VIII: Sleep

With a final glance toward the campfire at the center of the Seeker camp, Senna stepped into the tent.

Inside, Darian stood by a small wooden table, his back to Senna. He was packing a leather satchel with a few supplies—maps, a notebook, and other essentials. He turned when he heard the flap of the tent move.

Senna sat cross-legged on the cot, adjusting the brim of his hat as he settled in. The tent was dimly lit, a small oil lamp flickering on the wooden table where Darian had been organizing his belongings. The Seeker gave him a once-over, a smirk forming on his lips.

"You clean up well," Darian remarked, gesturing toward Senna's new clothes. "Much better than the rags from before. Almost makes you look like a proper gentleman."

Senna chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "Almost?"

Darian leaned back against the table, arms crossed. "Well, you still carry yourself like a brawler, and that hat makes you look like some wandering outlaw. But it suits you."

Senna gave a small, pleased smile.

Darian sat down on the other cot, resting his elbows on his knees. His expression turned more serious. "Now, down to business. We're heading west, deeper into the countryside. I've been tasked with investigating the burn sites—places hit by the recent fires. My job is to determine if they were natural disasters or something more deliberate."

Senna listened carefully, his iliac eyes narrowing, "You think someone is setting them?"

Darian exhaled through his nose. "I don't know yet. Some reports say lightning strikes, others claim it's bandits or arsonists. There are even rumors about unnatural causes. My job is to separate truth from fiction."

Senna nodded slowly.

Darian continued, "We'll be traveling by carriage for most of the journey, stopping at each affected village. You'll be handling any… complications. You won't just be muscle, though. I need you to keep your ears open, listen to what people say, and what they don't say."

Senna frowned. "I'm not much of an investigator."

"You don't have to be," Darian assured him. "Just trust your instincts. You know the people up here better than I do. You're sharp, I can tell."

Senna leaned back slightly, mulling over the information. Traveling, investigating, dealing with dangerous folk—it was better than starving in the streets, better than being hunted for what he was. And if there was something unnatural behind these fires… perhaps he wasn't the only monster lurking in Tarsyn.

Darian watched him for a moment before speaking again. "We leave at dawn. Get some sleep, Senna. It's going to be a long road ahead."

Senna exhaled through his nose and tipped his hat slightly over his eyes as he lay back on the cot. "I've been on long roads before."

Darian chuckled. "Not like this one."

Senna nodded, but inside his body he could feel a familiar sensation well up. With a curt bow, he excused himself from the tent. 

Senna stood just outside the tent, his gaze lifting toward the sky. The broken moon had begun to reveal more of its shattered form. Each fragment gleamed in the night, like shards of silver scattered across the heavens.

He narrowed his iliac eyes. He guessed that in a few days or a week it would show its full form to Tarsyn. By his reckoning, the full broken moon had already shown itself once at the start of the month. Now, its fractured glow was returning much sooner than expected. According to old legends, seeing the full broken moon twice in a single cycle was an ill omen—a harbinger of misfortune, chaos, or worse.

The wind carried a chill through the encampment, rustling the fabric of the tents and whispering through the trees beyond. The Seeker camp was quieter now, most of its occupants having turned in for the night. Only a few figures moved near the fires, their silhouettes casting flickering shadows across the ground.

The guards barely acknowledged Senna as he passed, too familiar with his presence to question him. He told them he was going on a nightly stroll, though in truth, his intentions stretched beyond mere leisure. The air had turned sharper, colder, as the marketplace bustled with its final bursts of activity. Vendors hastily packed away their goods, their usual chatter subdued. Mothers ushered their children home, and the few stragglers on the streets moved with nervous urgency.

It was clear—he wasn't the only one who noticed the moon.

Senna tugged the brim of his hat lower over his face and strode through the thinning crowd, heading toward the abandoned quarter of Northgate. The deeper he went, the quieter the city became, as if the old, ruined buildings had swallowed the noise whole. Here, the only sounds were the whisper of the wind through broken windows and the occasional scurrying of rats in the gutters.

He came to a stop in the middle of a deserted street, lifting his gaze to the sky. The shattered crescent loomed above, its fragments glowing with an eerie, pale light. Senna clenched his fists. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to keep staring at it, but something about it sent an itch through his veins.

With a slow breath, he bent his knees and then—

Crack.

The cobblestone of the street barely had time to groan before he launched himself upward. In an instant, he landed atop a rusted metal rooftop, the entire structure trembling beneath his weight. The metal creaked dangerously, but Senna barely noticed. He straightened, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted to the higher vantage point.

