—— ? ——

  Rellin couldn’t look away. The figure was swaying now, not quite limping, not quite walking. It was like his body was moving on momentum alone—some half-dead march forward.

  Behind him, a streak of dark red carved a jagged line through the snow.

  Still bleeding. Still walking.

  Jorik straightened.

  “What are you doing?” Rellin asked, voice sharp.

  “No visible weapons,” Jorik muttered, adjusting his cloak. “No sign of aggression. Just a madman in rabbit armor.”

  He met Rellin’s gaze.

  “I’m going to the side door to see what’s going on.”

  Rellin stared at him. “You’re serious.”

  Jorik gave a slow nod. “If anything happens, sound the alarm and wait for backup.”

  He left the gatehouse, and Rellin could hear his boots tromp down the stone.

  Rellin exhaled and turned back to the viewing glass.

  The sound of heavy metal scrapping and a loud clunk, then another.

  Jorik had sealed the side entrance behind him.

  Rellin watched as Jorik took a few steps into the snow outside the walls.

  It was strange watching him from above. The aurora pulsed in soft green waves, casting the snow in a sickly hue.

  The madman stumbled closer, then stopped a few feet from Jorik. The senior guard called out to him, but Rellin couldn’t hear it..

  His throat tightened and muscles tensed as he waited for the worst to come.

  Jorik was calm and measured in his motions.

  The stranger said nothing, just swaying to an invisible breeze head lulling downwards.

  This madman is barely standing.

  Jorik took another few steps forward.

  The man’s head drunkenly swung up to look at him.

  Rellin squinted. It was hard to see the details, but something about the way the figure straightened made his skin crawl.

  Then the man raised his hand.

  First, he formed a circle with thumb and forefinger.

  Then slowly, deliberately, a thumbs up.

  Rellin blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  The man collapsed.

  Jorik moved forward cautiously, then after a moment, kneeled and checked for life.

  Rellin watched carefully.

  Jorik straightened, then aggressively gestured to him to come.

  He was already moving.

  —— ? ——

  By the time he got downstairs and cracked the inner side hatch, Jorik had the man halfway inside.

  Up close, it was worse.

  The stench of blood, sweat, and desperation hit like a hammer. One of the hopper corpses had slipped loose and thudded onto the stone floor, eyes frozen open, ears stiff and broken.

  The man’s breath came in shallow gasps, barely audible.

  “Help me get him inside,” Jorik grunted.

  Together they dragged the bundled wreck of a man through the corridor, boots skidding on wet stone. Rellin tried not to gag.

  “By all the gods. What the hell happened to him?” Rellin grunted out as they dragged the pile of man and corpse.

  Jorik didn’t answer. Just adjusted his grip and kept hauling.

  They cleared the gate tunnel and stumbled into the main road, snow swirling around them as the town's lantern crystals flickered under the weight of the cold. Even with both their strength, the body didn’t move easily.

  His armor was lashed and frozen to him.

  “To Healer Marden’s as quick as we can,” Jorik ordered.

  Rellin nodded, and they both sped up as fast as they dared with their burden.

  The man groaned once.

  “How is he still alive under all of this?” Rellin asked as they turned a corner.

  A door slammed open just ahead.

  A figure in a silken robe and embroidered slippers stormed into the street, arms flailing for balance.

  “What in the blazes is going on? What was that bell?” The thin silken dressed man protested.

  He gasped as he saw their charge.

  “Who is that?!”

  Jorik didn’t stop moving. “No time to explain. Out of the way, Emrick.” Then he shouted over his shoulder.

  “We need to call the full council. Immediately. ”

  Rellin looked back and watched Emrick try to understand what was going on.

  As they turned down the next street, the last bend before the healer, they heard him call back.

  “I’ll notify the others!” he called, voice shrill with urgency. “I’ll rouse the council! Starting with Kurda!”

