Three hours has passed after midnight.
The moon was a cold, silver eye watching me as I crossed the invisible line of the Caria borders. The air here felt different, sharper, heavier with the scent of pine and distant forge-smoke. I stayed high, my blood-wings beating in a steady, silent rhythm until the silhouettes of the border watchtowers loomed like giants in the mist.
"Free as a bird, Eirene. You need to get some rest, you've been flying three hours straight. Better yet, if they see you like this, I wouldn't react, they'll kill you."
I couldn't risk being seen. A winged girl in the moonlight wasn't a traveler, she was a target.
"Prepare to descend, Eirene" Plasma said
I banked sharply, diving toward a dense thicket of trees a mile out from the main trade road. The landing was rough, my left leg, though healed, still lacked the perfect grace it once had, and I tumbled into the damp ferns. I lay there for a second, listening to the crickets and the distant howl of a wolf.
I stood up and pulled the stolen bandit cloak tight around me. I fumbled with the rough wooden buttons, pulling the heavy fabric over my shoulders until the intrusive, restless shape of my folded wings was completely suppressed. I looked like just another traveler, perhaps a bit too small for such a large coat, but unremarkable.
I began to walk. Every step on the gravel road was a reminder of the miles between me and the sister I had left behind.
An hour into my trek, the rhythmic clop-clop of hooves echoed through the fog. A merchant's carriage, laden with barrels and covered in a canvas tarp, was lumbering toward the city gates. This was my chance.
I stepped out from the shadows of the treeline and into the moonlight of the road. I couldn't call out. I couldn't shout "Wait!" or "Help!" My throat was a hollow chamber of scarred flesh.
Instead, I raised my right hand, waving it in slow, desperate arcs. The merchant, a stout man wrapped in wool blankets, squinted through the dark. He pulled on the reins, the carriage groaning to a halt a few feet from me.
"Who goes there?" The road's no place for a lass at this hour. You lost?"
I stepped closer into the light of his lantern, keeping the hood pulled low so he couldn't see the unnatural green of my eyes or the scars on my face. I shook my head slowly and pointed toward the distant, glowing horizon where Caria City sat.
I reached into the pocket of the coat, pulling out a single gold coin I'd scavenged from the floor of the manor. I held it up. The gold glinted in the lantern light, catching his attention instantly.
"Silent, eh? Well, gold speaks loud enough for the both of us. If you're looking for a ride to the gates, hop in the back. Just stay away from the purses and maps over there."
I nodded, a brief, sharp movement. I climbed onto the back of the wagon, settling onto a pile of rough burlap sacks. As the carriage lurched forward, I leaned my head against a wooden crate, watching the stars.
I was a ghost in a stolen coat, heading toward a city of strangers. I had no name, no voice, and no home. But as the wheels turned, I felt a strange, cold peace. The girl who died in the cellar was finally gone. The thing that remained was moving forward.
"My names, Brick. I'm a fellow merchant who lives in the 5th district, nice to meet you traveler."
The carriage rattled over the stone bridge leading to the outer districts of Caria. Brick, the merchant, leaned back, his silhouette hunched against the dim lantern light. He seemed to take my silence as an invitation to fill the air with the news of the world.
"You're lucky I found you, Caria isn't the sanctuary it used to be. There's a civil war brewing right under our noses. These Immoral Knights... they're no joke. They're like a plague, spreading through the high passes and the back alleys alike. They say they've got eyes everywhere."
The name hit me like a physical blow. Immoral Knights.
Behind my closed eyes, I saw my brother, Elias. I remembered the cold determination in his gaze whenever he spoke of his life's work. He had shared his burdens with me once, four pillars of a destiny he felt forced to carry.
First, to find and slaughter every man responsible for our father's death.
Second, to wipe the Immoral Knights from the face of the earth.
Third, to find the Pandora's Box, the legendary artifact said to hold power beyond mortal comprehension.
And lastly, the most impossible dream of all: to fix our broken family.
I looked down at my hands. One was flesh and blood, the other was a weapon of hardened, cursed ichor. I was dead to the world, a silent ghost with a hollow throat. Elias was out there somewhere, fighting a war on the front lines, likely believing I was rotting in a grave in Allure.
I couldn't fix our family. Not like this. I was too far gone, too stained by the cellar and the blood I had spilled. But I could do one thing. I could take the weight off his shoulders.
If Elias wanted to hunt the Immoral Knights, then I would become the shadow that moved ahead of him. I would be the blade that struck from the dark, leaving nothing but husks for the Bureau to find. I would fulfill his goals from the underside of the world, a secret guardian he would never have to thank.
Brick pulled the carriage to a halt as the guards approached to inspect his cargo. He looked back at me one last time, his expression pitying.
"Good luck, kid. Whatever you're looking for in Caria, I hope it doesn't kill you."
I stepped off the back of the wagon, my boots hitting the dirt with a soft thud. I didn't look back at him. I adjusted the black coat, feeling the heavy pulse of my wings beneath the fabric.
