Chapter 19 - Sihx.

"Welcome to The Coveted Rest," the receptionist says, her smile too genuine for this city of thieves and liars. "How may I assist you this evening?"

Sihx steps forward, placing himself between me and the exit. Not subtle at all.

"A single room with two beds, please," he says, sliding coins across the polished counter.

My jaw tightens. So much for slipping away unnoticed. I consider arguing for separate rooms, but the firm set of Sihx's shoulders tells me it would be pointless. He's not letting me out of his sight.

The receptionist counts the coins with practised efficiency. "Of course, sir. We have a lovely room on the second floor that should suit your needs perfectly."

She turns to a contraption mounted on the wall behind her—a brass panel with dozens of small compartments, each containing a key. With a few quick adjustments to the dials along its side, the mechanism whirs to life. Gears click and turn, rotating the panel until a specific compartment aligns with a small opening. The key slides out smoothly into a waiting tray.

"Room 214," she announces, handing the key to Sihx, not me. "Up the stairs and to your right. Breakfast is served from six to nine in the dining room. Is there anything else you require?"

"This will do nicely," Sihx responds.

Her smile never falters. Too kind for Jeolara, I think. She'll either wise up or be eaten alive by this place.

"Follow me," Sihx says, already moving toward the staircase.

I trail behind him, scanning the lobby for potential exits. A side door near what appears to be a small bar. Windows that might open onto an alley. The main entrance we just came through. None look promising with Sihx watching my every move.

The stairs creak slightly under our weight despite the building's otherwise well-maintained appearance. My mind races as we climb. That pickpocket girl from earlier—she seemed to know her way around, might have connections. If I could find her, she might know something about Maya's company or at least point me in the right direction.

But first, I need to get away from my self-appointed guardian.

"You don't trust me," I say as we reach the landing.

Sihx doesn't bother looking back. "I don't trust anyone in Jeolara. Including you."

"I'm not from Jeolara."

"No, but you're planning something foolish." He stops at our door, inserting the key into an elaborate lock. "You have that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're about to make a decision that could get you killed." The lock clicks, and he pushes the door open. "After you."

I enter the room reluctantly. It's modest but clean—two narrow beds with iron frames, a small table between them, a washbasin in the corner. A single window overlooks the street below.

Sihx closes the door behind us and pockets the key. "Whatever you're planning, don't."

I drop onto the bed nearest the window. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You want to find that girl from earlier. The pickpocket. You think she can help you locate your mercenary friends."

I keep my face carefully blank, but my silence confirms his suspicion.

"It won't work," he continues. "She'll either sell you out to the first person who offers a coin, or lead you straight into a trap."

"You don't know that."

"I know Jeolara." He sits on the other bed, positioning himself between me and the door. "Your friends—if they're alive—won't be found through street urchins."

I stare at the ceiling, calculating. The window isn't large, but I might be able to squeeze through. The drop to the street isn't too far. If Sihx falls asleep first...

"I won't be sleeping tonight," he says, as if reading my thoughts. "And that window is fitted with an alarm. Standard in Jeolaran inns—too many guests trying to leave without paying."

I turn my head to look at him. "So I'm a prisoner."

"No. You're someone who doesn't understand the danger they're in." His voice softens slightly. "Rest. Tomorrow we leave with Aite and Elefn. There will be time for questions then."

He got me. The thought sinks like a stone in my gut. Sihx dissected my plans exactly, laid them bare with surgical precision. This guy is just too amazing—painfully so.

I stare at the ceiling, counting the water stains while my mind races. There must be a way to escape. There's got to be.

My eyes drift to the window. Maybe Sihx is bluffing about the alarm. I stretch casually, rising from the bed as if to work out a kink in my back. Standing by the window, I examine its frame with feigned disinterest.

Tiny copper wires run through the seams, connecting to a small brass box mounted discreetly in the corner. Not a bluff then. The mechanism looks sophisticated—probably triggers bells at the front desk and maybe even locks the main doors if tampered with. Jeolaran engineering at its finest.

I turn back to find Sihx watching me, his face impassive. He doesn't even have the decency to look smug.

"Just admiring the view," I mutter, dropping back onto the bed.

The walls. The floor. The ceiling. I scan each surface methodically, searching for any weakness, any overlooked escape route. Old buildings like this sometimes have forgotten passages, maintenance access points, something.

Nothing.

