After the meal, Nathan led them across the yard to a smaller cottage at the edge of their plot. It was a modest structure, with wattle walls patched with clay, a thatched roof sagging slightly in the middle, and one narrow window showing the glow of the moon. Inside, there were two small beds, a table, and a chest pushed against the wall.
Darius and Favian stepped in, and Favian quietly slid the wooden bolt across the door.
"We'll share a room," Favian murmured, voice low. "Safer this way. If we're attacked, we won't be caught apart."
Darius nodded. He paced a little, eyeing the bare walls. "Why does everyone in Anason seem to have spare cottages?" he asked out of genuine curiosity, trying to still his nerves.
Favian shrugged as he unbuckled his gear. "Old families, old lands. Most of it's inherited. People build extra homes for extended kin, but the wars and attacks… well… some houses end up empty."
Darius inhaled slowly. Then, with a determined look, he lifted his hand.
"[Reveal Armory]."
The air hummed.
A soft, echoing vibration filled the room as his swords materialised out of shimmering light—two blades glowing with silver brilliance… especially the dark one, pulsing with a sickly shadow that seemed to eat the light around it. They hovered in front of him, suspended, their edges whispering as though alive.
Favian's eyes widened and he rushed forward. "Darius! Dismiss them… now! If Meredith or her family see even a flash of that, they'll know we're Truthers!"
But Darius didn't move. He stared instead at the darkest blade, his expression tight.
"Look at it, Favian," he said quietly. "Look."
Favian did, reluctantly.
The sword's metal wasn't just black; it was as though frost and rot had fused, forming something unnatural. A faint, writhing shadow clung to its edge, like smoke trapped beneath ice.
"Roder said it was cursed," Darius continued. "What did he mean?"
"I don't know," Favian replied. His voice had softened, but his jaw remained tense. "But if that sword threw Roder into the fire, burning him alive, and if whatever force in it caused that… then it could do worse to you."
Darius swallowed. The memory of the man he'd first taken the sword from crept back into his mind: pale, cracked skin… dark, vein-like marks… eyes sunken as though sickness itself had rooted in his soul.
"He had a diseased look… the man I took it from." Darius whispered. "When I saw him. His skin was wrong. Rotted. Dead before he died. I think Roder was right. This thing did that to him."
Favian stepped closer, eyes moving between the blade and Darius' face. "Then listen to reason," he said, voice hushed but firm. "If that weapon truly cursed him… if it can kill with touch, you shouldn't be holding it. You shouldn't even be near it until we understand what it really is."
Silence fell.
The cursed blade pulsed one last time, as though it had heard them.
Darius slowly reached out a hand, not to touch it, but to command it away.
"[Dismiss Armory.]"
The sword vanished with a faint hiss, and the room grew instantly brighter, lighter.
Favian exhaled shakily.
Darius sat on one of the beds, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Until we know the truth," Favian repeated, "don't use that weapon."
Darius nodded without protest. He understood too well.
✧══════✧ ༺─༒─༻ ✧══════✧
Morning came with a soft knock at the door.
Favian jolted awake, hand darting instinctively for the dagger beneath his pillow. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, sleep still fogging his mind. Darius, sprawled across his bed, groaned and rolled onto his side, muttering something unintelligible.
"Who's there?" Favian called with a rough voice.
"It's Meredith," came the gentle reply from beyond the door. "Morning's come. Father says he could use some help moving the goods to the cart before the market opens."
Favian exhaled, easing the tension from his shoulders. He looked over at Darius, who was still half-asleep. "Up," he muttered, tossing a small cloth at him. "We've already stayed longer than we should."
"I barely slept," Darius mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "You're lucky I didn't dream us into another fight."
Favian smirked faintly. "You were snoring loud enough to scare off Ragelers."
By the time they stepped outside, the morning light had spread across the village, washing the rooftops in gold. The scent of baked bread and roasted grain drifted from nearby homes, mingling with the crisp air. Nathan and Catherine were already outside, arranging sacks of grain and woven baskets of fruit on their cart, while Meredith stood beside them, her red hair catching the sun like flame.
"Good morning," she said warmly as they approached. "You two sleep soundly?"
"As soundly as soldiers on the road can," Favian replied, forcing a smile.
They joined in the work, loading the cart with sacks and crates. Darius, though still sluggish, worked quickly, eager to impress. When they were done, Nathan thanked them with a satisfied nod. "You've strong arms, both of you. Makes me wish I had more sons."
"Then you'd have to feed more mouths," Catherine said with a laugh. "I think one Meredith is enough work for us."
Meredith rolled her eyes. "I heard that, Mother."
After a modest breakfast of porridge and warm bread, they set off together. Nathan leading the horse-drawn cart, with Favian and Darius walking alongside. The road into the town was lively already with traders and children.
When they reached the marketplace, the air buzzed with chatter and the scent of spices. Merchants called over noise, displaying fabrics, grains, trinkets, and jars of preserved fruit.
Nathan guided the cart to a stall near the centre square. As they began unloading, Meredith turned to her father. "I'll go fetch the new threads from the other side of the market. The merchant said he saved a few spools for me."
Nathan nodded absently as he arranged his goods.
Then he turned suddenly, as if remembering something. "Don't you need someone to go with you as usual?" he asked.
Darius raised his brow. "I'll go with you," he said quickly, before anyone else could speak.
Meredith blinked in mild surprise, then smiled. "That would be kind, Kriger."
