CHAPTER 3
463 Words
By the time I reached the main road, I'd convinced myself I'd imagined half of what I'd seen.
Mirrors don't lag. People don't suddenly speak in someone else's voice.
And whatever had happened to the hunter...there had to be an explanation. There always was.
That was the difference between surviving and becoming another ghost story.
I tightened the straps on my pack and started south.
Nerath was three days away. The contract was finished. I should have been thinking about my next job.
Instead, every time I closed my eyes, I saw that reflection.
Not mine.
The one standing behind me.
The road climbed through cedar forests before opening into broad valleys stitched together by rivers.
By the second afternoon, signs of ordinary life began returning.
Farmers repairing fences.
Children racing along irrigation channels.
Smoke drifting lazily from distant cottages.
I hadn't realized how tense I'd become until I heard someone laughing.
It felt normal. Comforting.
I almost smiled. Almost.
Nerath appeared just before sunset.
No matter how many times I saw it, the city never looked real. Glass towers caught the evening light and scattered it across the valley, turning entire streets into rivers of gold. Between them stood ancient stone halls, weathered bridges, and shrines older than any living memory.
Some cities tried to bury their past beneath new walls. Nerath wore both at once. Like it hadn't decided which century it belonged to.
Garrick had once called it wisdom. "Don't replace what still has value."
At the time, he'd been talking about repairing a roof.
Or so I'd thought, though his lessons usually meant more than they seemed.
The western gate was crowded.
Merchants argued over tariffs while guards searched wagons entering the city.
One guard looked up as I approached.
"Purpose?"
"Collecting payment."
His eyes flicked toward the swords on my back.
"Mercenary?"
I nodded.
"Guild?"
"No."
He gave me an approving grunt.
"Less paperwork."
He stamped my travel pass.
"Welcome back."
Back.
Funny word.
I wasn't from Nerath.
I wasn't really from anywhere.
The Mercenary Exchange occupied the lower district beside the river. It smelled of damp parchment, strong tea, and people who hadn't slept enough. The woman behind the counter barely looked up.
"Contract number?"
I handed her the folded parchment.
She broke the wax seal and skimmed the report.
"No confirmed beast?"
"No."
"Spirit?"
"I don't think so."
She sighed.
"Neither does anyone else."
That caught my attention.
"What do you mean?"
She disappeared behind a shelf before returning with a stack of reports. Far too many reports.
She spread them across the desk.
Missing travellers. Strange deaths. Violence with no clear cause. Every one from the past month.
"You're the seventh to return with the same answer."
I frowned.
"There isn't one."
She nodded.
"Exactly."
- Writer