Delusion creeps in as desperation takes hold. Maybe I could fake an illness? Create a distraction? Overpower Sihx while he's in the washroom?

No. Each scenario ends the same way—with Sihx two steps ahead, anticipating my every move.

I was making my own choice for once, taking control of my life again, and instantly got denied. This formidable "guardian" is impossible to get past.

The irony isn't lost on me. I escaped the Academy only to end up with another jailer. Different cage, same captivity.

"You should eat something," Sihx says, nodding toward a small basket of bread and cheese on the table that I hadn't noticed before. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

I ignore both him and the food, rolling onto my side to face the wall. My mind continues churning through scenarios:

Wait until he's asleep—but he said he won't sleep.

Attack him directly—but he's clearly stronger and more skilled.

Use my tattoo—but I barely understand how it works, and he seems to know more about it than I do.

Set off the window alarm intentionally—but that would bring unwanted attention, possibly the authorities.

Each plan crumbles before it fully forms. I'm trapped not just by this room but by my own limitations. By my ignorance of who and what I am.

"I know this is difficult," Sihx says after a long silence. "But sometimes the path forward isn't the one you would choose."

I roll back to face him. "That's not your decision to make."

"No, it isn't. But it is my responsibility to keep you alive long enough to make your own decisions."

"Why? Why do you care whether I live or die?"

He considers this for a moment. "Because you're the last. The last true Scaled One. And that matters more than you understand right now."

"To whom? To you? To Aite and Elefn? What am I to you people—a person or a tool?"

"Both. Neither." Sihx's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes. "You're a possibility."

I laugh bitterly. "A possibility of what?"

"That's what we're going to find out."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I sit up, frustration boiling over. "I had a life before you. I had people I cared about, people who might still be alive, who might need me."

"And if you rush off half-cocked into Jeolara's underbelly, you'll never find them. You'll end up dead in an alley, and the last of the Scaled Ones will be truly extinct."

His words hit like a physical blow. I want to argue, but the truth in them is undeniable. I don't fully know this city. I don't really know its dangers. I don't even fully know myself.

I fall back onto the bed, the fight draining out of me. For now.

"Rest," Sihx says again. "Tomorrow is another day."

Another day of following someone else's lead. Another day of questions without answers. Another day of being a possibility rather than a person.

But also, perhaps, another day closer to understanding what I truly am.

----------------------------------------

I stare at the ceiling, my plans for escape crumbling like sand castles against the tide. The hard truth settles in my gut—I'm not getting out of this room tonight. Not with Sihx watching me like a hawk eyeing a field mouse.

Maybe it doesn't matter. If Maya and the others are still out there, they'll be there tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever I finally break free from Sihx and his mysterious companions. The mercenaries survived this long without me; they can hold on a bit longer.

I close my eyes, not truly expecting sleep to come. My body aches from our journey, but my mind refuses to quiet. Every few minutes, I crack an eyelid open to check on Sihx.

He hasn't moved. Sitting perfectly still on the edge of his bed, back straight, eyes fixed on me. Not reading. Not fidgeting. Just... watching.

"Do you ever sleep?" I mutter, not bothering to hide my irritation.

"When necessary," he replies, voice unnervingly alert despite the late hour.

I roll onto my side, facing away from his unblinking stare. "Are you even human?"

"Rest, Mark."

I snort but don't press further. His constant vigilance reminds me of something—someone—from long ago.

Dex.

The memory washes over me, clear as spring water. I was nine, three years into my life with Maya's mercenary company. The wooden practice sword felt heavy in my small hands, but I'd grown accustomed to its weight. The training yard behind our temporary lodgings was little more than a patch of dirt surrounded by crates and barrels, but it served its purpose.

*****

"Again," Dex commanded, his own practice blade held loosely at his side.

I charged, swinging with all the strength my skinny arms could muster. Dex—a mountain of a man with hands like dinner plates—barely moved. His blade intercepted mine with a sharp crack that sent vibrations up to my shoulders.

"Too obvious," he said. "You telegraph your moves like you're sending a letter ahead."

I gritted my teeth and tried again. Same result.

"A bit better. But your footwork is sloppy."

Again and again we went, the morning sun climbing higher, sweat soaking through my shirt. I landed not a single hit. Not even close.

"You're improving," Dex said finally, though I felt no sense of accomplishment. "But you're still thinking too much."