From up here, the city stretched beneath him, a sea of rooftops and alleys bathed in moonlight. The flickering lanterns of distant homes were like fireflies scattered through the darkness. But none of it held his attention for long.

Senna crouched low on the rooftop, his eyes glowing a deep, blood-red as he scanned the streets below. His vision stretched far beyond that of an ordinary man, cutting through the dim haze of the night with inhuman clarity. Every detail stood out in perfect sharpness—the twitch of a rat's whiskers as it scurried through the alleys, the silent, stalking movement of a feral cat slipping between broken barrels, the wet, tearing sound of two stray dogs ripping apart a decayed carcass.

His stomach tightened at the sight.

He had fed the night before, but the hunger was never truly gone. Even now, though dulled, it gnawed at him—a small, insistent hole in his core that refused to close. He flexed his fingers, feeling the strength humming beneath his skin, the unnatural power that surged through him.

A crow flapped overhead, its wings cutting through the silence. Senna followed it with his gaze, watching as it circled once before vanishing beyond the rooftops. The city was restless tonight. Even the animals seemed uneasy, skittish, as if they too could feel the weight of the broken moon hanging above them.

Senna exhaled through his nose and forced himself to relax. He wasn't hunting tonight. He was here for something else—to think, to clear his mind before the journey tomorrow.

Senna closed his eyes and focused. The night was alive with sound—more than just the howling wind or the distant clatter of shutters swinging against their frames. His ears twitched as he tuned into something deeper, something beneath the surface of the city's usual noise.

Heartbeats.

Slow, steady pulses of life, drumming in his ears like an unending rhythm. He could hear the frantic, fluttering beats of the rats scurrying through the gutters, the measured, cautious thumps of the stray dogs prowling the streets. Even the crows perched on rooftops carried a faint, rapid pulse.

But beyond the abandoned district, where the city was still warm with life, the heartbeats grew fuller, stronger. He could hear them inside the homes of the main city—people gathered around hearths, sharing stories, laughing, safe in their little worlds. Mothers soothing their children to sleep, fathers returning home from a long day's work, young lovers whispering secrets in the dark.

They were so close.

So oblivious to the monster lurking just a few rooftops away.

Senna clenched his jaw and exhaled through his nose.

This was what terrified him the most—not the power, not even the hunger, but the knowledge that he could hear them. That he could sense them, feel their warmth, smell the blood coursing through their veins.

What would happen if one day he lost control?

He shook his head, pushing the thought away. No. He wouldn't let it happen. He refused to become the thing lurking in the dark, waiting for an opportunity to feed. He was human no matter what.

Senna entered the Seeker camp quietly, his heavy steps muffled by the soft earth beneath his boots. The sky had begun to darken, and the eerie glow of the broken moon cast fractured shadows over the tents. As he passed the campfire, he briefly glanced at the figures seated around it—other Seekers discussing plans and updates, their voices a low murmur in the night air.

The familiar weight of the night pressed against his chest as he walked to his tent. Inside, the dim glow of his gas lamp offered a small, comforting warmth. A cot had been set up for him, its plain mattress and soft pillow a far cry from the cold ground or the uncomfortable shacks he'd once slept in. His hand brushed over the fabric of his clothing.

—tight, awkwardly fitted compared to the tailored attire that awaited him in a few days.

He pulled off the clothes slowly, slipping out of the stiff fabric and allowing himself a moment to appreciate the simple luxury of not having to rush or fear what would happen next. For a long time, he had been on the edge—always fearful of the next strike, the next demand, the next punishment. But here, in the relative safety of the Seeker camp, there was a fleeting sense of normalcy.

When the clothes were folded neatly beside the cot, Senna sat on the edge of the bed, letting his eyes drift over the dim interior of the tent. The lamp flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls. He let the quiet of the night sink in, his mind still racing but his body longing for rest.

He turned off the gas lamp with a simple twist, the light vanishing into the darkness, and lay down on the cot. The mattress, though firm, was far more comfortable than the ground he'd grown used to. Senna stretched out, his muscles still tight from the earlier days of travel, but the soft pillow against his head made him feel as though, for once, he had earned something.

As his body began to settle, his breathing slowed, and the restless tension started to unwind. He thought about the journey ahead, about Darian, about the answers he was chasing. His mind kept flitting between the memories of hunger and desperation, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could leave that all behind.

And as he finally closed his eyes, the fractured moonlight creeping through the edges of the tent, Senna drifted into a deep sleep. The kind of sleep that promised no nightmares. At least, not tonight.