Chapter 6 – Tension Builds

Early morning light streamed through the narrow side window, catching dust motes as they drifted over the cot where Lucian sat, hunched and uneasy. Several days had passed since his tense conversation with the guards, and though the mayor had allowed him to remain in Norick for the time being, a persistent unease clung to the air. Some townspeople still eyed him warily, murmuring about the "strange boy" who arrived with no clear past, while others chose simply to avoid him altogether.

He inhaled slowly, fingers absently pressing against the faint bandages around his ribs. Beneath that thin fabric, the rune pulsed with a low, constant rhythm, as though resonating with the swirl of his emotions. Calm down, he told himself, mentally chiding the brand. There was no immediate confrontation here—only the quiet tension that pervaded the town.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Gareth, the mayor's aide, peeked inside. "Morning," he greeted in a subdued tone. "Feeling up to a stroll? The mayor suggests you get some fresh air."

Lucian rose, stifling the impulse to recoil. Even if Gareth was sympathetic, the mere invitation outside could signal something else—like a test. But he saw no malice in the aide's eyes, only a mixture of courtesy and watchfulness. "Yes," Lucian replied, forcing steadiness into his voice. "I could use a walk."

Stepping out into the sunlit courtyard, Lucian inhaled the crisp air. Norick's daily bustle thrummed beyond the low walls—vendors setting up stalls, townsfolk fetching water from the well, and the distant clanging of metal on metal. That unmistakable sound tugged at his curiosity, as it had several times before. The forge. It drew him for reasons he still didn't fully understand.

He followed Gareth through a short corridor, past an open gate, and into Norick's modest central square. Colorful awnings draped over simple wooden stands where farmers displayed fresh produce. The smell of baking bread wafted from a nearby shop, making his stomach clench. He'd had a meager breakfast, but hunger remained a familiar ache.

"Keep in mind," Gareth said softly, "you're free to walk about, but some folks may eye you with suspicion." His gaze swept the crowd. "If anything feels off, return to the mayor's hall."

Lucian swallowed. The brand pulsed once, a fleeting wave of warmth. All right, he thought, raising his chin a fraction. "I understand."

Gareth gave him a half-smile, then left him to meander on his own. The aide likely had duties to attend to, and perhaps this was another quiet test: letting Lucian roam, seeing if he'd do anything suspicious. I'll behave, Lucian resolved.

He drifted through the market, keeping his shoulders slightly hunched to appear unthreatening. A few vendors offered polite nods, though their eyes held cautious glimmers. He spotted a pair of old women whispering and glancing his way, their expressions tinged with wariness. His heart twisted.

An abrupt clang, sharper than the others, echoed from further down the street. His interest piqued. Without consciously deciding, he found himself trailing the sound. Soon, the road split—a narrower lane curving around a row of cramped workshops. The largest among them boasted a wide, open-air forge area. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the metallic tang of hot iron lingered.

A few townspeople milled about. One was a rangy man, sweat shining on his forehead as he helped carry a heavy crate of metal scraps inside. Another, older man, stood by the forge's entrance, gesturing animatedly while speaking with someone Lucian couldn't see. Then a broad-shouldered figure stepped into view—a blacksmith with a thick apron dusted in soot and a hammer slung at his hip.

Bastian. Lucian had heard the name in passing, whispered by someone who'd mentioned the best place to get tools repaired. He watched from a short distance, curiosity mixing with caution. Bastian's presence seemed to fill the space: he exuded an aura of confidence, effortlessly handling the tools and greeting customers with a deep, booming voice.

The brand under Lucian's shirt gave a faint stir. Why does forging interest you? he wondered, directing the thought at the rune. It offered no reply, but the gentle warmth remained—a subtle fascination.

He considered approaching, maybe to watch the blacksmith work. But before he could move closer, a familiar tension prickled the back of his neck—like an unseen gaze lingering too long. Slowly, he turned, scanning the edges of the lane.

There—near a corner, half-hidden behind stacked barrels—a figure in a hooded cloak. Not the black-clad robes from his nightmares, but still reminiscent enough to quicken his pulse. Lucian caught a glint of eyes peering from the hood's shadow, locked on him. A spike of alarm shot through his veins. Is that the suspicious figure they spoke of? A scavenger? Or worse, a cult remnant?

He stiffened, heart thudding. The figure turned away swiftly, slipping into a side alley. For an instant, Lucian contemplated giving chase—No, that's reckless. Instead, he edged closer to the barrels, trying to see where the stranger went. Nothing but a dark alley stretching behind the workshops.

"Strange," he mumbled under his breath. The brand pounded once, echoing his unease. If this person was truly tailing him, it could be a sign the cult was nearer than he'd hoped. But dashing into the alley unarmed would be madness.

Still shaken, Lucian backed away and turned back toward the forge. He needed calm, perhaps a crowd. Bastian's booming laugh reached him, easing the spike of fear. If the stranger truly lurked about, they wouldn't dare abduct him in broad daylight with so many witnesses around… right?

He ended up lingering near the forge's open front. Bastian hammered a glowing rod of iron on an anvil, the rhythmic impact sending sparks dancing in the smoky air. Each strike resonated with an odd echo in Lucian's chest—a feeling he couldn't quite explain. A handful of onlookers observed from a safe distance, nodding at the blacksmith's skill.

When Bastian paused to quench the iron in a vat of water, steam hissed upward in a cloud. Without warning, he pivoted and caught sight of Lucian, who quickly dropped his gaze.