Chapter 18 - A thought

I sit down reluctantly, the plush chair feeling too soft after days of hard travel. My muscles remain tense, ready to spring up at the first sign of trouble. These people know about the Scaled Ones—about the massacre. The knowledge makes my skin crawl with suspicion.

"You must be hungry," Aite says, his voice gentle as he signals a server. "The journey from Egozia isn't kind, especially when taking the less-travelled paths."

Food arrives without me answering—plates of steaming meat and vegetables that smell better than anything I've encountered since leaving the Academy. My stomach growls, but I don't touch it yet, watching as Sihx takes a bite first.

"We need to leave Jeolara," Sihx says between mouthfuls. "I've found what I came for."

Elefn's eyes flick to me, then back to Sihx. "And what exactly is that? A walking target?"

Her stare is unnerving—calculating, and intense. I can feel the power radiating from her, something beyond physical strength. She's dangerous, more dangerous than she appears, and that's saying something.

"The boy has potential," Sihx replies, unmoved by her skepticism.

"I'm not a boy," I snap, the words out before I can stop them.

Elefn's lips curl into something between a smirk and a snarl. "No? Then what are you?"

I meet her gaze directly. "Someone who doesn't appreciate being discussed like I'm not here."

"He speaks," she says, leaning forward slightly. "And with such fire."

Aite clears his throat. "Where will you go next, Sihx? The Academy won't simply let this go."

Sihx sets down his fork with precision. "We need space and time. I'm taking him to the Western border."

"The Unknown?" Aite's expression shifts to concern. "That's—"

"Necessary," Sihx finishes. "There's a shadow mage tracking us. Skilled. Persistent. They want the boy."

"Mark," I correct him, though no one seems to notice.

"A shadow mage?" Elefn's interest sharpens. "Academy?"

"Yes. High-ranking, based on their skill level."

Elefn's eyes return to me, studying me with renewed intensity. I can't tell if she's measuring my worth or imagining the easiest way to kill me. Perhaps both.

"What's so special about him?" she asks, not bothering to address me directly.

"His markings are unlike any I've seen," Sihx explains. "They respond differently. Adapt. The tattoo isn't just a conduit for power—it's evolving."

I shift uncomfortably under their scrutiny. The snake tattoo feels warm against my skin, as if responding to their attention.

"And you plan to... what? Train him?" Aite asks, his tone carefully neutral.

"Develop him," Sihx corrects. "The border of the Unknown offers isolation and natural barriers against pursuit. We can work without interruption."

Aite's expression grows thoughtful, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. The silence stretches, broken only by the distant sounds of the restaurant around us.

"The Unknown is no place for the unprepared," he finally says. "Even with your skills, Sihx, the journey is perilous."

"I'm aware of the risks."

"And yet you're willing to take them." Aite glances at me again, his eyes reflecting something I can't quite name—concern, perhaps, or curiosity. "This must be important."

Elefn leans back in her chair, arms crossed. "Or he's finally lost his mind."

Sihx ignores the jab. "We leave tomorrow at dawn. I've already arranged transportation to the western checkpoint."

Aite and Elefn exchange a look—a silent communication born of long familiarity. Something passes between them, a decision made without words.

"The Unknown is beautiful this time of year," Aite says, his voice warm with resolve. "The healing herbs will be in bloom. It would be a shame to miss the opportunity to collect them."

Elefn rolls her eyes but nods. "I could use some target practice. The wildlife there provides a decent challenge."

Sihx raises an eyebrow. "You're volunteering?"

"We'll join you," Aite says simply. "I suspect this journey will write quite a tale. You shouldn't face it alone."

I watch the three of them, the easy way they communicate without words, the casual manner in which they've just decided to risk their lives by venturing into the Unknown. It's not normal. People don't just volunteer for deadly missions without good reason.

"You're coming with us? Just like that?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

Elefn snorts. "What, did you think we'd let Sihx have all the fun?"

But I'm not buying it. There's something deeper here—a bond forged through blood and time. These people have history, the kind that doesn't need explanation or justification. I've seen it before, with Maya's company. The way veterans would follow each other into hell without question because they'd already been there together a dozen times before.

"You trust each other that much?" I ask, studying their faces.

Aite smiles gently. "We've faced worse together."

