Chapter 21: Hospitality

As he climbed out the sewers, the area was surrounded with barriers, indicating the sewers were a restricted area. Knowing the harsh hospitality of the people here, he had to run across the street like a stray rat hiding in sight. He had two choices: Stroll down the broader, crowded road, or cross the darker, more putrid street.

He went right to the narrower one. After all, he had crossed the unbearable sewers that'd still linger in his nose. "This street can't be that bad, right?" But man, oh man was he wrong. There was a reason why people never walked that path.

The road had white fog, and it stank of stale cigarettes and sewer runoff, maybe due to the sewer's lingering odor. The buildings around it were slightly crooked, opposite to the exposed roads out there.

Footsteps clacked behind him softly, and Arwyn tensed. His hand dropped to his sketchbook, but a voice cut through the thick haze, from the same direction of the footsteps. It wasn't what he'd expected, all formal and steady. "You seem lost, young man. Might I assist you?"

Arwyn turned. A man stood there, leaning against one of the crooked buildings. Middle-aged as he'd estimate, broad-shouldered, dressed in plain brown trousers and a patched tunic. His clothing was middle-class gear that didn't really scream wealth or threat.

His hair was dark, streaked with gray, and his eyes carried a quiet warmth. He held a sack that hung over his shoulder which bulged with bread loaves. His name was Dhann, though Arwyn didn't know it yet.

"I'm fine." Arwyn's voice was tight, stepping back. "Just passing through."

Dhann tilted his head, unperturbed. "I see." He pushed himself off the wall. "You're looking for someone, perhaps? A blue-haired boy, if I'm not mistaken."

His eyes widened as he mentioned Nathaniel, just from when he described his blue hair. "You saw him?"

Dhann adjusted the sack, his tone calm. "I've seen him. He was with a young woman. She had armor, sharp tongue. Guards took them both not long ago."

Arwyn's chest tightened. Nathaniel was with Santina? "Where'd they take them?"

"Towards the mayor's keep," Dhann replied. "Othello's dungeon, most likely." Before Arwyn could bolt into a sprint, Dhann raised a hand. "Wait. I can help you. You're a… what'd they call it… a Dream Sketcher, yes?"

He chuckled, keeping a friendly smile on his lips. "I've seen your kind before. I'm Dhann, and I bring food to those this city forgets. No enemies here."

Arwyn squinted. Why would a man act this kind in a kingdom full of discrimination? "Why help me? People here spit on Delacroix."

Dhann sighed. "Not all of us do. Othello's slow with prisoners. He savors the game, not the kill. You've got time, but you'll need shelter. Bathing too." He could smell the faint aroma of sewage water around Arwyn. Despite that, he reached into his sack, pulling out a crusty bread loaf. Fresh and newly made. "Take it. You look like you've not eaten in days."

His stomach twisted at the sight of food. His body wanted it, but his instincts screamed otherwise. Runar had only offered him kicks and glares, so what made this man different? A handout in this city usually came with a leash. "What's your angle?"

"No angle," Dhann said simply. "I've crossed these streets long enough to know hunger doesn't care for names and scars. You know, help's rare here, so I offer it when I can." His voice stayed even and kind of truthful. No push, just fact.

Arwyn stared at the bread, then at Dhann's steady and offering gaze. His options were thin. Run blind, or trust this stranger. After a long beat, he snatched the loaf and tore off a chunk. "Fine. Shelter. But I'm not staying long."

Dhann nodded. "Figured as much. Come on." He turned, leading Arwyn deeper into the foggy street. The bread was dry but warm, and Arwyn chewed fast, the first food in days easing the ache.

Anyway, Dhann glanced back with a wry edge in his tone. "So, how's Runar treating you? Charming place, isn't it?"

Arwyn snorted, his mouth full. "Yeah, real paradise. Stinks worse than the sewers."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't worry, it'll grow on you." Dhann shifted the sack as he stepped over a puddle of unnameable liquid. "I heard about a Sketcher stirring trouble down there a week ago. Flooded half the tunnels, they say. Clever work."

Arwyn swallowed a piece of the bread, and his scar tingled behind his glove. "Just trying to breathe. Guards don't make it easy."

"They never do," Dhann muttered, voice softening. "But you're not like most, at least in my experience. That scar, Dream Sketchers carry heavy marks. You should keep it hidden around here, or Othello's men will sniff you out."

Arwyn followed Dhann through the fog, the bread's warmth fading in his grip. His boots squished in the muck, and the stench clung like a second skin. He needed water. His throat was dry as ash, but the loaf dulled the gnawing in his gut. Voices drifted from the broader road. Shouts, cartwheels, but this street stayed silent, like a forgotten vein of Runar.

Dhann led him to a shack tucked between two sagging walls. The door creaked open, revealing a cramped space: a straw mattress, a chipped table, and a single lantern flickering on a shelf. Bread crumbs dusted the floor, which was proof that Dhann fed more than just himself. "It isn't much," Dhann said, setting his sack down. "But it's dry. You should sit."

He hovered near the door, scarfing the last of the bread. "How far's the mayor's keep?"

"Half a mile north," Dhann replied, pulling a clay jug from under the table. He poured water into a dented cup, sliding it over. "Drink. You stink of sewers, but you'll live." Somehow, his tone had no judgement whatsoever, a rare thing in both Earth and Terra Incognita.

Arwyn grabbed the cup and gulped the whole thing fast. Water splashed his chin, and cool relief cut through the grime. "So the guards took my mentor—the blue-haired boy. And the woman… She's a friend. I can't wait."

Dhann stood and turned the sink on. "Othello's dungeons are deep, I heard. Steel bars, stone walls, and no windows. He likes to let prisoners stew for weeks sometimes, before he declares their fate. You've got a day, maybe two, before he gets bored."

His chest tightened again. Nathaniel's grin flashed in his mind, and Arlene's ghost whispered faintly, from when he slept at the incubator. "Don't let me fade… Even just one minute."

Arwyn slammed the cup down, water sloshing. He had newfound energy now. "I'm getting them out. Tonight."

Dhann raised an eyebrow. "Alone? Othello's got around thirty guards in that keep, Dream Sketcher or not." He paused, then softened a bit. "I've heard whispers from the beggars I feed. South gate's weak. They have a rusted lock, practically no security there. It could be your way in."

Arwyn pulled out his sketchbook, and his pencil drifted over a blank page. "I've got some tricks… I guess. I just need an edge." The Codex thumped in his jacket, with its spiral symbol itching at his thoughts. Compression, smaller and sharper Passion Energy. He glanced at Dhann. "Why tell me this? You don't even know me."

He shrugged, and a faint smile tugged his lips. "I've seen too many kids like you. Some were scarred, hunted, and some ended up dead in these streets with no one to help. You know, I saw one young Sketcher survive a year back. The kid flooded the market with fake gold sketches—clever bastard. I figure you've got a shot too." He tapped the table. "You should rest here. Plan, and I'll keep watch."

Arwyn chewed his lip, then after a moment, he nodded. Help was thin in Runar, and this stuff was the best he'd get. He sat, flipping the Codex open. "Thanks. Won't forget it." His pencil then scratched faster than the normal human could draw. It was a sonic pulse, tight and quiet, 50 poules max. Small size, small strength, and small value. Guards wouldn't hear it coming.

And Dhann watched with his arms crossed. "You're stubborn. Good. Runar eats the soft ones." He stepped to the door and peered into the fog. "I heard that the Spire groaned today, louder than usual. The city's restless these days."

Arwyn's scar flared briefly, but he kept sketching. Nathaniel and Santina were counting on him. One night, one shot. He'd needed to make it work, and he will make it work.