Rainwater seeped between the cracks of the stones, gathering dust and filth before being carried away into gutters rarely touched by human hands. The city exhaled, but with remnants that never truly disappeared.
The wooden gate of Lornfall stood firm before a dark-haired young man. The brown coat he wore had clearly been patched several times, a sign of long journeys and perpetually limited coin. A simple bow hung on his back, not made for nobles, but well cared for. At his waist rested a short sword, enough to survive, not enough to boast.
He paused briefly before passing through the gate. His eyes settled on the city emblem carved into the wood, a sun half-covered by clouds. 'City of Dusk' people called it. A resting place for those heading north, and the final destination for those who never returned.
Two figures came into view as he approached the gate. As he drew closer, the figures became clearer, and with a brief glance through his sharp perception, he saw exhaustion and something hidden in the eyes of the two guards.
As he neared them, they began to take notice, and both guards adjusted their posture. Their shoulders tensed. Their feet shifted slightly, taking a more balanced stance. One hand loosened a sword's scabbard, while the other remained still, as if waiting for a signal that had yet to come.
"Name?" one of them asked. His voice was flat, but his eyes never left his hands.
The other guard said nothing. He merely moved his palm to the sword hilt, fingers curling with a familiarity far too trained to be called relaxed.
Of course, this did not escape his notice. While meeting the gaze of the guard who asked his name, he answered,
"Edric."
"Purpose?"
The question tightened Edric's jaw. He glanced north, beyond the city walls, toward lands that were no longer home.
Several seconds passed before he spoke again. The rain filled the pause, dripping from the edge of the gate and soaking the ground between them.
"Looking for work," he said. No more. No less.
The two guards exchanged a brief glance, quick enough for ordinary people to miss, but not for Edric. It was not agreement, but assessment. Like two men who had seen too many young travelers arrive with the same excuse, only to leave as corpses or forgotten names.
"What kind of work?" the first guard asked, slightly narrowing his eyes.
"Anything that pays," Edric replied calmly.
The answer did not satisfy them at all. If anything, it had the opposite effect. The second guard shifted his foot half a step forward, close enough to shorten the distance if needed. Rain poured over his iron helmet, dripping along his tightly set jaw.
"You come alone?" he finally asked. His voice was low, like a warning disguised as a statement.
"Always," Edric replied.
For a moment, only the sound of rain could be heard. Lornfall seemed to hold its breath with them. Beyond the gate, the city's life continued, laughter, shouts, the clanging of metal, but it all felt distant, like another world he might never truly enter.
The first guard let out a long breath. "Many people come to Lornfall with good intentions," he said. "Not all of them leave the same way."
Edric gave a slight nod. "I don't plan to leave anytime soon."
It was a small mistake. The words made the second guard's eyes flick quickly to Edric's sword, then to the bow on his back.
"Any contraband?" the first guard asked.
"No."
"Any dealings with secret guilds, cults, or rebels?"
"No."
"You sure?"
Edric met his eyes directly. "If I did, I wouldn't be standing in front of this gate."
The answer drew a thin smirk from the first guard, not a smile, more like a bitter acknowledgment. He raised his hand, giving a small signal. The second guard slowly loosened his grip on the sword hilt, though he did not fully release it.
"Go in," the first guard said at last. "And don't give us a reason to remember your face."
The wooden gate opened with a heavy, creaking sound, like the groan of something old being forced awake. Edric stepped past the threshold, rainwater still clinging to his coat and hair.
As he passed them, the second guard whispered softly, just loud enough for Edric to hear.
"People like you don't last long in this city."
Edric did not turn. "I rarely stay in one place."
He walked into Lornfall, and the gate slowly closed behind him.
The City of Dusk now surrounded him.
And without anyone noticing, except for something that had yet to dare reveal itself, Lornfall had just accepted a guest who would change more than his own fate.
Edric's footsteps echoed faintly along the main road, muffled by the rain that continued to fall. Lanterns hung along the street, their light trembling like flames unsure whether they would endure. Shadows of buildings stretched long, embracing narrow streets and making the city feel even more suffocating. Lornfall did not welcome. It merely allowed.
Edric walked without haste. He observed every corner, marking each intersection in his memory. Instincts formed after that incident guided him to choose paths that offered room to retreat or advance. A city like this did not forgive a first mistake.
Near a market crossing, a beggar sat leaning against a damp stone wall. His face was hidden beneath a tattered hood, one hand extended in silence. As Edric passed, eyes beneath the hood lifted, empty, yet too sharp to be truly indifferent. Edric tossed a coin. The sound of metal sank into a puddle, and the beggar smiled faintly, as if he knew more than he should.
A few steps later, a scuffle broke out. Two merchants shoved each other beneath a leaking canopy, their curses mixing with the smell of salted fish and wet cloth. A city guard stood not far away, spear resting on his shoulder. He glanced over as Edric approached, his gaze sweeping over the bow and sword before pausing briefly on Edric's face. No greeting. Just a quick calculation. Edric returned the look calmly and moved on.
The scent of the city changed with every step, fishy, bitter, then warm with melting fat. From an open blacksmith's shop, a smith hammered glowing metal, each strike cutting through the night like a warning. From a small tavern, laughter spilled briefly before the door closed again. Life went on, yet seemed to choose not to touch him.
Edric stopped before a rickety notice board. Its wood was rotten, its nails rusted. Tattered papers clung in layers, some torn, others reduced to fading shadows of ink. He read quickly, without emotion. Low pay. High risk. Promises that promised nothing.
As he searched, one notice caught his attention, his eyes stopping on it.
WANTED: HUNTER OR GUARD. FAIR PAY. ASK AT THE CROOKED HORN.
The writing was firm, without ornament. Edric tore it down and folded it neatly. His stomach reminded him that he had not eaten. The coins in his pocket clinked softly, enough for one night, no more.
As he turned, a chill brushed the back of his neck. Not the cold of rain. Not the cold of night. Something quieter, as if the space around him had compressed for a moment. Edric stared at the puddle by his feet. Lantern reflections trembled. His shadow stretched long, and for an instant, it seemed as though another shadow stood too close.
He held his breath.
When he turned, the alley behind him was empty. Only laundry swayed gently, and water dripped from pipes. Edric exhaled.
'Maybe it's just my imagination'
In the distance, a wooden sign bearing the symbol of a crooked horn creaked in the wind.
The Crooked Horn.
Edric headed toward it. Beyond the rain and shadows, something followed, not with footsteps, not with sound, but with a patience that had been waiting long before he arrived.
And the night in the City of Dusk moved toward its own fate.