"Much worse," Elefn adds, though she doesn't elaborate.

I push the food around my plate, appetite diminishing as the reality of my situation sinks in. More strangers who know more about me than I know about myself. The Scaled Ones, my tattoo, its "evolution"—everyone seems to have pieces of my puzzle except me.

"Tomorrow at dawn," I repeat Sihx's words. "That's... soon."

Sihx gives me a sharp look. "Is that a problem?"

It is. A massive one. Maya and the others could be in Jeolara right now. This might be my only chance to find them, to reconnect with the only family I have left. But Sihx has already decided our path, without consulting me, without considering what I might need.

"I was hoping to look for someone while we're here," I say carefully. "My old company might be in the city."

"The mercenaries?" Sihx's voice is flat. "We don't have time for detours."

"It wouldn't be a detour. Just a day, maybe two—"

"The shadow mage won't give us two days," he cuts me off. "Every hour we remain in Jeolara increases our risk."

My fingers tighten around the fork. Once again, choices are being made for me. At the Academy, at least I had some illusion of control. But since meeting Sihx, I've been pulled along like driftwood in a current, my own desires and needs irrelevant to the larger plan.

"And what if I say no?" I challenge, meeting his gaze directly. "What if I decide to stay and look for my people?"

The table falls silent. Aite shifts uncomfortably while Elefn watches with eager interest, her hand subtly moving closer to where I suspect she keeps a weapon.

"Then you'll likely be dead or captured within days," Sihx replies evenly. "And everything your tribe died for will be lost."

The words hit like a physical blow. I want to argue, to fight back, but the truth in his statement stings too sharply.

"You don't know what my tribe died for," I mutter, but the conviction has drained from my voice.

"Perhaps not," Aite interjects softly. "But we know what they lived for. The Scaled Ones were guardians of ancient knowledge, protectors of a balance that few understood."

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I look up at him, surprised. "How do you know that?"

"There are stories," he says. "Histories kept by those who respected your people's purpose, even if they didn't fully comprehend it."

Another reminder that strangers know more about my heritage than I do. The frustration burns in my chest, mixing with the helplessness of my position. I want to flip the table, to walk out and search every corner of Jeolara for Maya and the others. But what then? Lead the shadow mage straight to them? Put them in danger because of what I am?

I set down my fork, my appetite gone completely.

"Dawn it is," I concede, the words tasting bitter.

I say the words, but my mind is already working on another plan. Dawn isn't for many hours yet. Plenty of time to slip away and find that red-headed girl from the gate—the informant. She knows the city, knows its people. If anyone could help me locate Maya's company quickly, it would be someone like her.

The conversation shifts around me as I push food around my plate, nodding occasionally when it seems appropriate. My silence goes largely unnoticed as Sihx leans toward his companions.

"The Egozian border patrols have doubled since we last passed through," he tells them, his voice low. "New checkpoints at every major crossing."

Elefn snorts. "Typical. Someone important lose their favourite toy?"

"Something like that." Sihx's expression remains neutral. "They're hunting a fugitive from the Academy."

"You, I presume," Aite says, glancing briefly at me.

I tune out their conversation, focusing instead on the problem at hand. The pickpocket had been working near Cobbler's Gate. Street thieves usually have territories, patterns. She might return there tomorrow, but I don't have until tomorrow. I need to find her tonight.

"The situation in the Eastern Quarter has deteriorated," Aite is saying. "Three factories collapsed last month. The owners blamed sabotage, but the workers claim the machinery was pushed beyond safety limits."

"Any truth to either claim?" Sihx asks.

"Both, likely." Aite shrugs. "The machinery was indeed faulty, but someone helped it along."

My mind drifts back to the gate. The girl had been watching the guards closely, knew their habits. She'd warned us about their interest in information. A regular, then. Someone who works that area consistently.

"You've been quiet," Elefn suddenly says, her ice-blue eyes fixed on me.

I look up, realising I've been silent too long. "Just tired."

"Hmm." She doesn't believe me, but doesn't press further.

Sihx continues updating them on his travels, mentioning places I've never heard of, people whose names mean nothing to me. I catch fragments about political tensions, border disputes, rumors of Academy experiments gone wrong. In another context, I might find it fascinating. Now, it's just background noise to my planning.

