attack she had had, it was normal for her to have a downturn. The body reacts like this. It is completely emptied.
The idea came to me like a gentle breeze, almost without warning: Now is the perfect time to go out and get some food.
But then I stopped. I looked around.
Leave her here alone?
Asleep, defenseless, wrapped in a tarp and in a dark alley that, although it was not completely removable, was discreet enough for someone with bad intentions to take advantage of the situation.
I put a hand to my face, rubbing my forehead hesitantly.
On the one hand, if he woke up without me and couldn't get out... she would still be trapped. Her fear would immobilize her again.
But on the other hand... If I didn't go now, it would be even more difficult in a while. Taverns would close, food stalls would be dismantled. And the worst: we would have nothing for the next day.
The streets were no longer as crowded as in the afternoon, but they were still full. A constant bustle of footsteps, wheels, voices, laughter and the occasional distant shout. The bluish light streetlights began to light up little by little, marking the arrival of night.
I looked back at Nimue. He slept soundly, as if his body had decided to give up for a few hours.
"I won't be long," I murmured, in a low voice, as if trying to justify myself to her.
I took a breath, stood up, and brushed the dust from my pants. He would go out on his own. I would look for food. And he would be back before he woke up.
Or at least... I expected that.
I walked out of the alley with slow, stealthy steps, as if the air itself could betray my intentions. I made sure to remember every corner I passed, every sign, every sign. I had to go back. She was waiting for me... even if he didn't know it.
The city, under the dim bluish light of the streetlamps, had changed completely. It was no longer that orderly chaos of the day. Now everything had a more intimate air, more dangerous too. The shadows lengthened, the alleys seemed deeper, and the voices of the people were lower, more careful.
The cobblestones of the road were still perfect, not a single crack that made me stumble, but the bustle was different. Cruder. More real.
I passed by a group of drunks who were singing something in a language I didn't know. Their laughter was loud, their movements erratic, but they didn't seem dangerous. Only part of the night scenery of Tirgaleth. Then I saw a couple of soldiers on patrol, their spears still active, though in a dimmer light than during the day. Their costumes shone with metallic reflections, giving them an almost ghostly air under the lighting.
I stuck to a wall when they passed by. Not out of fear, but out of caution. He had already had enough contact with the law for a day.
I passed by a makeshift night market. Some stalls were still open. They sold stale bread, dried meat, fruits wrinkled by the passing of the day. Not appetizing, but enough to keep you from starving.
I approached one of the stalls. A woman with a weathered face and a suspicious look watched over the merchandise.
"How much for a piece of bread?" I asked, trying to look calm.
"Two fraks," he replied without taking his eyes off my hands.
Two fraks... I didn't have one.
"Oh... well, thank you," I said with a forced smile as I walked away.
Plan B, I thought. The real one. The one Nimue had called "stupid."
I slipped through the stalls, pretending to be interested in anything. My stomach was growling. For a second, I wished Nimue would wake up and come with one of those spells of hers to solve everything.
But no. This was my business.
I stopped in front of a stall selling fruit. Apples shone in the light of a small oil lamp. The owner, an old man with a thick beard, was arguing with an annoyed customer. I looked to one side, then to the other. No one was looking directly at me.
Just one. An apple... or two. Just enough to last the night.
I reached out.
But then...
"Stealing so early, boy?" A voice whispered in my ear, so close that I felt the tingle of my breath.
I froze. I turned my head sharply, my heart pounding hard in my chest. There it was... a hooded figure, completely wrapped in dark cloaks. His face was almost completely covered, but his voice... soft, ethereal, one of those that one never forgets, she revealed something unmistakable: she was a woman.
"W-who are you?" I stammered, taking a step back.
"Relax, I'm not going to scream." "Although I must say that if that was your best robbery technique, you're destined to starve to death this very week," he said, crossing his arms gracefully.
I didn't know what to say. I felt like a child trapped by an overly cunning teacher. I was hungry," I confessed.
"We're all hungry for something," she replied with a hint of amusement in her voice. But not all of us solve it with rotten fruit.
The figure turned and walked slowly towards a small intersection between the stalls. He stopped and turned his head slightly.
"Do you want to earn a real meal?" he asked.
I followed her, not really knowing why. Maybe because I was hungry. Or maybe because that voice, so serene and determined, made me feel that she knew what she was doing... and that I, definitely, don't.
We walked away from the stalls until the bustle of the market was muffled by the nearby walls and alleys. As she stopped, she pointed toward a nearby building. Not very high, barely two floors, but elegant, with a polished façade of black marble and blue-tinted glass. The sign read: "Azareth House of Commerce."
"Inside they keep gems, stamps and valuable documents for the merchants. Nothing out of the ordinary... But just today you received a shipment of pure mana crystals. They are stored in a secondary chamber, without as much surveillance.
"Crystals of—" what? I asked, confused.
"Crystals that are worth more than your life. And mine," he added with a suppressed laugh. But you don't need to know that. You just have to follow me, don't make a noise... and take the credit from the easiest part.
I stood still for a moment, analyzing it. I couldn't see his eyes, or his mouth, but his presence was... indisputable. Every word he said seemed carefully measured. There was no doubt or arrogance, only security.
"And what do I gain?" I asked at last, trying to sound more determined than I really was.
"Food, you idiot. And maybe... a free lesson in how to steal without getting arrested," he replied. Then, after a pause. Oh, and if we do it right, a safe place to hide at night.
That last thing caught my attention.
I looked back at the building.
Crystals of pure mana...
Food...
And refuge.
"What's the plan?" I said at last.
The woman turned towards me with an agile, elegant, almost feline movement.
"That's how I like it. Attentive, silent... and hungry. You come in with me through the roof. I'll cover you. You take the crystals. Then we left through the back, without raising suspicion. Easy.