The sun was dipping toward the horizon when the massive walls of Greyspire came into view—dark stone inlaid with silver-veined patterns that caught the fading light like threads of moonlight. High towers stood sentinel above the gates, their blue pennants rippling in the wind, each one bearing the city's crest: a silver shard set over crossed blades.
A long queue of merchants, farmers, and travelers snaked toward the iron portcullis. The air was thick with the scents of roasted chestnuts, leather, and horse sweat. Armored guards moved along the line with practiced authority, checking travel papers and collecting the entry toll.
Varek slowed the wagon and stepped down, his voice quiet but steady. "Stay here. I'll handle the paperwork. My last favor to you both… and then we're even."
Approaching the guard captain, he spoke in low tones, producing several coins and documents. The captain's brow lifted slightly, then scribbled something on a parchment. Moments later, Varek returned holding two small leather-bound cards.
"City Identification," he said, handing one to Eliakim and the other to Gideon. "Don't lose them. In Greyspire, no ID means no rights. This clears my debt to you both."
Eliakim inclined his head. "Then we part on equal ground."
Varek gave a short nod, his expression softer than Eliakim had ever seen. "Safe travels, lads." Without another word, he climbed back onto his wagon and steered it toward the merchant lanes branching off from the gate.
When Eliakim and Gideon stepped forward, a guard's gaze shifted upward toward Skyling, who circled lazily above. "That your bird?" the guard asked.
"She's with me," Eliakim replied.
"Then she stays out. No beasts allowed in the city unless their owner has notable standing or reputation within Greyspire," the guard said flatly.
Eliakim's jaw tightened. Notable standing? That would take time. He turned his gaze skyward. "Skyling, keep to the air. Watch for trouble."
Always, her voice echoed in his mind, before she soared higher, becoming a speck against the clouds.
The gates groaned as they opened, the iron teeth of the portcullis rising with a slow rattle.
Inside, Greyspire unfolded in a wash of color and sound. Cobbled streets fanned out from the gate, lined with tall buildings of pale stone and dark timber. Alchemical lanterns bathed the roads in a warm golden glow, mingling with the shouts of market vendors and the distant ring of blacksmith hammers.
The moment Eliakim's boots touched the cobblestones, the Codex of Imreth pulsed at his hip. A faint shimmer of silver light spread through its pages as words and illustrations appeared—automatically recording the city's known districts and notable sites:
The Merchant's Row – A broad street lined with trade houses, peddlers, and import stalls.
Ironspoke Forge – Greyspire's most renowned blacksmith, specializing in weapon enchantments.
The Arcane Athenaeum – A tall, spired building where mages study and trade spells.
Gilded Tankard Inn & Tavern – Popular with adventurers and traveling merchants.
The Sapphire Veil – A high-class brothel favored by nobles and influential traders.
Highspire Cathedral – The city's largest place of worship, its bells tolling at sunrise and dusk.
Marrowgate Slums – A sprawling, dangerous district where whispers speak of illegal auctions.
Crownspire Mansions – The hilltop estate district, home to Greyspire's ruling houses.
The Grand Academy – A prestigious school for both martial and magical training.
Rosepetal Promenade – An upper-class street of fine restaurants and boutique shops.
Guild Square – The heart of adventurer and craftsman guild activities.
Each name etched itself in glowing ink, alongside a sketched map of their locations relative to one another.
The flow of foot traffic was suddenly funneled toward the main street. A nobility parade was passing through—sleek white horses pulling carriages of gilded wood, their wheels etched with family crests. Nobles in embroidered silks waved to the crowd, flanked by knights in polished armor. The street was shoulder-to-shoulder with spectators, their cheers echoing between the high walls.
From the corner of his eye, Eliakim spotted a broad-shouldered man in battered plate armor watching the parade, his stance steady despite the press of the crowd. Not far away, a young woman sat on a barrel outside the Arcane Athenaeum, a heavy tome in her lap, sparks dancing from her fingertips as she muttered to herself.
And then… another figure. A hooded man stood several paces back from the crowd, motionless despite the festive chaos. The hood cast his face in shadow, but Eliakim caught the glint of a faint smile—or perhaps a smirk—before the man melted into the shifting bodies and vanished.
Eliakim's eyes lingered on the spot where the figure had stood. A flicker of instinct told him he would see that man again.
As the parade passed, the city returned to its rhythm, and Greyspire lay open before them. Yet above the rooftops, Skyling's voice brushed his mind again: "The shadows here… they breathe."