If I leave tonight while Sihx sleeps, I could reach Cobbler's Gate before dawn. Find the girl, get information about Maya's company, and be back before anyone notices I'm gone. It's risky, but what choice do I have? I can't just abandon the only family I have left. Especially when I'm so close.

"We should prepare for tomorrow," Aite says, pushing back from the table. "The journey to the Unknown requires specific supplies."

Elefn nods, standing smoothly. "I need to check my weapons. The wildlife there doesn't die easily."

"We'll meet in the lobby at dawn," Sihx confirms. "Bring only what you can carry comfortably for days."

Aite pauses, looking at me with genuine warmth. "Rest well, Mark. The Unknown is beautiful, but it demands respect. You'll need your strength."

"And decent reflexes," Elefn adds with a half-smile. "Unless you fancy becoming something's dinner."

They leave together, their footsteps fading as they head toward the lift. The banquet hall has emptied considerably in the last hour, leaving just a few patrons scattered at distant tables. Sihx and I sit in silence, the remains of our meal cooling between us.

I can feel his eyes on me, studying, assessing. Waiting for me to speak, perhaps. But what is there to say? He's made the decisions. I'm just along for the ride—at least, that's what he thinks.

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The silence between us stretches, heavy with unspoken tension. I push the half-eaten food around my plate, appetite long gone. The opulent surroundings of the Covetous Crown feel suffocating now—all gilt and pretence, nothing real or honest about it. Just like this situation.

Sihx finally breaks the silence, his eyes sweeping over the remains of our meal. "We should get some rest. I can book rooms here for the night."

I look up sharply. "Here?"

"The Crown has secure accommodations. Better than most in Jeolara."

"No," I say firmly. "Let's find somewhere else."

His eyes narrow slightly. "Something wrong with this establishment?"

I gesture vaguely at our surroundings—the crystal chandeliers, the plush velvet chairs, the waitstaff hovering attentively nearby. "This place... It's too much. Too many eyes, too many ears. I'd prefer somewhere less conspicuous."

"Less conspicuous," he repeats, testing the words.

"Somewhere smaller. Quieter." I meet his gaze steadily. "A shabby inn on a forgotten street would suit me better than this gilded cage."

Sihx studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. I can almost see the calculations running behind those dark eyes—weighing my request against his own plans, searching for hidden motives.

"The people here sour my mood," I add, not entirely untruthfully. "Too many reminders of the Academy."

His mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly. "You dislike luxury?"

"I dislike pretence," I correct him. "And I sleep better when I don't feel like I'm being watched."

Another long pause. I keep my face neutral, willing my heartbeat to remain steady. If he suspects I'm planning to slip away...

"Very well," he finally says. "I care little for fancy trappings myself. A simpler accommodation will do."

Relief washes through me, though I'm careful not to show it. "Good."

Sihx signals for the bill, paying with a small stack of coins that appears from somewhere within his robes. I notice he leaves no tip—another calculated move, I suspect. Nothing memorable about our visit.

We rise from the table and make our way to the lift. The operator nods respectfully as we enter, pulling the ornate brass lever to begin our descent.

"Eight floors is excessive," I mutter, watching the numbers tick down.

"Jeolarans build to impress," Sihx replies. "Height equals status here."

"Seems impractical."

"Most displays of wealth are."

The lift reaches the ground floor with a gentle bump. The doors slide open to reveal the same ornate lobby we passed through earlier, now quieter as the evening has progressed.

The doorman springs to attention as we approach the exit, bowing slightly at the waist. His uniform is pressed to perfection, gold buttons gleaming in the lamplight.

"I do hope you gentlemen enjoyed your evening at the Covetous Crown," he says, voice dripping with practised charm. "Was everything to your satisfaction?"

"It was adequate," Sihx replies without slowing his pace.

The doorman's smile falters slightly. "Will you be requiring a carriage, sir?"

"No."

I follow Sihx through the door that the man holds open, feeling his confused gaze on our backs as we step out into the cool night air of Jeolara. The street before us is quieter now, though still far from deserted. Mechanical carriages rumble past occasionally, their engines hissing steam into the darkness.

Sihx turns left, moving with purpose. "There's a district two streets over with more modest accommodations."

