The sun was already high when Elias stepped out of the keep, escorted by a silent guard who kept a careful distance. Not too close, but always in sight. The man's presence was a constant reminder: freedom, however thin, had limits. Elias had grown used to it, like a cat learning the reach of its chain.
The streets of the town outside the keep were alive, but alive in a way that made the young man's nostrils flare. The smell of unwashed livestock mixed with rot and human sweat. Garbage puddled in shallow ditches, and flies buzzed around the open market stalls. A cart overturned earlier had left a brown sludge behind, glinting wet in the sunlight. The sight made him pause—he had never imagined life in such close quarters with squalor. In his old world, sanitation was taken for granted; here, it was a battlefield of filth.
Elias kept his steps measured, eyes scanning everything: the layout of streets, the paths people took, the merchants shouting over one another, the cracks in the city walls where water pooled after the last rain. Every observation was a lesson, every detail a piece of the puzzle. He made mental notes of supply routes, places of weakness, and even where the smell of sewage indicated clogged drains. "A war," he thought, "could be won or lost in places like this."
A vendor nearby cursed loudly, his voice rising above the chaos: "By the rats' tails, watch where you step!" Elias blinked. The words were crude, but the emphasis made it stick. Without thinking, he repeated it under his breath, tasting the sharpness on his tongue. It was clumsy, but effective—a first step into adopting the local vernacular. The guard's eyes flicked briefly to him, but there was no reprimand. Silent observation, the man's standard mode.
A small girl selling bread approached, hands trembling as she offered a loaf. Elias knelt slightly, inspecting the bread. "Fresh?" he asked, attempting the language he had practiced so feverishly with Kael. She nodded, eyes wide, clearly surprised by the strange accent and clear pronunciation. Elias handed her a few coins he had carried, noting the efficiency of her reaction, the ease of exchange. These small human interactions, he realized, were as much a part of the world as rivers and hills. They, too, could be cataloged, understood, and, if necessary, exploited.
He walked on, careful to keep a safe distance from the filth, but his curiosity drew him closer to the chaotic heart of the market. Shouts, haggling, laughter, and curses formed a symphony of human life. "By the rats' tails…" he muttered again, almost smiling. Kael would be impressed with the retention, but this wasn't for Kael. This was for survival, for understanding. Every word, every sight, every scent could be leveraged. He was no longer the trembling prisoner dragged from the pit; he was a student of the world, cautiously tasting its lessons.
The guard shadowed him still, silent and unassuming, but present. No one noticed him unless something went awry. It was a balance of control and freedom—the perfect compromise for observation. Elias felt the subtle tension: he could explore, but he had to remember the rules. One misstep, one word out of place, and he could be back in chains. That thought sharpened his senses even further.
By the time he returned to the keep, Elias' mind was a whirl of new knowledge: streets mapped, supply routes noted, social hierarchies observed, and his vocabulary slightly expanded with a new, colorful curse. It was progress, small but tangible. And as he climbed the steps back into the quiet of the keep, he realized that each day outside these walls was a lesson more valuable than any Kael could have provided in a chamber.
The guard fell into step beside him, silent as ever. Elias allowed himself a small, private smile. One day, he thought, the world wouldn't just be observed—it would bend to his understanding.