  Jorik grunted, breath clouding the air. “Good. Let’s just hope he doesn’t wake the entire district screaming about it.”

  Rellin shook his head. “How do you think Kurda is going to take being woken up in the middle of the night?”

  Jorik gave a grin as they approached the healer’s building. “Badly. Want to make a bet?”

  Rellin scoffed and stepped up to the door. “That it goes well?”

  Jorik nodded.

  Rellin raised his boot and kicked. Once.

  “No thanks,” he muttered. Twice.

  “I like my money.” Three times.

  The last kick echoed down the street, followed by a wet, ragged moan.

  “See? Even he agrees,” Rellin muttered, loosening his grip to give the stranger as much room to breathe as he could manage.

  The door creaked open from within, spilling warm light into the snow-swept street.

  Marden appeared, looking barely awake. He took one glance at the man—and came alive.

  “Quickly now. Inside. Table,” he barked.

  Like magic, a healing potion was already in his hand, summoned from somewhere beneath his coat. Before they even got the man through the door frame, Marden was tilting his head back and pouring the liquid down his throat.

  They laid him flat on the nearest table. One of the hopper corpses slipped loose and hit the floor with a wet thud, ears bent at odd angles, frost clinging to the fur.

  The stench flooded the room.

  Old blood, sweat, and something darker beneath.

  Marden didn’t flinch.

  His hands were already working, checking breath, peeling back outer layers, assessing wounds with a healer’s blunt efficiency.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Out,” he barked, not looking up. “Both of you. I don’t need extra feet under mine while I’m trying to keep this man from dying.”

  Rellin opened his mouth to argue, but Jorik grabbed his shoulder and steered him back toward the door.

  “He’s got it,” Jorik said simply. “Come on.”

  At the threshold, Jorik paused.

  “Marden, can you cut some of his clothing? Something from underneath, if it's intact. And sterilize it.”

  The healer didn’t look up. “Why are you still bothering me?”

  “It could be helpful to identify him,” Jorik replied. “We already ran into Emrick. He might recognize it.”

  With an annoyed huff, Marden reached for a hooked blade from his belt.

  He leaned over the bundled form, muttering under his breath. A few quick motions and he had something that could have been cloth.

  Marden sniffed it, grimaced, then turned to a nearby basin and dipped it in a faintly glowing solution. Steam hissed from the liquid.

  After a moment, he rolled the cleaned cloth in oil paper, sealed it, then handed it over.

  “Appreciate it.” Jorik nodded at him and stored it in a pouch at his waist.

  “Out,” Marden snapped again, already back to his patient.

  —— ? ——

  The night air bit hard as they stepped back into the snow-covered street.

  They stood in silence for a few breaths, snow catching in their hair, steam still rising from their skin.

  “I’ll speak to the council,” Jorik said, already starting to walk. “Better coming from me.”

  “You sure?” Rellin asked, falling into step beside him.

  “I’m the one who saw him up close. I made the call to approach him.”

  Rellin was about to thank him when a voice carried over the wind.

  “Wake up, you lumber-stuffed rock troll! Council meeting! It’s an emergency!”

  A distant, guttural voice shouted something back. Then a loud CRACK echoed through the air, followed by a very undignified yelp.

  Jorik grinned. “I see Kurda’s awake.”

  “What the HELL KURDA! I KNOCKED!” Emrick’s voice rang out.

  “Best to take another route, don’t you think?” Rellin muttered, glancing toward the alley as a heavily accented voice yelled back at Emrick.

  At this distance, it was hard to make out the big man’s words. Something about “middle of the fel-damned night” and “wall-bangin’ silk goblins.”

  They turned down the next street, boots crunching through the fresh layer of snow. One by one, lights began to flicker on across the district. Lantern crystals pulsed awake behind shuttered windows. Doors creaked. Grumbling voices carried through the cold.

  Varnholt was waking.

  Jorik shook his head.

