Chapter 6: Webs of Deceit

The town of Ironstead was no more than a smudge on the edge of Valtressa’s map. Narrow dirt streets twisted between squat stone houses, their thatched roofs blackened by years of chimney smoke. The smell of damp earth and livestock hung heavy in the air as Serenya followed Drenic through the main thoroughfare, keeping her hood low.

“Not much of a place,” Drenic remarked, his eyes scanning the bustling market stalls where vendors peddled faded fabrics and wilted vegetables. “But it’ll do.”

“It’s perfect,” Serenya muttered, relief slipping into her tone. The town was small enough to avoid notice, yet busy enough to blend in.

Drenic shot her a sidelong glance. “Don’t get too comfortable. Places like this are full of people looking to make a quick coin—and word travels faster than you think.”

She bit back a retort, knowing he was right. The attack in the forest had proven how determined her hunters were. Whoever they were, they wouldn’t stop until they had her.

“We need an inn,” Drenic said, breaking her thoughts. “Somewhere quiet where we can lay low.”

“And how do we pay for it?” Serenya asked, tightening her grip on her satchel. The remaining gold she had wasn’t much after hiring Drenic.

“Leave that to me.” He winked, then nodded toward a weathered sign swinging above a nearby building.

The inn, The Hollow Hearth, was a modest structure of gray stone and warped timber. Inside, the common room was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of spilled ale and unwashed bodies. A few patrons sat scattered at tables, their conversations low and wary.

Drenic strode up to the barkeep, a stout woman with calloused hands and a sharp gaze. “Room for two,” he said, tossing a silver coin onto the counter.

The barkeep eyed him, then the coin, before pocketing it with a grunt. “Upstairs. First on the left.”

Drenic turned to Serenya, jerking his head toward the staircase. “Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

Serenya hesitated but did as he said, climbing the creaking stairs with cautious steps.

The room was small and sparse, furnished with a single bed, a rickety chair, and a washbasin. A narrow window overlooked the muddy street below. Serenya moved to it, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peer out.

The market square was still bustling, but her eyes lingered on a pair of cloaked figures standing at the edge of the crowd. Their faces were obscured, but something about their posture set her on edge.

A soft knock at the door startled her.

“It’s me,” Drenic’s voice came through, low and steady.

She opened the door, stepping aside as he entered, carrying a small bundle wrapped in cloth.

“Food,” he said, dropping it onto the table. “Not great, but it’ll keep us alive.”

Serenya unwrapped the bundle to reveal a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and two bruised apples. She sank into the chair, exhaustion catching up to her.

“What’s the plan now?” she asked, nibbling at the bread.

Drenic leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “We rest for the night. I’ll ask around tomorrow—see if anyone knows a safe route out of here.”

She frowned. “You think it’s that simple?”

His smirk returned. “Simple? No. But every problem has a solution if you know where to look.”

Serenya didn’t share his optimism. “We’re being hunted, Drenic. By people who can control shadowbeasts. You can’t bribe or outwit magic like that.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, “but you’ve got your tricks, and I’ve got mine. We’ll figure it out.”

As the evening wore on, Serenya found herself pacing the room, her nerves fraying with every passing minute. Drenic lounged on the bed, arms folded behind his head, seemingly unbothered.

“How can you be so calm?” she asked, her frustration spilling over.

“Because worrying won’t change anything,” he replied without opening his eyes.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?”

His gray eyes flicked open, meeting hers. “I take survival seriously. And right now, staying calm is how we survive.”

Serenya shook her head, turning back to the window.

Night fell, and the streets below emptied, leaving the town cloaked in silence. Serenya tried to sleep but found herself staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying every step that had brought her here. The prophecy, the tower, the attack in the forest—it all felt like a distant nightmare.

A sudden creak broke the quiet.

Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up, heart pounding. Across the room, Drenic was already on his feet, his dagger in hand.

The sound came again—a soft, deliberate footfall just beyond the door.

“Stay back,” Drenic whispered, moving toward the door with practiced ease.

Serenya clutched the pendant beneath her cloak, her fingers trembling.

The door burst open.

Two figures charged in, blades gleaming in the dim light. Drenic moved like a shadow, blocking the first strike with his dagger and driving his elbow into his attacker’s face. The second figure lunged toward Serenya, but she threw herself out of the chair, narrowly avoiding the blade.

“Under the bed!” Drenic barked, kicking one of the assailants back.

Serenya hesitated, her instincts screaming to run, but there was nowhere to go. She scrambled under the bed as Drenic engaged both attackers, his movements precise and brutal.

“Who sent you?” he demanded, dodging a slash and driving his blade into the ribs of one assailant.

The attacker grunted but didn’t answer, even as he crumpled to the floor.

The second figure swung wildly, forcing Drenic to sidestep. The momentum carried the assailant too far, and Drenic seized the opening, slamming the hilt of his dagger into the back of their head.

The attacker dropped, unconscious.

Drenic stood over the bodies, his chest heaving. He wiped the blood from his blade and turned to Serenya, still crouched under the bed.

“You all right?” he asked, his voice tight.

She nodded, crawling out and brushing herself off. “Who were they?”

Drenic crouched beside one of the attackers, pulling back their hood to reveal a scarred, weathered face. “Mercenaries,” he muttered. “Same as the ones in the forest.”

“Why do they want me so badly?” Serenya whispered, her hands trembling.

Drenic’s gaze darkened. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

The commotion had roused the innkeeper, who banged on their door moments later. “What in the hells is going on in there?”

Drenic opened the door just enough to slip out, blocking the innkeeper’s view of the room. “Nothing to worry about. Just a… disagreement. We’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

“You’d better be,” she snapped, eyeing him suspiciously before stomping back downstairs.

Drenic shut the door and turned to Serenya. “We can’t stay here. They’ll send more.”

She nodded, her stomach twisting with fear. “Where do we go?”

“Somewhere they won’t expect,” he said, his tone grim. “But first, we need to disappear.”

“How?”

His smirk returned, though it lacked its usual charm. “Leave that to me.”

As they gathered their belongings and prepared to slip out of town, Serenya couldn’t shake the feeling that they were running out of time. The attacks were growing bolder, the hunters more relentless.

She clutched the pendant beneath her cloak, its familiar weight grounding her.

“We can’t keep running forever,” she murmured.

Drenic glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Then let’s make sure we don’t have to.”

With that, they slipped into the night, the town of Ironstead fading behind them.

Far to the east, in the shadows of an ancient keep, a cloaked figure stood before an altar, their crimson eyes gleaming.

“She’s close,” they murmured, their voice cold and sharp. “Let the hunt continue.”

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