Chapter 2: The Rogue’s Bargain

The streets of Valtressa were a labyrinth of shadow and light, alive with the murmurs of merchants, the laughter of drunkards, and the occasional bark of a guard issuing warnings to loitering vagrants. Serenya pulled the hood of her cloak low, the coarse fabric scratching her cheeks as she melted into the crowd. Every step away from the tower felt like an invisible shackle breaking, but the weight of her vision lingered, a noose tightening around her neck.

She had spent years observing the city through a barred window, memorizing the rhythms of its life. But now, immersed in its chaos, she felt like a stranger.

“Keep moving,” she muttered to herself, clutching her satchel as though it might anchor her.

Her destination was clear—a smuggler’s haven on the edge of the docks. If she was going to escape the kingdom’s reach, she needed someone who could navigate the underbelly of Valtressa and beyond.

Drenic Vael leaned against the warped wooden bar of the Wayward Gull, a tankard of stale ale in his hand and a devil-may-care grin on his lips. The inn reeked of saltwater, sweat, and bad decisions—his preferred kind of company. Around him, patrons argued over dice games, while a bard strummed a broken tune in the corner.

Across the room, a bulky man slammed his fist on the table, cursing Drenic’s name. “You cheated, Vael!”

Drenic raised his tankard in mock salute, flashing his roguish smile. “Did I, Borvin? Or are you just bad at dice?”

The man lunged, and Drenic sidestepped smoothly, his hand already on the dagger tucked into his belt. He didn’t draw it, though; a fight wasn’t worth his time.

“Sit down before you embarrass yourself further,” Drenic said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Borvin hesitated, the tension in his shoulders giving way to drunken confusion. With a huff, the man slumped back into his chair, muttering curses under his breath.

Drenic returned to his drink, shaking his head. He lived for moments like this—dancing on the edge of trouble, always one step ahead of the chaos he seemed to attract.

As he drained the last of his ale, the door to the inn creaked open, and a figure stepped inside.

Serenya hesitated in the doorway, her gaze sweeping across the dimly lit room. The stench was nearly enough to send her retreating, but she forced herself to step forward. Every face she saw was rough, weathered, and dangerous.

This was a mistake, she thought. But it was too late to turn back now.

She approached the bar, her movements stiff, and signaled to the barkeep.

“I need someone who can get me out of Valtressa,” she said quietly.

The barkeep, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek, raised an eyebrow. “You think this is a market, girl? People don’t just advertise illegal services for anyone who walks in.”

Serenya slid a gold coin across the bar, her hand trembling only slightly. “That should be enough to convince you otherwise.”

The barkeep’s eyes flicked to the coin, and his lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. He pocketed the payment and tilted his head toward a corner of the room. “Try him. If you’re lucky, he won’t rob you blind.”

Serenya turned to where he pointed, her gaze falling on a man lounging against the wall, his boots propped up on the table. His dark hair was tousled, his lean frame relaxed, but there was an alertness in his sharp gray eyes that unsettled her.

Taking a steadying breath, she approached him.

“You’re Drenic Vael?” she asked, her voice steady despite the unease crawling up her spine.

He looked up, his smile lazy and amused. “That depends. Are you here to kill me or hire me?”

“I need to leave the city.”

“Ah, fleeing something nasty, are we? A debt? An angry spouse? The royal guard?” His eyes gleamed with mischief.

She tightened her grip on her satchel. “It’s none of your concern. I just need to know if you can do it.”

Drenic studied her, his gaze lingering on her too-clean cloak and the slight tremor in her hands. “You don’t exactly look like the type who belongs here. Who are you?”

“No one important.”

“See, that’s the kind of answer that makes me suspicious.” He leaned forward, his smile fading. “If I take you out of this city, I’m putting myself at risk. I don’t do charity work.”

Serenya’s jaw clenched. “I can pay you.” She reached into her satchel and withdrew a pouch, tossing it onto the table. The coins inside clinked softly, catching Drenic’s attention.

He opened it, his eyebrows raising slightly at the gleam of gold. “Well, now you’ve got my attention.”

“Do we have a deal?”

Drenic leaned back, considering her for a moment. “Let me be clear: I don’t ask questions, and I don’t make promises. If you get caught, it’s on you. If someone tries to kill us, I’m running first.”

“Understood,” Serenya said, though the weight of his words made her stomach churn.

“Then we have a deal.” He stood and offered his hand.

She hesitated before taking it, his grip warm and firm.

The docks were quieter than Serenya expected, the gentle lapping of water against wood masking the tension that hung in the air. Drenic led the way, his steps light and confident, while Serenya followed closely behind, her hood pulled low.

“Stick close,” Drenic said over his shoulder. “The wrong glance around here will get you a knife in the ribs.”

She nodded, though her unease deepened.

They reached a small, rickety boat tethered to the dock, and Drenic gestured for her to board. Serenya hesitated, her instincts warning her to be cautious.

“This is your plan?” she asked, eyeing the creaking vessel.

“Trust me, it’s better than it looks.”

Before she could respond, the sound of boots on wood reached her ears. She turned to see three figures approaching, their movements purposeful and predatory.

“Drenic Vael,” the leader called out, his voice dripping with malice. “You’ve been hard to find.”

Drenic sighed, his hand already on the hilt of his dagger. “Borvin, old friend. I thought we settled this back at the Wayward Gull.”

“Settled?” Borvin growled, his eyes narrowing. “You stole from me, you rat.”

Serenya took a step back, her heart pounding as Borvin’s gaze flicked to her. “Who’s this? Another one of your marks?”

“She’s nothing to do with you,” Drenic said sharply, stepping in front of her.

Borvin sneered. “You’ve got a habit of dragging innocent fools into your mess, Vael. Maybe we’ll take her along, too.”

Drenic’s dagger was in his hand before Borvin could take another step. “You won’t touch her.”

The air crackled with tension as the two men squared off.

The fight was swift and brutal.

Drenic moved like a shadow, his blade flashing in the dim light. Borvin’s men were unprepared for the rogue’s speed and precision, and within moments, two of them lay bleeding on the dock.

Borvin snarled, charging at Drenic with a heavy cudgel. Serenya pressed herself against the boat, fear gripping her as the two men clashed.

Drenic ducked the swing and drove his dagger into Borvin’s side. The larger man staggered, cursing as he fell to his knees.

“Tell your friends,” Drenic said coldly, leaning close, “to stay out of my way.”

With that, he shoved Borvin back, sending him toppling into the water.

Drenic turned to Serenya, his expression unreadable. “Get in the boat. Now.”

Still shaken, she obeyed, stepping into the vessel as he untied it from the dock. He climbed in after her, pushing them off into the dark water.

As the city began to fade into the distance, Serenya glanced at Drenic, her thoughts racing.

She had escaped the tower, but her troubles were far from over.

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