As the light thinned in the sky, townsfolk lit the streets. Dim glows from oil lamps hanging along stone walls spilled onto the paved roads as the people of Crowmere drifted home, finishing their daily affairs. Ren walked with his head down toward the watchtower.
He passed a sculptor closing his shop. In the window lay carved tombstones, shaped but not yet named, resting among a few stone figures. Ren noticed the shapes matched the markers he had seen in the graveyard earlier, some carved with a cube. He stepped closer just as the old man locked the door.
"Pardon me," Ren said.
The craftsman flinched. "Oh, you scared me, little fella."
"Sorry," Ren replied. "In the graveyard, there were stones with the carving of a cube. Do you know what it means?"
The old man frowned. "You mean the Dark Messenger's mark?"
"The… Dark Messenger?" Ren asked.
The man studied his confused face. "You really don't know? Some call him the Death Aspect. No? The Masked Emperor?"
Ren only shook his head, more lost with each title.
"How do you not know?" the sculptor asked. "Everyone knows. It's known everywhere."
Annoyance and frustration at his own ignorance twisted inside Ren. He muttered an apology and turned away, cursing himself in silence as he headed back toward the watchtower, leaving the old man staring after him, baffled.
Ren knocked at the tower door and was greeted by a man who introduced himself as the guardian. Ren asked if his group had passed through.
"Black-haired young man with a jade-handled sword?" the guardian asked.
Ren nodded.
"They're staying at the Black Quail Inn," the man said, pointing him in the right direction.
Ren thanked him and followed the street until he saw the building—a modest inn standing slightly apart, a hanging sign shaped like a quail swinging above the door.
Inside, Peter was arguing with Shin at the reception counter, which doubled as a bar. Peter had clearly been drinking.
"I don't know, Captain, he'll be fine," Peter said, reaching for his mug.
Shin pulled it out of his hand. "No. He was your responsibility. We can't afford him wandering off or getting lost—"
He broke off as Ren pushed through the door. Peter kept gesturing. "I told you, it's fine—" He lunged again for the mug.
Shin caught his wrist. "Go take a bath. Then sleep." He turned to Ren. "You too. I'll go get us some new clothes."
The innkeeper slid a key across the counter. "Use the other bath upstairs, to the right," he said.
Shin handed the key to Ren. "Take Peter with you."
Ren simply bent, lifted Peter with both arms, and straightened. The owner stared, shocked and impressed by the effortless strength.
Upstairs, Ren glanced left and saw Bjorn standing at the far end of that hallway, planted in front of a door with his hammer in hand, guarding whatever—or whoever—was inside. Ren turned right, walked down the other corridor, and unlocked the last door.
Inside were two wooden tubs set apart from each other. At the far end of each, two metal faucets were fixed, each pair fed by pipes—one running from above, one from below. Ren eased the unconscious Peter into one tub, then tapped one of the faucets experimentally with his knuckles. After a moment's thought, he twisted the handle.
Water splashed out. One tap ran cold, the other hot.
He filled Peter's tub first, then his own. Peter snored through the entire process, sleeping without a care. Ren stripped down, keeping only his braies, and slipped into the other tub.
An hour later, he stepped out, steam rising from his scarred body. There was a knock at the door.
"Ren, Peter," Shin's voice came from the hall, "your clothes are in the room next door—the room to your left, just in case."
Ren stretched, feeling the weight in his muscles ease. The heat soaking into his bones was a new kind of comfort; hot water was not something the Steel Mountains had ever offered.
Peter's eyes were open now. He lay in the tub, sadness heavy in his gaze as he took in the marks and scars on Ren's back and arms.
As Ren reached for the door, Peter spoke. "I'm sorry, Ren, about what I said before. I didn't mean—"
"It's all right," Ren cut in, turning slightly toward him. "I understand. I realized I've got a lot to learn. I hope you guys can teach me." He gave Peter a small, apologetic smile and stepped out into the hallway.
Peter sat frozen for a moment, then smiled back toward the empty doorway and let his head fall against the rim of the tub. "You were right Jonathan , he really does resemble him " he murmured to the ceiling.
Ren was about to step into the next room when he noticed Bjorn still standing in the hallway, hammer at his side. At that moment, the door behind Bjorn opened and Lili stepped out in fresh clothes, brushing water from her hair. Both of them stopped and stared for a heartbeat at Ren—standing there in nothing but his braies, scars scattered across his chest and arms, visible even at a distance. Ren slipped past their gaze and into the room.
Inside, two sets of bunk beds faced each other. Shin lay on the lower bunk to the left. Ren dressed quickly, then stretched out on the opposite lower bunk, facing him. Silence settled between them.
"Hey, Shin," Ren said at last. "I wanted to ask you about your sword."
Shin's eyes dropped to the weapon resting beside his bed. He reached for it. "It's not a sword," he said, sitting up and laying it across his legs. "My ancestors called it a katana. People now just say 'curved sword.' It belonged to my father, so I honor it by using its true name."
"Do all katanas release wind?" Ren asked.
Shin smiled faintly. "No. This one is just… special. But there are a few other special weapons out there. Since you were in the Steel Mountains, maybe you've heard of Skjoldar the Forgemaster?"
Ren shook his head. "No."
"I'll tell you about him later," Shin said. "But first, you need to rest." The smile lingered for a moment.
"Can you tell me about the man who killed Jonathan?" Ren asked.
Shin's smile vanished. "Another time," he said quietly. "I'll answer your questions. I'm going to sleep for a bit—and you should too." He lay back down and turned to face the wall, leaving Ren on the opposite bunk, staring into the dim room with burning questions and no answers as both of them tried to let sleep take them.