CHAPTER 64 – WHILE WAITING
Seryn woke early.
The awakening wasn't sudden. Before opening his eyes, he listened to the sounds inside the inn. Wooden floorboards creaking. Muffled conversations drifting up from below. A door opening and closing. The city had already woken.
The crack in his chest was silent.
That, too, was information.
He got out of bed. Stepped to the window and looked outside. The street was still narrow, but the crowd had grown—carts, pack animals, hurried people. In this city, no one wanted to be late. Transitions did not wait.
He adjusted his coat. Took his sword. Left the room.
As he went down the stairs, he glanced at the tables on the inn's lower floor. The travelers had changed. Some faces from yesterday were gone, replaced by new ones. Same tables. Different people.
He stopped at the counter.
"Circle routes?" he asked.
Without lifting his head, the innkeeper answered, "Northern auxiliary line opens toward midday. But it'll be full."
"Alternative?"
"There's a western transfer. You'll detour. Two extra cities."
Seryn nodded. "Understood."
He stepped outside.
Despite the early hour, the streets were tense. That was the nature of transit cities. People didn't stay—they passed through. And passing through taught distrust.
He walked toward the teleportation courtyard. The barriers were open, but entry was still controlled. Officials checked lists, directed people into lines.
Seryn didn't join a queue.
He moved to the edge of the courtyard and stood at the base of a stone pillar.
He waited.
For most people, waiting was empty time. Not for Seryn.
After a while, he felt a presence—unfamiliar, but similar to the one from last night. The grey flow didn't react. That didn't mean it should be ignored.
There were three people in the crowd.
They weren't standing together. But they were aware of one another. Their gazes didn't meet, distance carefully maintained. Their weapons were visible, but not threatening.
Not ordinary bandits, Seryn thought. But not guards either.
One of them glanced at Seryn for a brief moment—then looked away. It had lasted just long enough.
Seryn shifted position.
One step to the left. Then another. He placed the pillar at his back, adjusting his stance with the flow of the crowd.
This wasn't retreat.
It was measurement.
One of the three broke away, walking toward the edge of the courtyard. Another stayed where he was. The third slowly approached Seryn's side.
He stopped at a respectful distance.
"The road is long," the man said. There was no threat in his voice. No friendliness either.
"Yes," Seryn replied.
"Traveling alone is hard."
"I'm used to it."
The man inclined his head slightly. "The name Daskal is a crowd all by itself."
"You wouldn't be unaware of its price," Seryn said.
The man smiled. It wasn't sincere. "We are aware. That's why we're talking."
"We?"
The man didn't answer. He merely glanced over his shoulder—toward the other figures waiting at the edge of the courtyard.
"What do you want?" Seryn asked.
"For now, nothing," the man said. "We only suggest that you be careful during your transfers."
"On whose behalf?"
The man hesitated. Then shrugged. "In this city, no one speaks under a single name."
That was an answer.
The man stepped back into the crowd. The other two dispersed as well—no haste, no trace left behind.
Seryn remained where he was.
The grey flow was still silent.
So it's not my situation yet, he thought. But they know my name.
He left the courtyard. This time he didn't head back to the inns, but climbed toward the upper parts of the city. The higher streets overlooked the transfer hub; from there, it was easier to see which lines were opening.
By midday, the northern auxiliary route activated.
The crowd stirred.
Seryn joined the line. He waited. Stopped at the checkpoint. Documents were examined. His name was read. Heads lifted—but no comments followed.
When he stepped into the circle, the familiar heaviness returned. This time, it passed more quickly. The world bent for an instant.
Then it released.
Another city.
Another point of passage.