I fall into step beside him, my mind already mapping the quickest route back to Cobbler's Gate once he's asleep. The night stretches before us, full of possibilities—and for the first time since meeting Sihx, I feel like I might regain some control over my own fate.

Sihx navigates through the dimming streets of Jeolara, watching shadows stretch across the cobblestones as night properly settles in. The crowds have thinned considerably, making our path easier to navigate. No more shoving through masses of bodies, no more constant vigilance against a dozen potential pickpockets at once.

"Less populated at night," I observe, keeping pace with Sihx's long strides.

"Curfews in certain districts," he replies without looking back. "Industrial accidents have made the authorities... cautious."

I doubt it's concern for citizen safety driving these curfews. More likely the powers that don't want prying eyes seeing whatever happens in those factories after dark. Maya always said that nothing good happens when authorities clear the streets at night.

We turn down a narrower street lined with gas lamps that sputter and hiss, casting an uneven glow across the weathered buildings. The architecture here is less ornate but more practical—sturdy brick and iron rather than gilded facades. Steam pipes run along exterior walls, venting occasional bursts of pressure into the night air.

I feel a slight tug at my pocket—subtle, almost imperceptible. But years with the company taught me to recognise the distinctive pressure of fingers that don't belong to me.

Without breaking stride, I grab the wrist attached to those fingers, twisting sharply as I turn. A skinny boy, no older than twelve, stares up at me with wide eyes, his arm caught in my grip.

"Bad choice," I tell him quietly.

The boy doesn't struggle or call out—a professional, then, despite his age. His eyes flick to Sihx, who has stopped a few paces ahead and turned to observe.

"Sorry, mister," the boy mutters. "Hungry is all."

I release his wrist but keep my body angled to block any attempt at escape. "Find another way to fill your stomach. This one will get your fingers broken eventually."

The boy rubs his wrist, backing away slowly. "No other way in Jeolara."

"There's always another way," I say, thinking of my own childhood—the hunger, the desperation, the choices that weren't really choices at all.

The boy melts into the shadows between buildings, disappearing completely as if he'd never existed. I turn back to find Sihx watching me with an unreadable expression.

"What?" I ask, resuming our walk.

"Most would have called for the watch."

I shrug. "He's just a kid."

"A kid who'd have cut your throat for a copper if he thought he could manage it."

"Maybe." I don't disagree, but I can't bring myself to condemn a child for doing what's necessary to survive. "Still just a kid."

Sihx makes a noncommittal sound and continues walking. We pass through streets that grow progressively narrower, the buildings pressing in on either side. The air smells of coal smoke and machine oil, with undertones of cooking food from the occasional late-night eatery.

"Almost there," Sihx says after we've walked in silence for several minutes.

We round a corner and come upon a three-story building wedged between a closed repair shop and what appears to be a small factory. A sign hangs above the door, the metal letters backlit by a steady amber glow: "The Coveted Rest."

I snort at the name. "Even their inns can't escape the envious theme."

"It's considered good business practice here," Sihx says. "Establishes the right mindset in customers."

The building itself is surprisingly well-maintained, with polished brass fixtures and clean windows. Steam rises from vents along the roofline, and a series of small mechanical contraptions whir and click along the exterior walls—likely some kind of security system. It's not the Crown, but it's far from the shabby hideaway I'd hoped for.

"More refined than I expected," I mutter.

"The truly desperate establishments are too dangerous even for us," Sihx replies. "This place strikes the right balance—comfortable enough to rest properly, forgettable enough to avoid attention."

We approach the entrance, a set of double doors with intricate gears embedded in the frame. As we near, the gears begin to turn, and the doors slide open automatically. Inside, the lobby is warm and lit by gas lamps with polished reflectors that cast a pleasant glow across the wooden floors.

A mechanical clock on the wall ticks loudly, its hands pointing to just past midnight. A few patrons sit in leather chairs scattered around the lobby, reading newspapers or conversing in low tones. None of them look up as we enter—another good sign. Curious eyes are the last thing we need.

Sihx walks directly to the reception desk, where a middle-aged woman with streaks of grey in her dark hair stands at attention. Her uniform is crisp, with small brass gears embroidered along the collar and cuffs.

"Welcome", she says.