The road into the mortal realm wound like a serpent through the forest, moonlight pooling in patches along the dirt path. Every so often, a shadow-wolf would vanish into the trees ahead, only to reappear further down the trail, its pale eyes scanning for threats.
By dawn, the air had changed, no longer the crisp wildness of untouched forest, but the mingled scent of smoke, livestock, and damp stone. The town of Hallowfen appeared on the horizon, its crooked rooftops outlined against the pale gold of morning light.
Remember, Kaelreth said, his voice low as they approached, you are no one. A merchant's ward, travelling under my protection.
Seraphira adjusted the plain brown cloak that hid her figure, the rough homespun fabric itching against her skin. The illusion still held black hair, green eyes but she felt every heartbeat like a drum in her chest.
They crossed a narrow wooden bridge into the town. People were already moving about: a woman sweeping her doorstep, a blacksmith stoking his forge, children darting between carts. Yet as soon as they saw Kaelreth, movements slowed. Heads turned. Conversations faltered.
The stares were not those of recognition, but instinct as though the townsfolk could sense something dangerous without knowing why. Kaelreth walked with the unhurried confidence of a predator, shadows curling faintly at his boots despite the sunlight.
Seraphira kept her head down, trying to appear small, forgettable. Still, she couldn't help noticing how every window's shutter seemed to close a little faster as they passed.
They reached the market square, a loose scatter of stalls selling bread, cloth, salted fish. Kaelreth stopped at the edge, surveying the place as though it were already his. Stay here, he murmured. I'll see what whispers are worth hearing.
He left her by a stall selling apples, the merchant giving her a polite nod but keeping a wary eye on Kaelreth's retreating figure. She pretended to study the fruit, her fingers brushing over the smooth skin, when a voice spoke at her side.
You're not from here.
She turned slightly. An old man with a cane leaned against the stall's corner, his eyes pale but sharp. I... she began, but he interrupted.
No, he said, shaking his head. Not your face. Your walk. You move like someone who's used to being seen.
Her pulse quickened. You must be mistaken.
The old man's gaze drifted to where Kaelreth was speaking quietly to a cloaked figure by the fountain. And him… that's no merchant.
Before she could answer, a sudden gust of wind swept the square, carrying the faint scent of sulfur. The shadow-wolves appeared at the market's edge, their eyes fixed on her and in that moment, she knew Kaelreth had found what they came for.
He returned, his expression unreadable. We have a lead. We leave before midday. His gaze flicked to the old man, lingering just long enough to make the elder step back. And do not speak of what you've seen here, Kaelreth added, his voice like a shadow sliding over stone.
They left Hallowfen under the weight of silent eyes, the town returning to motion only when they were gone.