Chapter 11 – Fourth Day: The Scent That Does Not Cling to the Abyss
Fourth day.
Ten hours until the auction.
Nyxarion stood guard at the main warehouse gate when the tower bell struck four in the afternoon.
Lucas spoke first, voice tight:
The woman from last night.
She entered through the front gate without asking leave.
Dark-gray cloak, scar fully visible, seven-pointed silver staff striking the ground with every step.
Every guard shrank back.
Gorran, who had been shouting at a porter, shut his mouth instantly.
Asha Veyn.
Hunter of the Order of Ash.
She stopped dead center in the courtyard and spoke, voice like a blade:
"Three nights ago, something ancient crossed Karathar's walls.
It was darkness.
Pure presence.
A stench of the abyss so strong it made the Order's warning bells sing for the first time in years.
And the trail ends here. In this compound."
She spun the staff.
The seven silver tips ignited one by one, forming a circle of cold white light on the stones.
"Who arrived here exactly three days ago?"
Gorran stammered, sweating:
"M-many slaves, shipments, my lady hunter. Merchants, guards…"
Asha cut him off:
"One single trail.
One single pair of boots still reeking of primordial darkness.
I want that man. Now."
Lucas whispered, tense:
She felt the moment you used raw shadow to rewrite the guards.
She tied it to the exact day we arrived.
Nyxarion remained perfectly still, face nothing more than an ordinary mercenary.
Gorran, pale as parchment, pointed straight at him without hesitation:
"It was Lucas! I hired him on the road three days ago, right after the shadow-hound attack!"
Asha turned slowly toward Nyxarion.
The staff leveled at his chest.
The white light flared, scorching the air.
"You," she said.
"Step forward."
Nyxarion obeyed, slow and deliberate, hands visible and empty.
The light washed over his uniform.
The fabric smoked faintly.
Asha narrowed her one good eye.
"The scent is on you… but diluted.
As though it had been masked."
Lucas held his breath.
Nyxarion spoke, voice pitched with just the right amount of fear and respect:
"My lady hunter, I was in the caravan when the shadow-hounds struck.
I used an old relic I've carried since childhood, a broken shadow-hound tooth I inherited from my father. He died when our village was razed.
It shattered during the fight.
Maybe that's what you're smelling."
He reached slowly into his pocket and produced a jagged black tooth (solidified shadow, crafted two seconds earlier, now perfectly real) and offered it.
Asha took it.
The staff blazed brighter the instant it touched the tooth.
The scent was identical to the trail she had followed for three days.
She closed her fist around it.
"This explains the residual stench," she muttered.
"But not why a broken tooth still reeks so strongly."
Nyxarion shrugged, the picture of an ignorant sellsword.
"All I know is it worked against the hounds.
After that, the boss hired me."
Asha glanced at Gorran.
Gorran nodded like his life depended on it (which it did).
She slipped the tooth into an inner pocket.
"The tooth stays with me.
You stay alive… for now.
If the scent grows again, I come back.
And next time, no relic will save you."
She spun on her heel and strode out the same gate, staff striking stone like a war drum.
The entire courtyard exhaled at once.
Gorran wiped sweat from his brow.
"Gods above, Lucas… thank the heavens you had that thing!"
Inside the head, Lucas laughed, shaky with relief.
You forged physical evidence in two seconds.
That was beautiful.
"Necessary," Nyxarion replied, subtly flexing the hand that still smoldered.
"She smelled the raw shadow I used in the forest.
Now she has an object to blame.
And I have twenty-four clean hours."
He turned his gaze back to the warehouse.
"Tonight I enter the catalog room.
Tonight I learn exactly what the object is."
Twelve hours until the auction.
The hunter carries a fake tooth in her pocket.
The true abyss walks free.
**End of Chapter 11**