The Echo Of The Past

The shadowy figure vanished as quickly as it had appeared, slipping into the mist that clung to Lyraeth's ancient walls. Arkan paused, staring after it, his breath visible in the cold air.

"Well," Kaelith muttered, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face, "that's not ominous at all."

Arkan frowned. "You don't think they were leading us into a trap, do you?"

She shot him a flat look. "Let me put it this way: if this doesn't end with us running for our lives or battling some eldritch horror, I'll eat my boots."

The two continued toward the city gates, which loomed ahead like the mouth of some great, slumbering beast. Lyraeth was nothing like what Arkan had imagined. He'd pictured bustling markets, lively streets, and the kind of grandeur that kingdoms were supposed to have. Instead, the silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of a weathered sign or the distant caw of a raven.

"This place feels... wrong," Arkan murmured, his eyes darting to the shadows between the buildings.

Kaelith didn't reply immediately, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but firm. "Stay sharp. Silence like this usually means one of two things: fear or death. Neither bodes well."

The gates were massive, a testament to the kingdom's once-imposing defenses. But now, cracks ran along the stone, and the metal portcullis was tarnished with rust. As they approached, Arkan noticed a pair of guards slouched against the wall, their armor mismatched and poorly maintained.

"State your business," one of them drawled, barely lifting his head.

"We're travelers," Kaelith replied curtly. "Passing through."

The guard squinted at them, his gaze lingering on Kaelith's sword and Arkan's threadwoven attire. "Travelers, huh? You don't look like the usual merchants or pilgrims."

"Thank you," Kaelith said dryly. "We work hard to stand out."

The guard snorted, clearly too disinterested to press further. "Go on, then. Just don't cause trouble. The council's already got their hands full."

As they stepped through the gates, Arkan couldn't help but glance back at the guards. "Friendly bunch," he muttered.

"Better than hostile," Kaelith said. "Though I wouldn't count on that lasting."

The streets of Lyraeth were eerily quiet. The few people they passed moved quickly, their heads down and their faces pale. It was as if the entire city was holding its breath.

"Do you think it's always like this?" Arkan asked.

Kaelith shook her head. "No kingdom can survive like this for long. Something's happened here—something big."

Before Arkan could reply, a voice called out from the shadows. "You're not from around here, are you?"

They turned to see a hooded figure leaning casually against a lamppost. Their face was partially obscured, but their tone was light, almost playful.

"And you are?" Kaelith asked, her hand once again drifting to her sword.

"Let's just say I'm someone who's been keeping an eye on things. You two stand out, you know. Newcomers always do."

Arkan exchanged a glance with Kaelith, who looked unimpressed. "We didn't come here to be watched," she said coldly.

The figure chuckled. "Relax. I'm not your enemy. If I were, you'd already know it."

"Comforting," Arkan muttered.

The figure straightened, their tone turning serious. "Lyraeth's not what it used to be. The council's divided, the people are scared, and there are whispers of darker forces at work. If you're smart, you'll keep your heads down and your ears open."

"And if we're not smart?" Kaelith asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Then you'll probably end up dead." The figure smiled faintly. "But hey, some people like living dangerously."

The figure led them to a building that stood out against the gloom. Light spilled from its windows, and the sound of laughter and clinking mugs filled the air. A wooden sign above the door read Drakehaven.

"This is where you'll find the pulse of Lyraeth," the figure said. "For better or worse."

Inside, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the streets outside. The tavern was packed with adventurers, merchants, and locals, all talking and laughing over mugs of ale. A bard in the corner strummed a lute, singing a jaunty tune about a dragon who'd been outsmarted by a clever thief.

Arkan and Kaelith found a table near the back, where they could observe without drawing too much attention.

"This place is... lively," Arkan said, taking in the scene.

Kaelith smirked. "At least someone in this kingdom knows how to have fun."

As they settled in, a burly man with a scar across his cheek approached their table. "You new here?"

"Just passing through," Kaelith replied.

The man nodded. "Name's Thrain. If you're looking for work or information, Drakehaven's the place to start. But be warned: not everyone here is as friendly as me."

Arkan glanced around, noticing the way some of the patrons eyed them with suspicion—or was it curiosity? Either way, he felt a knot of unease in his stomach.

Over the course of the evening, they learned bits and pieces about Lyraeth's current state. The council was indeed divided, with some members pushing for diplomacy and others advocating for war. Meanwhile, the kingdom's defenses were crumbling, and there were rumors of Voidweavers operating within the city.

"Sounds like a powder keg waiting to blow," Kaelith muttered.

Arkan nodded, his mind racing. The more he learned, the clearer it became that Lyraeth was caught in a web of intrigue and danger. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that this place held answers—answers about the shard, the Fracturing, and his own powers.

But staying in Lyraeth wouldn't be easy. They had no money, no allies, and no guarantee of safety.

"We'll need to find work," Arkan said. "And a place to stay."

Kaelith raised an eyebrow. "You're volunteering to earn money? That's new."

"I don't see you offering to pay our way," he shot back.

She smirked. "Fair point. But let's not forget: we're in a city full of mercenaries and cutthroats. Whatever work we find won't be easy—or safe."

"Since when has anything we've done been easy or safe?"

"Touché."

Later that night, Arkan stepped outside the tavern, needing a moment to think. The city stretched out before him, its shadows long and foreboding.

As he stared into the distance, he noticed a symbol etched into the side of a nearby building. It was faint, almost faded, but unmistakable: the same symbol he'd seen as a child, during the Nullborn attack on his village.

A chill ran down his spine.

"Find something interesting?" Kaelith's voice broke through his thoughts.

He turned to see her leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed.

"Just... memories," he said quietly.

She studied him for a moment before sighing. "You know, brooding isn't going to solve anything."

"Neither is pretending everything's fine," he shot back.

She smirked. "True. But at least one of those involves less sulking."

Despite himself, Arkan chuckled. "Fair enough."

As they stood there, the weight of their situation settled over them. Lyraeth was a city on the brink, and they were caught in its tide. Whatever came next, it wouldn't be easy.

But for now, they had each other—and a chance to make a difference.

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