Favian gave Darius a sidelong glance, something between amusement and warning. "Don't wander too far," he said, turning back to help Nathan and Catherine at their stall.
Darius only grinned. "We'll be back before you know it."
And with that, he followed Meredith into the thronging market streets.
Curious, Darius turned to Meredith as they made their way through the bustling market street, weaving between stalls draped in bright fabrics and tables stacked with vegetables and trinkets. "Why do you need someone to go with you just to buy threads?" he asked.
Meredith sighed, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. "Because the man who sells them is a complete nuisance," she said, lowering her voice. "He's an old pervert who keeps trying to flirt with me every time I come alone. I thought if he saw a man with me, he'd behave himself for once."
Darius' jaw tightened. "Well, if he says anything inappropriate, he'll regret it," he said flatly.
Meredith smirked at him, her tone turning playful. "My, aren't you the chivalrous one? I'll be sure to stand behind you when he starts his nonsense."
Her teasing caught Darius off guard, and he felt the heat rise to his cheeks. "I'm just saying," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "No one should talk to you like that."
She laughed softly, clearly amused by his flustered tone. "You're very sweet, Kriger."
Before Darius could respond, a voice echoed in his head.
>>Kriger, where is Favian?<<
The suddenness of it made him blink, his steps faltering. It was his Guide.
Not now, Darius thought quickly, replying silently. "I'm… occupied."
Meredith turned to him, brow raised. "What did you say?"
"Nothing," Darius replied quickly, forcing an awkward smile. "Just… muttering something I remembered."
She gave a small, curious "oh," and they continued walking.
After a short while, they reached a narrow stall tucked between two spice vendors. The sign above was faded, and threads of all colours hung from wooden pegs along the wall. Behind the counter sat an old man with a greasy beard and tangled hair, his clothes stained with dye.
He looked up when Meredith approached, a sly grin curling on his lips. "Ah, my favourite customer returns," he said, his eyes gleaming. But when his gaze slid past her and met Darius, standing tall, arms crossed, a hard look in his eyes… the grin faded into a grimace.
"Who's this?" the old man grumbled.
Meredith smiled sweetly. "A friend," she said. "He insisted on keeping me company."
The old man's frown deepened, and Darius simply stared back, his expression unreadable.
The old man narrowed his eyes at Meredith, his tone turning sour.
"Well now," he said, leaning forward on the counter, "you've been coming around with different men these days. Have you finally decided which one you're going to marry? Or" he gave an oily smirk "do none of them compare to me? Am I not attractive enough for you?"
Meredith stiffened in disgust, looking away.
Before she could respond, Darius stepped forward, his expression darkening. In one swift motion, he grabbed the old man by the front of his shirt and yanked him across the counter. The old man gasped, feet scraping against the floor, eyes bulging in terror as Darius pulled him close.
"Listen to me," Darius growled, his voice low and cold. "Don't you ever speak to her like that again. Not as a joke. Not as anything."
The old man trembled violently, nodding so quickly his beard quivered. "Y–yes, yes, I understand—no more jokes, no more…"
He fumbled blindly behind him, snatched up the bundle of threads, and shoved them toward Meredith with a shaking hand.
Meredith muttered a tense "thank you" and quickly tugged Darius' sleeve, urging him to let go.
Darius released the shopkeeper, who collapsed back into his seat, clutching his chest as if narrowly escaping death.
They stepped out into the open market again, the noise and sunlight scouring over them.
For a moment, Meredith was silent. Then she let out a small, breathy laugh.
"Well," she said, looking at Darius with a bright smile, "that was… impressive. Terrifying, but impressive."
Darius shrugged, still simmering. "He shouldn't talk to you like that. Ever. If he tries it again, I'll leave a scar on him he won't forget."
Meredith burst into giggles, unable to hold it in. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Very."
She lingered on him for a moment, eyes soft with a mix of gratitude and amusement.
"Thank you, Kriger," she said. "Most men just tell me to ignore him. You're the first one who actually scared him silent."
Darius smirked slightly, trying and failing not to enjoy her praise.
"Happy to be of service."
Meredith walked beside him, humming lightly as she tucked the threads into her basket. Then, with a spark of excitement in her eyes, she turned to Darius.
"Have you tried the mead here in Sadnon yet?" she asked. "Everyone says ours is the sweetest in the empire."
Darius blinked. "No… I've never tried mead before. I haven't even heard of it."
Meredith stopped mid-stride and stared at him as if he'd said he'd never seen fire before.
"What do you mean you've never heard of it?" she asked, squinting suspiciously. "How are you a citizen of the Anasonian Empire and not know what mead is?"
Darius froze. His heart skipped. Idiot. Fool. Think.
He cleared his throat and forced a laugh.
"Well… I don't drink much of anything," he said quickly. "Only water. And milk sometimes. That's all."
Meredith held his gaze for a second longer, her expression unreadable.
"…Oh," she finally said, though she didn't sound entirely convinced.
Darius sighed inwardly in relief, until she suddenly grabbed his hand.
"Well, that changes today," she announced with a grin. "You have to try Sadnon's mead at least once!"
"What… now?" Darius sputtered as she tugged him forward.
"Yes, now!" she said, dragging him through the bustling crowd. "If you've survived this long without tasting it, then I absolutely refuse to let you leave Sadnon before you do."
And with that, hand still locked around his, she pulled him toward a small tavern at the corner of the market street. Darius stumbled behind her, flustered and terrified of ruining his cover again.