Chapter 15

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the endless dunes of the Valtherian desert. Shaun and Laelar trudged through the sand, their boots sinking with each step. The journey had been grueling, but the sight of Scorndale's towering sandstone walls rising in the distance gave them a renewed sense of purpose.

The city was a sprawling oasis, its golden walls shimmering in the heat. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, and the distant hum of life within the city walls was a welcome change from the desolate silence of the desert. But as they approached the massive gates, their relief was short-lived.

A group of Valtherian guards stood at the entrance, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. Each guard carried a spear, their faces stern and unyielding. One of them stepped forward, his hand raised to stop Shaun and Laelar.

"Halt," the guard said, his voice firm. "State your business in Scorndale."

Shaun exchanged a quick glance with Laelar. They couldn't risk telling the truth—not here, not now. Laelar stepped forward, his usual charm masking the tension in his voice.

"We're travelers," he said with a disarming smile. "Merchants, actually. We've come to trade goods and restock our supplies. The desert's been… unforgiving."

The guard eyed them suspiciously, his gaze lingering on their tattered clothes and the bloodstains that still clung to Shaun's sleeves. "Merchants, huh? Where are your goods?"

Laelar's smile didn't waver. "Lost them in a sandstorm, unfortunately. We're lucky to have made it here alive. But we've got coin to spend, and we're eager to do business in your fine city."

The guard hesitated, his eyes narrowing. But after a moment, he stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. "Keep your heads down and don't cause trouble. Scorndale doesn't take kindly to outsiders who overstay their welcome."

Shaun and Laelar glanced at each other, silently agreeing it was best to move quickly. They nodded to the guard and stepped through the gates before he could change his mind.

Inside, the city was a chaotic, crowded place. Narrow streets, packed with people and lined with tall buildings whose stone facades weathered by years of wind and sun. Bright awnings stretched over the roads, giving some relief from the sun. It was noisy and alive, the complete opposite of the silent, empty desert they had just crossed.

The air was filled with smells—sharp spices, fresh bread, roasted meat, and even a faint hint of sewage from somewhere nearby. Market stalls were crammed together along the streets, piled high with colorful fabrics, shiny trinkets, and fresh fruits. Merchants called out loudly, trying to grab attention and bargain with anyone who passed. Their voices blended together into a constant buzz of noise.

In open spaces, performers showed off their skills—juggling or playing lively music—while small crowds gathered to watch. Children ran through the streets, laughing and shouting as they dodged around people's legs.

The city was overwhelming. After the stillness of the desert, where the only sound was the wind and the sand underfoot, this place felt alive and wild. The noise, the smells, and the press of people were almost too much all at once.

"This place is… something else," Shaun muttered, his voice barely audible in the chaos.

Laelar nodded, his eyes scanning the streets. "Stay alert. Cities like this are full of chances—but also trouble."

As they made their way through the city, Shaun's attention was drawn to a small crowd gathered around an elderly woman. She stood on a wooden crate, her voice carrying over the noise of the marketplace. Her robes were simple but elegant, and her eyes sparkled with a wisdom that seemed to pierce through the chaos around her.

"Zephiron, the Weaver of Fates, watches over us all!" she proclaimed, her voice strong and clear. "He guides the threads of our lives, weaving them into the tapestry of destiny. To defy him is to defy the very fabric of existence!"

Shaun slowed his pace, his gaze fixed on the elderly woman as her words cut through the noise of the marketplace. Something about her tone—firm yet inviting—drew him in. He had heard the name Zephiron before, whispered in passing or mentioned in old stories, but never had he been in a place where he could truly learn about him.

"What are you doing?" Laelar asked in a low voice, noticing Shaun drifting toward the crowd.

"Just give me a minute," Shaun replied, his eyes not leaving the woman. "This might be important."

Laelar sighed but nodded, moving off to keep watch as Shaun approached the gathering.

The crowd was a mix of locals and travelers, all drawn to the woman's commanding presence. Shaun slipped into the edge of the group, his curiosity growing as the woman continued.

"Zephiron, the Weaver of Fates," she repeated, gesturing with her hands as if pulling invisible threads. "The threads of life he weaves are neither kind nor cruel—they are simply what must be. To understand him is to understand the world itself!"

Her words resonated deeply within Shaun, igniting a spark of intrigue.

"Excuse me," Shaun said, his voice hesitant but audible enough to reach her. The woman paused mid-sentence, her piercing gaze snapping to him. The crowd murmured at the interruption, but she raised a hand to quiet them.

"Yes, young one?" she said, tilting her head as if studying him. "Do you have a question for the Weaver?"

Shaun cleared his throat, feeling the weight of the crowd's eyes on him. "I've… heard of Zephiron before, but only in passing. I want to know more—about him, about what he does, and why he matters."

The woman's expression softened into a knowing smile. "Ah, a seeker of knowledge. Rare, but welcome. Come closer, child, and listen well."

Shaun stepped forward, the crowd parting slightly to make room. The woman gestured toward the sky, her voice growing even stronger.