chapter 28 “The Guest House”

The road stretched ahead, winding like a serpent through a landscape swallowed in mist. The sky was a vast, endless gray, pressing down on them, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant whisper of something burning. The world felt heavy, like it was holding its breath.

Lu Yan rode in silence, his fingers tight around the reins. Beside him, Talron rode just as quietly, his black stallion moving with the kind of unnatural grace that made it seem like the beast wasn't touching the ground at all. Their horses' hooves thudded softly against the wet earth, muffled by the mist curling around their legs like ghostly fingers.

The journey had been for 3 days and uneventful. No bandits, no lurking assassins. Just the long road and the ever-present feeling of being watched by something unseen. But as Blackvine's towering gates loomed into view, a deep, unnatural chill settled over Lu Yan's skin. 

The gates were monstrous—twisted iron shaped like vines strangling stone. Torches flickered along the towering walls, their light barely reaching the darkness beyond. Guards stood motionless at their posts, eyes shadowed beneath their helmets, their presence more unsettling than reassuring. They did not speak. They did not question. They simply watched as Lu Yan and Talron rode through.

The streets beyond were slick with rain, reflecting the dim lantern glow in jagged patterns. The scent of wine clung to the air, rich and intoxicating, mingling with something sharper. Metallic. Blood? Or just the iron-rich soil beneath the cobblestones? The people here moved quickly, heads down, shoulders tense. No one lingered. No one looked up.

Talron finally spoke, his voice low, almost lost to the rain.

"This city," he said, "called Blackvine—a city where iron is the core of it."

The gates, wrought from blackened iron, loomed high, their twisted design resembling vines strangling stone. Guards stood at either side, their armor dark, their expressions unreadable. No words were exchanged as Lu Yan passed through. Just a glance. A knowing look.

Inside, the city was alive with movement. Market stalls lined the streets, selling deep crimson wines in ornate glass bottles. The scent of aged oak and fermenting fruit clung to the air, mixing with the faint, sharp tang of something metallic—blood? Or just the iron-rich soil beneath the cobblestone streets?

Lu Yan rode in silence, his breath misting in the cold. Beside him, Talron's horse moved in perfect rhythm, the city leader guiding the way without a word. His presence was heavy, like the weight of the sky pressing down.

They passed under a rusted iron arch, its frame wrapped in ivy and old chains. The city pulsed with history—each stone seemed to whisper of forgotten wars, lost names.

Finally, Talron pulled the reins, his horse stopping in front of a dark, ivy-covered building. A single lantern hung above the entrance, its flame flickering against the wind. The worn wooden sign read: Nightbloom Guesthouse.

Talron turned, his sharp gaze cutting through the dim light. "This is where you'll stay," he said. "The woman inside owes me a favor. You'll be safe here."

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small gold token, pressing it into Lu Yan's palm. It was warm from his touch, engraved with a symbol that caught the flickering lantern light. "Give this to her. She'll know what it means."

Lu Yan dismounted, boots sinking into the damp earth. The scent of firewood and something sweet—honeyed wine, maybe—drifted from within.

With that, Talron turned his horse, vanishing into the mist without another word.

Lu Yan exhaled and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

he reached into his coat and pulled out the gold token. The dim candlelight caught the engraved symbol as he placed it on the counter.

"You're the one sent by Talron?" Her voice was smooth but carried an edge, like a dagger wrapped in silk.

Lu Yan met her gaze without hesitation. "Yes."

Sariah's fingers froze on the mug she had been wiping. Her sharp eyes flicked to the token, and for the briefest moment, something unreadable passed over her face—recognition, maybe. Or something deeper.

She nodded, setting the mug down. "Name's Sariah. I run this place." She tilted her head toward the staircase at the back. "Your stay is 2 months." 

"Rogan," she called. "Show him to his room."

The man straightened, rolling his shoulders as he pushed off the wall. His heavy boots thudded against the wooden floor as he approached, his expression unreadable, eyes shadowed beneath his brow.

"Follow me," Rogan muttered, already turning toward the staircase.

Lu Yan fell into step behind him. The wooden stairs creaked beneath their weight, the dim lanterns along the hallway barely cutting through the thick darkness. The scent of aged wood and burning tallow filled the air, heavy with something else—something unspoken.

The stairs groaned under their weight as Lu Yan followed Rogan up. The air grew heavier with each step, thick with the scent of aged wood and old dust. No voices. No movement. Just the slow, deliberate sound of their boots against the worn floorboards. It was too quiet—like the building itself was holding its breath.

At the top, the dim lantern light barely reached the end of the hall. The silence pressed in, the kind that made a man listen too hard, hear things that weren't there. Rogan didn't look back as he moved down the corridor, stopping at the second door on the left.

Rogan exhaled through his nose, tapping the iron latch on the door. "You got a lock. Use it." His voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

Lu Yan nodded once. He stepped inside, ran his fingers over the rough grain of the wooden door, then slid the lock into place with a dull click.

Silence.

The floor creaked as Rogan shifted. 

He rapped his knuckles against it once, the sound unnervingly loud in the stillness. Then he turned the handle and let the door swing open.

Inside, the room was small but clean. A single bed. A desk. A window, its curtains ragged and moth-eaten, barely concealing the darkness outside. The faint scent of cold iron lingered in the air, mixing with aged wood and something else—something stale.

Then he turned and walked back down the hall, his footsteps fading into the dark.

Lu Yan stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door.

Lu Yan crossed the room, his steps slow, measured. The wooden floor was cold beneath his boots, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and lingering smoke. He ran a hand over the rough grain of the desk, eyes drifting to the window where the city stretched beyond—a maze of rooftops and flickering lanterns, shadows moving in places they shouldn't.

He had to decide. To check out Blackvine if they had no shortage of work, no shortage of risks. Mercenary contracts, bounties, something under the table—Talron hadn't given him details, only a direction. Whatever he chose, it would start soon.

But not now.

His body felt heavier than it should. The exhaustion from the road, from the silence that had followed him all the way here, pressed down on him. He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, exhaling slow.

Tomorrow.

For now, he needed rest. Whatever came next—he'd face it when the sun rose.

He lay back, the mattress stiff beneath him, the distant hum of the city seeping through the walls. The lock on the door was shut. His sword was within reach.

as his eyes drifted closed.