Seven days had passed since their feet first set on this city…
Seven days that changed everything for Termo.
He would wake up every morning to something resembling life, going out with Niva, discovering the alleys, cafés, and sounds his ears had never known before. He laughed a lot… as if learning how to be an ordinary young man for the first time, not a man haunted by memories.
But… on the other side of this calm was Ravan.
A man who trusted neither quiet places…
nor cheerful faces…
nor coincidences.
He watched Niva through his calm gaze. She was kind… yes. She cared for Termo… true.
But there was something in her words, in her walk… something that made him place his hand on the hilt of his sword every time she approached Termo.
He always asked himself:
"Why does she care about him so much? And what does she even know about him?"
Termo noticed nothing. For him, life had finally smiled…
And this was a smile he didn't want to lose.
One night…
Termo returned to the inn exhausted after a long day. He sat down immediately and began recounting to Ravan everything that had happened: how Niva had taken him to a small folk art exhibition, and introduced him to a strange poet singing about heroes unknown to them.
He spoke… laughed… his hands moving with excitement.
Ravan listened… but he wasn't really there.
His thoughts carried him elsewhere… specifically toward the White Sword.
That name had started whispering in the marketplace…
in traders' conversations…
and in one tavern, a drunk man had said:
"The White Sword is back… and the city trembles whenever its name is spoken."
Upon hearing that, Ravan's heart stopped for a moment.
He kept asking himself who this person really was, and here in this city, they repeated it as if it were a legend being brought back to life.
The next morning…
Termo went out with Niva.
Ravan, however, went to the doctor to check on wounds that had yet to heal from their previous battles.
The doctor was an old man, his hands knowing pain as a warrior knows his sword.
While examining Ravan's shoulder, he said:
"Your body is stronger than your wounds… but your spirit?
Looks like it's been weary for a long time."
Ravan chuckled faintly:
"Not the first time my bones have broken, nor the last."
But the doctor didn't smile this time.
He leaned closer and whispered:
"Be careful with this city… it's not as you think, not as your friend happily smiles about."
His warning raised a feeling in Ravan's chest that never left him: doubt.
He left the clinic, walking slowly…
His path leading him unconsciously to the garden that Niva loved to take Termo to.
The long walkway between trees… the wooden benches… the scent of damp earth…
Simple things, yet they stirred painful memories within him.
He stopped at the edge of the lookout… the place where Termo often sat with Niva.
Here… he felt the past return with its full weight.
His chest tightened for a moment; he stepped back, then sat on the ground as if he had lost control of his legs.
Minutes passed… perhaps hours…
Before he rose with difficulty and continued on, as if awakening from a nightmare without end.
At night… he returned to the inn.
Termo was sleeping deeply, smiling even in his sleep.
A rare scene… yet it softened Ravan for a moment:
"He deserves to laugh… he deserves to rest."
But peace never lasts.
While sitting near the window, gazing at the city in darkness… a folded note was slid under the door.
He opened it silently.
It contained a single sentence:
"If you want to know the truth about the White Sword… come to the harbor tonight after midnight."
Beneath the sentence was a strange mark resembling a broken wing.
Ravan clenched the paper tightly.
Finally, a clear thread… the first step to understanding who was hunting Termo… and why.
He looked at Termo sleeping and thought:
I won't betray you…
I won't leave you…
But I must know the truth… even if it's fire.
He left the inn, hidden.
At night, the city transforms into another creature… its streets tilted with darkness, doors breathing secrets.
He reached the harbor.
The sea waves struck the ships loudly… fog covering everything.
From the shadows… a boy about Termo's age appeared, wounded and bleeding.
He stopped in front of Ravan and said coldly:
"Termo… is not an ordinary person.
And what the city wants is not good.
Step closer, Ravan:
'Who are you?'
"I'll tell you… this place is not for you.
If you want to protect your friend… trust neither a sweet face nor a gentle smile.
Because the White Sword… is closer to you than you expect."
Then the boy split in half and vanished into the darkness, as if he had never been there.
Ravan was stunned by what had happened, his hand on his sword, sensing movements and whispers around him, as if the darkness tried to reach him.
He returned to the inn, gripping his fist.
The worry hadn't changed… but now it had a clear reason.
He stood over Termo sleeping for a moment…
Covered him with a blanket… and whispered softly:
"I promise… I won't let anything hurt you…
Even if it's the past itself."
In his eyes… a new resolve:
The coming war… will no longer be an escape.
He looked out the window into the quiet night, wiped something strange from his face, and smiled.