"How can I think too much?" I demanded, frustrated tears threatening to spill. "You always say I need to be smarter, more strategic."

Dex crouched down, bringing his weathered face level with mine. "Strategy happens before the fight. During, your body needs to remember what your mind has learned. Like breathing."

I didn't understand then. I just wanted to land one hit—just one—on the man who seemed impossible to touch.

"Once more," I insisted, raising my practice sword.

Dex nodded, rising to his full height. "Once more."

I feinted left, then right, then struck straight down the middle—a combination Maya had shown me the previous week. Dex parried effortlessly, then countered with a gentle tap to my ribs.

"Dead," he chuckled.

Anger flared hot in my chest. I abandoned technique, swinging wildly, putting every ounce of my small body into each strike. Dex blocked each one, his expression never changing, until finally—

His blade swept my feet from under me. I landed hard on my back, air rushing from my lungs. Before I could recover, the wooden sword tapped my chest.

"Dead again," Dex said, but his eyes were kind. "That's enough for today."

"No," I wheezed, struggling to sit up. "Again."

"Tomorrow, little snake. Rest now."

He offered his hand, pulling me to my feet like I weighed nothing. My body ached, my pride more so.

"I'll never beat you," I muttered.

Dex ruffled my hair, a rare show of affection. "Not today. But someday, you might surprise us both."

*****

I beat his ass a few years later. Wasn't a challenge. But he taught me more than swordplay—he taught me patience. Persistence. When to push and when to rest.

The memory fades as sleep finally begins to claim me. In my mind's eye, I see Dex's weathered face, hear the crack of practice swords, feel the sting of defeat and the promise of tomorrow's attempt.

I wonder if he's still alive. If any of them.

I close my eyes and attempt to sleep.

----------------------------------------

Thump.

A sharp pain in my shin jolts me from a dreamless sleep. I bolt upright, hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn't there.

"Get up. We leave in ten minutes." Sihx stands over me, already dressed and ready. He doesn't wait for my response before turning away.

I rub my shin where his boot connected. "Could've just said something."

"I did. Twice." He doesn't look back as he checks his pack. "We are collecting Aite and Elefn."

Groaning, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My muscles protest after yesterday's exertions. The room is dim, the first hint of dawn barely visible through the window. I splash cold water on my face from the basin, the shock helping to clear the fog from my mind.

My clothes from yesterday are still damp with sweat and river water. I eye the fresh set Sihx has left folded on the table—plain, sturdy garments in muted colours. Nothing flashy that would draw attention. Practical. I dress quickly, not bothering with niceties like combing my hair or checking my appearance— like I would even do that normally.

Sihx tosses me a small bundle. "Eat while we walk."

Outside, the streets of Jeolara are just beginning to stir. The air carries the scent of coal fires being stoked, of bread baking in hidden ovens. Almost like I can taste it. Workers trudge toward factories, shoulders hunched against the early morning chill. We move against the flow, heading back toward the Covetous Crown.

I unwrap the bundle—a hunk of bread and a strip of dried meat. Not much, but better than nothing. I tear off a piece with my teeth, chewing mechanically as we walk.

Sihx sets a brisk pace. I follow a step behind, eyes constantly scanning the passing faces. Not that I expect to see anyone I know, but habits die hard. Old instincts from my mercenary days keep my senses alert despite my fatigue.

We round a corner, and the Covetous Crown comes into view. Its gilded façade catches the first rays of sunlight, making it gleam against the otherwise drab surroundings. Standing at the entrance are two figures—one tall and grey-haired, the other blonde and lithe.

Aite and Elefn. Already waiting, despite the early hour.

Sihx slows momentarily, surprise flickering across his normally impassive face before he masks it. "You're early."

"Or you're late," Elefn retorts, adjusting the strap of her pack. She eyes me with the same wariness as yesterday.

Aite offers a gentle smile. "We thought it best to get an early start. The Western Gate gets crowded after sunrise."

Sihx nods. "We'll follow the trade road until midday, then cut north through the highlands."

They fall into step together, Sihx taking the lead with Aite beside him. Elefn hangs back slightly, positioning herself between them and me—whether to keep an eye on me or to protect her companions, I'm not sure. Probably both.

Their conversation flows around me like water around a stone. I catch snippets about supply routes, weather patterns, and recent military movements along the border. Nothing that seems immediately relevant to me or my situation. Nothing about the Scaled Ones or what awaits us beyond Jeolara.

