The cold wind came before the dawn.
Kaizlan stepped into the courtyard, his coat drawn tightly around him. The morning air bit at his fingers, but he didn't complain. He liked walking before the sun rose—it made the world quieter. Less complicated.
Beside the stone arch, Daryel leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
"You're early," he said, squinting as Kaizlan approached.
"So are you."
"Because you always forget directions."
They exchanged a smirk. Daryel pulled his gloves tighter.
"So, this is the plan: We head to the lower hills, cross the small creek near the western path, and reach Estir's outer gate before midday. Simple enough?"
Kaizlan nodded, then paused.
"Do we tell anyone?"
"We're not children."
"We're not grown either."
"Exactly. No one cares."
And just like that, they started walking.
Their footsteps echoed on the dirt road as the city slowly came into view. Estir was not beautiful from a distance—it was stone stacked upon stone, gray walls and watchtowers smothered in fog. But to Kaizlan, it was the unknown, and that was enough.
As they drew closer, the air grew denser with smoke, the scent of boiled grain and unwashed labor. The gates were open, but no guards greeted them—only bored eyes behind half-raised helmets.
No one stopped them.
No one cared who they were.
Inside, the world moved faster.
Vendors shouting.
Children running barefoot.
A woman arguing over spoiled meat.
A man dragging sacks heavier than himself.
Kaizlan's eyes darted from one face to another.
He thought:
Is this all part of the same kingdom I belong to?
By the market's edge, a group of boys wrestled near a frozen barrel. They laughed loudly, shoving each other without cruelty. One of them slipped and hit the ground hard. The others paused… then laughed even harder.
Kaizlan watched with a quiet smile.
Something about their freedom stung more than it should.
Daryel nudged him.
"Hungry?"
"Not really."
"Good. Because we're broke."
They wandered farther down, away from the crowd.
That's when Kaizlan noticed it—
a girl, no older than ten, sitting alone beside a pillar. Her clothes were torn, her feet bare. She held a tin cup, but didn't beg. She just stared into nothing.
No one looked at her.
Not the nobles in passing carriages.
Not the merchants or the guards.
She was invisible.
And suddenly, Kaizlan felt something shift.
Back at the guesthouse that night, Kaizlan said little.
He sat at the desk in his small room, a candle flickering at the edge. His coat was still cold from the walk. The city hadn't welcomed him. It hadn't even seen him.
He opened his notebook.
"There are more faces in this world than there are names to carry them.
And most… are forgotten while still breathing."
He closed the book.
This was not sadness—
It was realization.
And it was just the beginning.