A City of Shadows

Ruvan woke to the sound of hammering.

It echoed through the thin walls of the tavern room like war drums, rattling the dented iron lamp on his bedside table. Morning light bled pale and cold through the shutters, casting long stripes across the straw-stuffed mattress where he lay.

For a moment he forgot where he was. The smell of soot, sweat, and stale ale filled his lungs. The memory of flames roared back – his village, the forge, the child screaming.

He sat up sharply, gasping. His hand flew to Solrend where it lay propped against the bedside. Its blackened hilt pulsed faintly beneath his trembling fingers.

"Still here," he whispered to himself, voice ragged. "Still… here."

The door creaked open. Elion's narrow face peeked through, blue eyes dark with fatigue but calm as ever. His healer's robes looked wrinkled from sleep on tavern floors, yet his posture remained graceful.

"You're awake," Elion said. "Breakfast is ready. Kellan's already downstairs charming the barmaids and emptying our coin for fried goat strips."

Ruvan managed a weak smile. "Better him than me."

Elion nodded, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. For a moment he stood there in silence, studying Ruvan with that piercing gaze that always seemed to see past skin and bone into what lay beneath.

"You didn't sleep well," he observed.

Ruvan shrugged. "Dreams."

"Of Solrend?"

"Of everything."

Elion sat down on the edge of the bed, staff across his knees. "You're carrying too much alone."

"I have to."

"No," Elion said firmly, leaning forward so their foreheads almost touched. "You don't."

Ruvan closed his eyes. The warmth of Elion's presence pushed back the cold that gnawed at his bones. For a brief heartbeat, he felt like he could breathe again.

Then he stood, shaking off the moment, and strapped Solrend to his back.

"Let's eat," he said.

⸻

They stepped out into Iron Hold's streets as the sun clawed its way over slate rooftops. The air bit cold against Ruvan's skin. Smoke from forge chimneys mingled with the pungent reek of tanneries. Streets twisted like knotted veins through the city, lined with squat iron-clad buildings pocked by rust and soot.

Merchants had already begun their morning shouts, hawking everything from boiled barley broth to scabroot powder and cheap daggers with edges dulled by misuse. A woman stirred a bubbling cauldron of bone stew beside a row of beggars wrapped in thin wool, each with a trembling hand outstretched for copper scraps.

Ruvan's eyes lingered on them – children with hollow cheeks and men with ragged beards. Their eyes were empty, resigned. No one met his gaze. No one begged from him. They saw Solrend at his back and turned away.

Kellan sauntered ahead, wiping grease from his lips with the back of his hand. "Iron Hold," he said with a sweeping gesture, "where your coin disappears faster than your dignity. And trust me, dignity goes cheap here."

Elion scowled. "You shouldn't joke about their suffering."

"Would you rather I cried about it?" Kellan replied. "Won't feed them. Won't feed us."

Ruvan ignored their bickering, scanning the streets. Armed patrols marched in rigid formations, breastplates stamped with Lord Maeven's crest. Their boots clanged on the cobbles, drowning out the cries of hawkers. One soldier shoved a toothless beggar aside with the butt of his spear, sending him sprawling into the gutter.

No one protested.

No one helped.

Ruvan's hand drifted to Solrend's hilt. The blade pulsed beneath his fingers, an eager whisper curling through his thoughts.

One swing. One strike. Their blood on iron. Show them who wields power.

He clenched his teeth and forced the voice away. Not now. Not yet.

They turned onto a narrower street where half the stalls were shuttered. A group of children huddled around a thin woman stirring watery porridge in a cracked clay pot. The eldest girl – no more than ten – held out a chipped bowl to a passing merchant, her eyes wide and desperate.

He ignored her, stepping around as if she were nothing more than a stray dog.

Ruvan stopped. His heart twisted painfully. He reached into his pouch and pulled out two copper coins. When he dropped them into the girl's bowl, her eyes widened further with silent shock.

"Thank you, sir," she whispered, voice trembling.

He forced a smile. "Stay strong."

She nodded, clutching the bowl to her chest like a holy relic. As they walked on, Ruvan felt Elion watching him with quiet approval.

Kellan snorted softly. "You'll be broke before noon."

"Better broke than blind," Ruvan replied.

They continued down the street, weaving through crowds. Overhead, banners of black and crimson hung limp in the morning chill. Iron Hold's towers loomed on all sides, blotting out the rising sun. Even daylight felt dim here, choked by smoke and shadow.

They passed a slave market where chained men and women knelt in silent rows as buyers inspected them like livestock. Ruvan's stomach churned at the sight. One guard caught him staring and spat at his feet.

"Move along, scrap-blood," he sneered.

Kellan's hand flew to his sword but Ruvan stopped him with a look. They walked on in silence, the guard's laughter echoing behind them.

"This place is rot," Elion muttered. "Root-deep."

"Rot's everywhere," Kellan replied. "Here it just smells worse."

Ruvan didn't speak. His eyes scanned the streets, every shadow, every rooftop. His senses prickled with a taut readiness he didn't fully understand – as if Solrend itself guided his vigilance.

This city will burn, the blade whispered again. All cities do. But in their ashes, something greater can rise.

He shivered.

They finally reached the archives – a vast domed building flanked by towering rune pillars. Its iron doors were engraved with ancient scripts, half buried under soot and neglect. Two guards stood sentinel, spears crossed before the entrance.

"This is it," Kellan said. "If we're going to find answers about your blade, they'll be in there."

Ruvan nodded, eyes fixed on the soot-stained runes. His reflection stared back at him from dark iron – hollow-eyed, soot-marked, hair tangled around his jaw. A boy with ash-stained hands holding a blade that could devour the world.

He took a deep breath.

"Let's find out what I've become."