The Immoral Knights thought they were the monsters of this story. They hadn't met the girl from the salt cellar yet.
I walked toward the gates of Caria, a silent vow burning in my chest. My brother's war was now my own.
I stepped off the wagon, the silver coins I had promised Brick disappearing into his rough palm. As the carriage rolled away, I stood before the towering iron-bound gates of Caria. My hood was pulled low, but the wind caught the hem of my stolen cloak, exposing the tattered, blood-stained boots beneath.
"Hold it right there, Status card, traveler. Nobody enters the capital without a registered soul-link." a gatekeeper barked, stepping into my path with a halberd leveled at my chest.
I stood frozen. Status card? I had spent my life in the smaller districts, I had never needed more than a name and a guild crest. I shrugged my shoulders, my eyes remaining fixed on the dirt, trying to signal that I didn't possess such a thing.
"H-hey, don't ask me Eirene, I was just a dumb brat living inside your body, I have no clue what is a status card." Plasma muttered
Annoyed by Plasma's response, the guard grunted, stepping closer.
"Don't play coy with me. Lift your hood. I need to see who's hiding under that rag."
I hesitated, then slowly reached up with my right hand. As the fabric fell back, the guard let out a sharp, hissed breath. The lantern light caught the jagged, raised flesh of the scar that sliced across my face, a horrific glasgow smile that stretched from my mouth to my ear, a permanent reminder of the cellar. My left eye was gone, covered by a makeshift leather patch I'd fashioned from a bandit's holster.
"Gods above… You've been through hell, lass. Scars like those... you aren't just a traveler. You're a survivor. An experienced adventurer, I reckon."
He lowered his weapon slightly, his gaze softening into a mix of respect and wariness.
"If you don't have a card, show me your adventurer token. A veteran like you has to be registered somewhere."
My fingers dipped into the inner pocket of the cloak. I pulled out a heavy, cold piece of metal. It caught the flickering torchlight, shimmering with a brilliant, unmistakable luster.
It was my gold-ranked Adventurer Token.
The guard's eyebrows shot up. A gold-rank at my age was almost unheard of. He straightened his posture, giving a slight, respectful nod.
"Gold-rank... My apologies, traveler. You've clearly earned your place, However, the laws in Caria have tightened since the Immoral Knights started their purge. A token proves your rank, but it doesn't prove your current status. You need a status card to fully access the inner districts, to buy gear, to stay in an inn, or to take a contract."
I looked at him, my one eye narrowed. I tried to push past, but he held up a hand.
"I can't let you through yet, I've got orders. You'll have to wait in the holding kiosk until the dawn shift arrives. They'll have a registrar there who can forge a new card based on your soul-signature. Until then, you stay in the gatehouse."
I gripped my cloak, the blood-wings beneath the fabric twitching with a sudden, restless hunger. I was so close to the city shadows, yet I was trapped in the light of the guardhouse. The silence in my throat felt heavier than ever. I couldn't explain that I didn't have time to wait, that every minute I stood still, the Immoral Knights were weaving their web deeper into the city.
The gatekeeper's voice had lost its edge, replaced by a gruff sort of sympathy. He looked at my single eye, my scarred face, and the way I leaned slightly to the right to compensate for my missing arm. To him, I was a war-torn veteran who had seen too much.
"You look like you're about to collapse, lass,. You stay in the gatehouse tonight. Get some rest. By morning, when the city wakes, you head straight to the Luminous Knight Bureau Association. They're the only ones who can issue a status card to a gold-rank. Tell 'em the gate watch sent you."
I offered a small, stiff nod. I didn't have the strength to fight the bureaucracy, and my body was screaming for a moment of stillness.
They led me into the guardhouse. It was a humble room, smelling of woodsmoke, old leather, and floor wax. In the corner, tucked away from the main table where the guards played cards, was a singular bed with a straw mattress and a heavy wool blanket.
I sat on the edge of the cot, the silence of the room ringing in my ears. I waited until the guards were distracted by their game before I carefully adjusted the stolen black coat. I lay down on my stomach, the only way I could accommodate the folded, restless mass of my blood-wings without them tearing through the fabric or the bed.
Underneath the heavy blanket, I felt the wings pulse. They were a part of me now, a heavy, crimson burden that never truly slept.
I closed my one eye, my head resting on my arm. For the first time in seven days, I wasn't on a salt-covered floor. I wasn't being hunted. I wasn't falling. But as sleep pulled at me, my mind didn't drift to peace. I thought of the Bureau. I thought of the status card.
And I thought of Elias. He was in this city. He was the reason I was here.
I didn't know that just a few miles away, inside that very same bureau, my brother was holding a revolver to a man's head, screaming for the truth about a sister he thought was dead.
I drifted into a dark, dreamless slumber, a golden token clutched in my hand and a Glasgow smile hidden against the pillow. Tomorrow, the ghost of Eirene Rynd would walk the streets of Caria.