Kael wandered deeper into the city, letting instinct guide him through the narrow streets. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, spilled ale, and unwashed bodies. Flickering oil lamps barely illuminated the path, and here and there, the shadows seemed to breathe, swallowing shapes and whispers.
He passed by a narrow alley where a pair of figures haggled in low, hurried voices. Something changed hands—metal glinted in the faint light—before they vanished into the darkness. Kael ignored them, his focus set on finding a place to stay.
Finally, the faint sound of laughter and clinking mugs reached his ears. A crooked wooden sign swung above a door, its paint nearly faded away. The symbol of a tankard was carved into the wood—enough to confirm it was a tavern.
Pushing the door open, Kael was met with the warmth of firelight and the murmur of voices. The smell inside was stronger—roasted meat and cheap ale fighting for dominance against the stench of sweat and damp clothes.
The room was crowded but not chaotic. A group of merchants laughed in one corner, dice clattering on their table. Near the bar, a pair of mercenaries sat in silence, their armor battered and their eyes sharp.
Kael approached the counter. The innkeeper, a heavyset man with a balding head and arms like barrels, looked up from wiping a mug.
"Room or drink?" the man asked in a deep, bored voice.
"Both," Kael replied. "One meal, one drink, and a room for the night."
The innkeeper nodded and shouted an order toward the kitchen. Moments later, a steaming plate was placed before Kael: roasted meat, coarse bread, and a mug of something foamy and bitter.
He ate without rushing but with the quiet focus of someone who had gone too long without a proper meal. The bread was hard, the meat salty, but the warmth was welcome.
When the plate was empty, Kael let his gaze wander over the room. Conversations flowed around him, some harmless, others edged with danger.
He caught fragments of words:
"…new guild branch… stricter than the last one…"
"…lost two men on the north road…"
"…pay's better if you take monster contracts…"
Kael waited until a man sitting nearby—a wiry figure with a scar across his cheek—paused between drinks.
"You mentioned the guild," Kael said casually. "I'm new to the city. Where is it?"
The man smirked, wiping foam from his lips.
"First time here, huh? The Adventurers' Guild is on East Street. Big building, can't miss it. Wooden sign with a sword and quill. But…"—his voice dropped a little—"…don't think it's just about killing beasts. They've been picky lately. You'll need proof you can handle yourself."
"Proof?" Kael asked.
"Bring them something dead, something dangerous… or have a sponsor. Without that, you're just another fool with a sword."
Before Kael could reply, another man approached their table with a half-empty mug, his steps uneven but his grin wide. He looked younger, his eyes bright with excitement.
"Or," the newcomer said, slapping the table, "you can get in through talent!"
The scarred man rolled his eyes. "Don't fill his head with false hope."
"It's not false!" the newcomer insisted, leaning closer to Kael. "If you have a rare talent, the guild lets you in—no hunting beasts, no sponsors. But…"—his grin faded slightly—"…you'd better be telling the truth. If they test you and find you lied, they'll kill you on the spot. No warnings, no second chances."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Why so harsh?"
The young man shrugged. "Because faking a talent is like trying to steal from the guild. And the only way to confirm some talents requires special trials—dangerous ones. They'll make you demonstrate skills you shouldn't know unless the talent's real. Fail, and… well, you won't leave the testing chamber."
The scarred man gave a humorless chuckle. "And the guild loves to make an example of liars. Publicly, if possible."
The younger man leaned back, finishing his drink. "Still, if you've got the gift, it's the quickest way in. And the guild gives you a signing bonus—gear, coin, maybe even an artifact, depending on your talent."
Kael didn't respond. Instead, he filed the information away, his mind already working through possibilities.
After paying for his meal and drink, he received a small brass key from the innkeeper. The room upstairs was cramped but private—a narrow bed, a single candle, and a small window that overlooked a dark alley.
---
--Night--
Kael lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the faint hum of voices from below lull him toward sleep.
Then—three sharp knocks echoed from somewhere down the hall.
He sat up slightly, listening. The knocking came again, this time louder.
A groggy, irritated voice answered from the other room:
"Who the hell is banging at this hour?"
It was one of the drunks from earlier, his tone heavy with annoyance. Footsteps thumped across the floorboards, and the sound of a latch being pulled open followed.
The door opened—then slammed shut with violent force.
Muffled noises leaked through the thin walls: a scuffle, a heavy thud, a short gasp… then nothing but an unnatural quiet.
Time dragged, and eventually, the door to that room creaked open again. Whoever was inside stepped out and closed it—this time gently, almost reverently.
No more disturbances came that night.
---
--Morning--
The sunlight that filtered through the small window was pale and cold. Kael dressed and made his way downstairs, the smell of bread and broth greeting him.
The inn was quieter than last night. He ordered a simple meal: hot stew and bread. As he ate, curiosity gnawed at him.
He glanced toward the scarred man from before, who was sitting at the counter nursing a mug.
"Something happen last night?" Kael asked, his voice casual but edged with interest. "Heard some noise. Then silence."
The man raised a brow. "Probably some settling of old scores."
Another patron nearby, a man with a mocking grin, overheard and chuckled darkly.
"Maybe he thought he'd be safe here. Or maybe…"—he swirled his drink lazily—"…he just wanted one last drink before dying."
The laughter that followed was low, almost cruel, and then conversation drifted back to other matters.
Kael said nothing, but the image of the quiet hallway and the slow, deliberate closing of that door stayed with him.