Arival to Firewatch

After a few more days of walking, we finally arrived.

The walls of Firewatch loomed above us — dark stone and scorched iron, blackened by centuries of forge smoke and war. Even from the road, we could hear the metallic rhythm of hammers on anvils, the buzz of a city that breathed smoke and sound, never still.

At the gate, a guard stepped into our path. He wore chainmail with a red sash across his chest and had the grim face of someone who'd seen far too many travelers.

"Why are you here? And what do you want to do in Firewatch?" he asked, one hand resting near his sword.

Helios stepped forward, calm and solid. "We're travelers. Seeking rest, work, and knowledge."

The guard's eyes moved over him — massive frame, battered armor — then to Aelira, cloaked and quiet, and finally to me.

"You don't look like locals," he muttered. "Where you from?"

"South of the Tolen Woods," I said. "Been on the road for weeks."

The guard stared at us for a long moment, then grunted and waved us through. "Stick to Silvergate. Don't start trouble — or you'll taste the city's steel."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Aelira said smoothly, her voice like cooled glass.

We passed under the archway into Firewatch, and the world shifted.

Gone were the rustling leaves and open sky. Here, the streets pulsed with noise and fire. Blacksmiths lined District X4, shoulder to shoulder, each forge coughing smoke into the air. Sparks flew from hammers like fireflies. The scent of burning coal clung to everything.

People of all kinds hustled past — faces from distant coasts, from highlands, deserts, and outer lands. Some shouted deals, others argued over ore, and many moved like they were late to something important.

Helios scanned the buildings, alert. "This whole city's a forge."

"Feels like it never cools," I said.

We made our way through Silvergate Market — the opening district — where stalls overflowed with strange wares: blade hilts etched in runes, molten stones in iron bowls, and charms that pulsed faintly with light. Somewhere nearby, a flute played a jagged, spiraling tune.

"Watch your bags," Aelira muttered. "Cities like this sharpen more than steel."

"You really hate places like this, huh?" I asked, watching her eyes scan every alley.

She hesitated. "Not all of them. Just the ones that remind me of who I used to be."

We walked a few more steps in silence before I said, "And who are you now?"

She glanced at me — not with a smirk, not with sadness, just truth. "Someone still learning how to live with the damage."

I didn't know what to say. But she gave me a small smile anyway. "Walking next to someone like you? Makes it easier."

My face warmed. I looked away. "Weird way to say thank you."

"It's the only way I know how."

A street boy darted between stalls, oil-stained fingers clutching something shiny. He stopped dead when he saw Helios's shield.

"You… you a sentinel?" the boy asked, eyes wide.

"No," Helios said flatly.

The boy nodded fast and ran off.

Aelira chuckled. "You do have the look."

"I'm no city guard," Helios muttered. "I don't take orders."

We came to a tall, iron-framed inn near the market's edge. The sign read The Anvil's Rest in thick, silver lettering.

"Looks solid," I said.

Helios nodded. "We rest. Then we search for work."

We headed inside.

But none of us noticed the hooded man watching from the upper window — one hand resting on the sill, the other crackling with faint, whispering lightning.