Kael froze as a guard turned the corner of an alley and locked eyes with him.
’Am I too unlucky or was this because my hexagram worked earlier leaving me with bad luck.’
Kael controlled his curses and started the act.
Kael lowered his gaze, keeping his expression meek. He bowed slightly."Y-Yes, Officer?"
The guard stepped closer with a narrowed glare, hand hovering near his sword hilt.
"What’re you doing here at this hour, huh?" he barked.
Kael’s eyes flicked around. No one else was nearby. A dangerous thought arose a bit and he wondered if he should kill but his gaze landed on a pile of garbage stacked beside a tavern wall. He instantly moved toward it.
"STOP!" the guard roared, sword half-drawn.
Kael ignored him and shoved his hand into the garbage. The stench hit hard rotting food, soggy bread, and fish bones.
The guard stiffened, stepping back with a scowl."What the hell are you doing?!"
Kael stood up holding something mushy and foul-smelling a half-rotten cabbage or maybe an old meat bun. The goo dripped between his fingers.
The guard covered his nose, looking disgusted.
"Yes, sir," Kael said with pleading eyes. "I’m hungry. I-I haven’t eaten since morning. I know taverns dump leftover food near here... so I thought I’d—"
His voice trembled just the right amount.
"I’m just a normal beggar. Please... I don’t want trouble..."
The guard hesitated, lowering his weapon.
"Tch. Disgusting," he muttered, looking him up and down.
At that moment, another guard’s voice echoed from the street.
"Hey! What’re you doing over there?!"
"Nothing!" the first guard shouted back. "Just found some idiot beggar digging through trash!"
There was a brief silence, then the voice replied loudly."Then quit wasting time and get moving! We’ve got orders to find the real targets!"
The guard grunted and gave Kael one last look."Get lost. You stink like a sewer."
Kael bowed low,"Thank you, sir... thank you."
The guard turned and ran off.
Kael stood still until the steps faded.
Then, carefully, he wiped his hand clean against the side of a barrel, adjusted his collar again, and slipped quietly down the next alley, heading for Gulliver Inn—his eyes cold and sharp beneath the dirt.
The cold night deepened as Kael disappeared into the alley. Fog settled low over the docks, creeping along the cobblestones like smoke from the battle that had just ended.
Somewhere far behind, Adele’s furious howls still echoed faintly, but the further Kael moved, the more distant they became—like a memory swallowed by shadows.
Elsewhere in the city...
Freya ran swiftly through the market street, now deserted and eerie. Wooden stalls stood empty, fabrics flapping in the wind, and abandoned crates creaked in the breeze. She slid under a hanging tarp, breathing hard. Her cloak fluttered as she crouched behind a barrel.
A patrol passed nearby—boots thumping against stone.
She waited... counting their steps...
One... two... three...
She exhaled and moved again, cutting through a clothesline, the wet cloths slapping her face. She cursed silently and picked up the pace, heading toward the southern district.
Sol, on the other hand, had taken to the rooftops. His breath came in short puffs, and his hand gripped the hilt of his sheathed blade tightly. The rooftops offered a clearer view, but he had to be cautious.
He ducked behind a chimney as a group of soldiers passed below.
"Damn... This city’s swarming like ants," he muttered, watching their torchlight fade.
His eyes glinted under the moonlight.
He leapt to the next roof and vanished again into the darkness.
Linda weaved through the narrow alleyways near the temple district. The bells from the bell tower chimed the midnight hour as she pressed herself against a mossy wall.
Ahead, two guards questioned a group of beggars. She quietly cast a minor cloaking spell—just enough to blur her presence—and slipped by them unnoticed. Her breathing was controlled, her eyes sharp.
"Just a little more," she whispered.
Adonis and Herion had ducked into an abandoned wine cellar beneath a broken tavern. Dust swirled in the dim lantern light as Finish peeked through a cracked wooden slat.
"They’re still patrolling the crossroads. We wait."
Adonis nodded, wiping sweat from his brow.
"They’ll break their pattern soon. When they do, we head west and take the aqueduct tunnel."
Back on the main street near the Gulliver Inn, Kael emerged from a narrow side road. His clothes still smelled faintly of rot, but he now walked like any poor laborer—tired, sore, unnoticed.
The inn was a modest building. Its sign, half-hanging, bore the shape of a walking hat. Warm orange light spilled from the windows, laughter and chatter drifting softly into the street.
Kael approached calmly. A guard stood nearby, questioning a passing merchant.
Without hesitation, Kael coughed, limped a little, and approached the door.
The guard glanced at him.
"You look like you’ve been through a latrine," he scoffed.
Kael gave a pitiful smile."Long shift unloading fish crates at the docks. Just want a warm corner to sleep in."
The guard grimaced and turned away, waving him off."Whatever. Just don’t puke near the door."
The warmth hit him first—the smell of stew, ale, sweat, and wood. He walked past the bar with a nod to the innkeeper and took a seat at the far corner.
From the shadows, Herion raised his mug and tilted it slightly.
One by one, over the next hour, the scattered group began to reassemble.
Freya arrived wrapped in a borrowed shawl. Sol dropped in from a side window, cloaked in shadow. Linda walked in as a traveling scholar, a book tucked under her arm. Adonis and Finish came last, through the basement.
Each sat quietly, sipping warm drinks, acting like strangers.
But beneath the table, Kael’s fingers tapped once..twice..three times.
The signal was clear.
They had escaped. But the game had only just begun.
The upper floor of the Gulliver Inn was dimly lit by a single oil lamp, its flickering flame casting long shadows across the aged wooden walls. The room creaked faintly with the weight of people moving below, but here in the quiet of the attic room, the tension was thick and suffocating.
Everyone sat in a loose circle around a rugged table, their clothes stained and worn from the night’s chaos.