Patrol Under Ashen Skies

There was no day. Not really.

Just the faintest shift in tone, the shadows turning a little paler, the sky outside the walls settling into something not quite night. That was enough for the church to call it "morning."

For Silas and Velira, it was the start of their new assignment.

Now that they had refined their effigies, the cathedral had placed them on routine patrol duty—no more frantic missions, no death-sentence errands. Just quiet walks through the city, watching, listening, guarding.

Or so it was written.

---

Their boots echoed along the cathedral steps as they left. The guards at the main gate barely nodded. Everyone in this city seemed tired in the same way—worn, but stubborn. Like they were pretending the world hadn't already ended.

Silas pulled his cloak tighter as they stepped out into the main road. The air smelled faintly of ash and rust, but there was life—scattered, stubborn life.

They passed a small group of younger trainees running drills in the training yard. One of them tripped on a cracked tile. None of the others helped him up.

Velira didn't comment. Silas didn't either.

---

The market was the first stop.

It wasn't loud like a market should be. No shouting, no bartering crowds. Just thin people standing behind wooden stalls, their goods pale under the lantern light. Dried herbs. Threadbare clothes. Preserved meat. Powdered monster blood.

And fruit. Sort of.

Silas slowed when he passed a small stall at the edge. A hunched woman sat behind it, face half-covered in soot, watching the street like she didn't expect anything to sell.

On the cloth before her sat a small pyramid of half-rotten apples. Their skin was blotched with darkness, but the scent—faint and sickly sweet—still lingered.

Silas stared a moment longer than he should have.

Velira raised an eyebrow. "Apples?"

"They remind me of something," he murmured. "Don't know what."

He walked over and crouched, holding one gently in his hand. It was soft. Too soft.

"How much?"

The woman blinked slowly, her voice gravel-thin. "Three points for four."

Silas tilted his head. "Three points for these?"

"They still taste sweet if you cook 'em slow."

He didn't need them. He couldn't even explain why he wanted them. But still—

"One point."

The woman stared.

Velira coughed, half-smiling. "Seriously?"

"One point," Silas repeated. "No one else is buying them. You want them to rot here or disappear for something, even a little?"

There was a pause. Then a small grunt. She shoved four into a cloth pouch and pushed it across the table.

"Don't blame me if they taste like regret," she said.

Silas smirked, handing over a single contribution chit. "I live off that flavor."

---

They continued.

The patrol wasn't just a walk. It meant checking the lantern lines—glowing sigils engraved on stone poles throughout the streets. If the runes flickered, monsters could slip through the veil. If they shattered… it was already too late.

In the old quarter near the textile ward, they found a cracked one. A faint line of ash marked the ground near it—burnt footsteps, too large for any human.

"Only one crossed in," Velira muttered, summoning her effigy behind her.

Silas nodded, expression hardening.

The fight was quick. A creature like a giant spider, half-flesh, half-shadow, skittered from a collapsed archway and hissed as it lunged.

Velira's effigy crushed it mid-leap.

Its body vanished into flickering shadow before it could bleed.

They didn't speak after that.

---

By the time they neared the outer curve of the city—where the old statues of forgotten saints still stood like mourners—Silas unwrapped one of the apples.

It tasted like he expected.

Too soft. A little bitter. But underneath, a quiet sweetness that reminded him of something that maybe didn't exist anymore. A memory he couldn't quite catch.

He didn't share it.

Velira just glanced at him and asked, "So? Worth a point?"

He chewed thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Not sure. Still better than the soup in the trainee halls."

She gave a quiet snort. "That's not a compliment."

---

As they passed the candlelit doorway of a small tea shop, an old woman nodded to them in thanks. No words. Just a silent, tired gratitude.

Silas nodded back.

Not all missions had to be grand. Some were just… being there.

And in a city half asleep under a sky that never changed, maybe that was enough—for now.