  “Let’s pick up the pace,” he muttered. “I don’t want to explain this story more than I have to.”

  Rellin looked at him as they started to jog.

  “What story? I really didn’t see anything. I’ll just defer everyone to the senior guard on watch.”

  Jorik gave him a sideways look.

  “You ass.”

  —— ? ——

  Later, during the emergency council meeting.

  “After the traveler finished gesturing,” Jorick explained, “he collapsed. My standby and I retrieved him immediately and brought him to a healer.”

  He paused briefly, then glanced toward the back of the chamber.

  Rellin sat with his arms crossed, hood still up, doing his best impression of a man who wanted absolutely no follow-up questions.

  Jorik continued.

  “The healer is with him now. His condition is critical. His entire body seemed to be covered in scratches and deep bites. When I left, the healer was still struggling to remove the corpses that had frozen to his body without further injuring him. He is alive.”

  Jorik paused, folding his arms, then adding.

  “But barely.”

  The room had gone still. No more chuckles or side conversations.

  Rellin could feel the tension.

  “It is possible that he had some form of insignia buried away, but I doubt it.”

  Rellin watched as Jorick reached to the side of his belt, pulling a small, sealed pouch from beneath his cloak. He walked over to Emrick and offered it to him.

  “I had the healer clean and sterilize some of the fabric he was using. Artisan Emrick, if possible, I would have you examine it.”

  There was silence as Emrick took the cloth from Jorik and seemed to play with it.

  Rellin saw Jorik shaking his head. He had to agree.

  Crafters.

  “And that, Councilors… is all I know in regards to the traveler. I will cede the floor to Artisan Emrick.” Jorik walked to the back of the hall and dropped into the seat next to Rellin.

  Hushed conversations filled the hall.

  Rellin didn’t say anything. He was hoping no one would notice his existence.

  If he spoke to Jorik, the watching eyes might question him and that could lead to a longer night than it already was.

  Emrick had taken the cloth and immediately gotten lost in it. The man might as well have left the meeting entirely—he had that look in his eye. Rellin watched him mutter to himself as he twisted the bloody scrap through his fingers and pulled out one of those ridiculous jeweler's lenses.

  Long, silent minutes passed.

  Rellin couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Well? Emrick? Can you tell what it is? I want to go back to sleep.”

  Sharp eyes looked at him. Tensions rose.

  “What do you mean go back to sleep?” Jorik hissed.

  “Don’t you remember? I know nothing about this.”

  Jorik rolled his eyes and scoffed.

  “Patience!” Emrick snapped at the crowd. “This cloth is nearly ruined. It’s more bloodstain than material.”

  Then he started yapping about the identification quest… again.

  “Well, at least he’s consistent.” Jorik muttered.

  “I’m not even present at council meetings and I haven’t heard him stop talking about that.” Rellin replied, rubbing his forehead. “You would think he would give it a rest, especially considering the circumstances.”

  Their side conversation was interrupted by Emrick yelling at the big stone mason.

  “YOU! YOU STONE-ADDLED SIMPLETON. YOU voted for the quests to expand facilities!”

  The big man blinked, then scratched the back of his head as a sheepish look spread across his face.

  “... Oh,”

  “And Kurda doesn’t change either,” Jorik whispered, as scattered laughter rippled through the room.

  Rellin snorted. “Really, they’re the unwavering rocks of Varnholt. Some would almost assume their antics were planned by the council to help unify everyone.”

  “We wish,” Jorik muttered. “The council might actually get something done if they stopped bickering long enough to agree on anything.”

  Emrick interrupted their conversation again, but this time his eyes were laser-focused on the senior guard.

  “Jorik. Did this traveler carry any pack? A Satchel? Any other supplies or clothing?”

  All eyes were on him.

  Jorik shook his head. “No pack. Just what he was wearing… and his… extra layers.”

  The hall’s gaze swept back to Emrick.

