The parade's last carriage rolled away, leaving the cobbles littered with flower petals and stray ribbons. The scent of incense from the Highspire Cathedral mingled with roasting meat from street vendors, and the hum of city life swallowed the square once more.
Eliakim and Gideon stepped toward the Guild Square, where adventurers gathered beneath a broad clocktower. Its great bronze hands ticked with steady precision, marking the pulse of Greyspire itself.
The Codex of Imreth hummed again as they entered the plaza—inking in new interior sketches of nearby buildings and the guild's posting boards.
Guild Square – Codex Notes:
Adventurer's Guild Hall – Central hub for quests, contracts, and rank advancement.
Craftsman's Hall – Open workshop for artisans, tinkerers, and magical item creators.
Auction House Annex – Legal auctions; rumors suggest a hidden ledger for off-record dealings.
Messengers' Nook – Courier services for both city and outlying regions.
Gideon's eyes lingered on the Craftsman's Hall. "I could get work here—sell custom gear or alchemical tools. Maybe even find rare materials."
"You'll also need a workshop pass," Eliakim replied, scanning the crowd. "That means coin."
They both knew selling Varek's treasure was out of the question. Too many questions. Too much risk.
At the job board, dozens of parchment slips fluttered in the wind:
Street Patrol – Guarding merchant carts through the Marrowgate Slums.
Messenger Escort – Delivering letters to Crownspire Mansions (high pay, high security checks).
Pest Hunt – Sewer-bound task targeting "a sudden infestation" near the eastern district.
Eliakim traced his fingers over a different notice—an auction guard request for a "special goods" event scheduled in three nights. The location wasn't listed, only a symbol: a black circle with three claw marks.
The Codex pulsed faintly, recording the symbol in its "Unknown Marks" section.
From across the square, the broad-shouldered armored man from the parade now spoke with a guild scribe, his hands gesturing in sharp, disciplined motions. His armor bore fresh repair marks, and a warhammer hung from his back like an iron pillar.
The mage from earlier now argued with a clerk at the Arcane Athenaeum's open counter, sparks flicking from her sleeves with every impatient word. The clerk looked ready to bolt.
Eliakim noted both without slowing his pace. Potential… but not today.
They turned into Rosepetal Promenade, the upper-class street glowing under ornate lanterns. Perfumed air drifted from the open doors of high-end restaurants. A faint shimmer in a shop window caught Eliakim's eye—not glass, but the reflection of a figure moving on the rooftop above.
Hooded. Silent. The same man from the parade.
By the time Eliakim looked up, the man was gone. Not even a shadow left behind.
Following a side street toward cheaper lodging, the cobblestones gave way to dirt and cracked paving. This was the Marrowgate Slums, where the smell of damp rot clung to the air. Children darted between alleyways, and shuttered stalls stood abandoned.
A sudden scuffle erupted nearby—three rough men surrounding a gaunt old vendor. Gideon's hand went to his twin-axe, but Eliakim simply watched.
When one of the thugs fell from a single blow—felled not by Gideon, but by a shadow darting from the alley—Eliakim saw it again. As the man slumped lifeless to the ground, a faint wisp of smoke curled from his mouth and eyes, vanishing into the air.
Just like Varek. Just like the direwolves.
And, once again, no one else reacted. Only Eliakim's gaze followed it until it was gone.
They found an inn on the edge of the district—the Gilded Tankard, its common room noisy but warm. As they sat, Gideon tapped his fingers on the table. "You saw it again, didn't you?"
Eliakim didn't answer immediately. His eyes stayed on the Codex, which was now quietly recording every street they'd passed, every strange mark he'd seen… and in one faint corner of the page, a new sketch had appeared without his doing: a hooded silhouette with smoke curling above it.
The Codex had noticed too.