My attention drifts. I scan each side street, each alleyway, each face we pass. Looking for a flash of red hair, a knowing smirk. That small pickpocket girl—she seemed to know things, to have connections. And she'd noticed me, really noticed me, in a way that suggested recognition or interest.

A foolish hope, perhaps. Jeolara is vast, its population dense. The chances of crossing paths with her again are slim to none. Yet I can't help looking, that shred of hope refusing to die. If she could point me toward Maya and the others...

The streets grow more congested as we approach the Western Gate. Merchants with loaded carts, travellers on horseback, families with belongings strapped to their backs—all funnelling toward the massive stone archway that marks the boundary of Jeolara.

Guards in dark uniforms check papers, inspect goods, and collect tolls. The noise is overwhelming after the relative quiet of dawn—shouted orders, braying animals, the creak of wagon wheels, arguments over taxes and tariffs.

My search for the red-haired girl is forgotten as we join the press of bodies moving toward the gate. No sign of her among the crowd. Just another dead end in a journey full of them.

I keep close to the crowd's edge, trying to avoid being swallowed by the mass of bodies pressing toward the Western Gate. Even with my stature, I could easily get eaten. The smell of sweat and anxiety hangs thick in the morning air. Elefn stays within arm's reach, her eyes constantly scanning the crowd, occasionally glancing back to ensure I haven't slipped away.

Not that I could if I wanted to. The press of bodies has become almost suffocating, a living, breathing entity with its own chaotic will. Someone's elbow digs into my ribs. A cart wheel rolls over my foot. I bite back a curse, shoving the offender away with more force than necessary.

"Careful," Elefn murmurs, suddenly at my side. "Don't draw attention."

I grunt in response, but ease off. She's right, even if I hate to admit it.

The gate looms ahead, its massive stone arch casting a long shadow over the crowd. Guards checking people—all with the mechanical efficiency of men who've performed the same tasks thousands of times before. Their dark uniforms stand out against the colourful chaos of the crowd.

Elefn tugs at my sleeve, nodding toward a side area where wagons and other transport vehicles wait. I spot Sihx's tall figure immediately, standing beside Aite near a military-grade steampunk wagon.

"There's our ride," she says, gesturing for me to follow as she weaves expertly through the crowd.

I recognise the wagon instantly—a Jeolaran military transport, the kind Maya's company often escorted during border runs. Sturdy iron plating covers its exterior, riveted in place with brass bolts the size of my thumb. Six massive wheels support the armoured carriage, each one taller than a man and rimmed with vulcanized rubber. Steam hisses from exhaust pipes along its sides, the pressure valves releasing excess in rhythmic bursts that sound almost like breathing.

It's not the newest model—the armour shows dents and scorch marks from past encounters—but it's well-maintained. The kind of vehicle that's seen action but lived to tell about it. Reliable. Tough. Like the mercenaries who once rode in them.

"You coming or what?" Elefn calls, already climbing the metal steps into the wagon's interior.

I shake off the memories and follow her up. Inside, the wagon is utilitarian—metal benches line both sides, with overhead racks for gear and equipment. Sihx and Aite have already claimed spots on one side. Elefn settles opposite them, leaving me the space beside her.

The interior smells of oil, metal, and the faint lingering scent of gunpowder. Familiar. Almost comforting, in a strange way. The floor vibrates beneath my feet as the engine rumbles, building pressure for departure.

"All secure back there?" calls the driver from his compartment at the front, separated from us by a metal grate.

"Secure," Sihx confirms.

I glance around, noting the emergency exits, the weapon racks—currently empty—the small reinforced windows with their metal shutters. Old habits die hard. Always know your exits.

The secondary driver, a stocky man with grease-stained hands, moves through a pre-departure checklist, adjusting valves and checking pressure gauges mounted on the wall separating us from the engine compartment.

"Pressure optimal," he announces. "Fuel reserves at ninety-two percent. Route plotted to Western Checkpoint."

The primary driver nods, his hands working the controls with practised ease. "Commencing transportation in three, two, one..."

"Transportation commencing," the secondary driver acknowledges, throwing a final switch.

The wagon lurches forward, steam hissing more insistently now as we begin to move. Through the small windows, I watch as the Western Gate and its chaotic crowd slowly recede, giving way to the open road beyond.