  Ermrick’s brow furrowed. He held the cloth up, letting the magical light crystal in the ceiling pour down through it.

  “This… resembles the material from the base garments we all arrived in.”

  He tapped the cloth with his thumb. “It’s the same base material, a silken material that is flawlessly woven. It’s unmistakable.”

  Rellin looked over at Jorik, who shrugged.

  Across the hall, Emrick exhaled, a mix of bafflement and disdain permeating his voice.

  “Whoever this traveler is… he’s wearing his original arrival garments. Not the enhanced replacements we received from the hub.”

  His face took on disgust as he stowed the cloth back in the bag.

  “I was barely able to examine the originals, of course,” he added with a sniff. “Even if you separate or remove an article of clothing, it still disintegrates when the owner touches the hub.”

  He shook his head.

  “So this fool has been wearing that.” He gestured at the bag. “For nearly a month...”

  A deep rumble came from Kurda’s seat

  “Erficent’!” the big man declared with clear amusement.

  This drew a round of chuckles from the room.

  Emrick rolled his eyes and continued.

  “You call it efficient, I call it disgusting. Who wears the same garments for almost a month?”

  “Wait… you said they get replaced after you finish the first quest?”

  Heads turned to the speaker, Councillor Serel, a slender woman with gleaming golden hair.

  Her people were similar to humans from Earth, but with distinct differences. Abnormally tall and lithe, every one of their kind had hair that seemed to radiate soft light.

  Their skin shimmered faintly, as if tiny gemstones lay hidden beneath the surface, catching the light with each subtle movement. The effect gave them an otherworldly, almost celestial appearance.

  Emrick gave a small huff and adjusted his sleeves.

  “Technically, no. You complete the Foundations of the Universe quest by getting to the area that houses the hub. The quest finalizes, then the completion prompt instructs you to touch the hub to receive your rewards and learn about local quests.”

  He sniffed. “At which point your clothing is replaced.”

  Serel rolled her eyes. “So… if he still has his original arrival garments th–”

  “Then he never touched a hub!” Emrick interrupted, with obvious exasperation. “I just explained that. He has been wearing the same clothing, like some heathen, and… and…”

  Emrick faltered, and his eyes grew wide with the dawning realization.

  Serel crossed her shimmering arms, her smooth skin catching the light in shifting patterns. A faint, knowing smile touched her lips as she continued to stare at Emrick.

  Kurda glanced between the two, eyebrows furled as he pieced together the implication. His face brightened with realization as he boomed,

  “Oie Sural? Der yer mean tey ben out tere for neerle a month?!”

  Serel’s sparkling emerald eyes shifted over to him, and she nodded.

  Kurda glanced at the pouch, then nodded sagely.

  “Vary erficent.’”

  A hush fell over the chamber.

  Silence reigned.

  One voice pushed it away.

  Jorik’s.

  “In all the twisted stars and hells below…”

  He glanced at Rellin, then back to the council.

  “Where has he been?”

  —— ? ——

  Several buildings away, the traveler known as Simon was having a very bad dream.

  “For the LAST time I did not pay, or want, a full-body hair removal and waxing! AGHAAA!”

  Dream-Simon screamed, sprinting from a swarm of miniature, naked versions of Melodian, each one wielding vicious implements of mass hair removal.

  No matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t escape. They leapt onto him, slapping on wax strips and ripping them off with brutal efficiency.

  “Ow! What the hell kind of spa is this?! AHHHHHHHHH!”

  In the quiet of the infirmary, the healer heard a faint moan from his patient.

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” he murmured. “These have to come off. I hope your dream from the potion is at least a pleasant one.”

  Somewhere deep in the fever dream, Simon wailed,

  “NOT THE EYEBROWS!”

  — AUTHOR NOTICE —

  > Thanks for reading!

  ~TheBusyBard

  Harmony is offered. Growth is earned. Limits are unknown.

  ——————————