The rain hadn't stopped. It came in soft sheets now, hissing quietly over the broken walls of the old fortress.

  Karl stood in the ruined courtyard, wrapped in his cloak, watching as the smuggler caravan creaked through the gate.

  There were ten of them, mounted on tired mules, two small wagons behind them. They looked ragged, mismatched—but every single one of them carried a weapon. Short muskets. Sawn-off pistols. Knives in boots.

  Their leader rode at the front: a tall man with a greying beard and a soldier's posture, even under a patchwork cloak.

  He dismounted first and approached with practiced calm.

  Karl stepped forward to greet him. “Evening,” he said, voice steady. “You look like you're riding hard.”

  The man gave a nod. “Storm's getting worse. Figured we'd ask for shelter.”

  Karl nodded slowly. “We’re travelers, ourselves. Took shelter here yesterday. You're welcome to the dry spots. As long as you’re not trouble.”

  The man smiled thinly. “Trouble? Not unless someone makes it.”

  They shook hands.

  The players stood nearby, stiff and silent.

  Watching. Listening. Not speaking.

  ---

  Inside the hall, Karl approached the leader quietly.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” he said.

  “Tanir,” the man replied. “And you?”

  “Just a traveler.”

  Tanir raised an eyebrow but didn’t press.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Karl took a slow breath. “If you don’t mind me asking… where exactly are we?”

  Tanir studied him, then answered. “You’re two days from Ravenn. Empire-side. Alresta's northern border.”

  Karl’s stomach twisted. He was in the Empire.

  “And the old kingdom?” he asked. “To the west?”

  “Collapsed. Revolution swept through it like wildfire. You from there?”

  Karl shook his head quickly. “No. Just… heard stories.”

  Tanir didn’t reply.

  ---

  That night, the two groups shared the old hall.

  The smugglers made a small camp in one corner. The players gathered in another. Karl moved between them, keeping the air calm.

  He waited until the smugglers weren’t watching, then crouched beside the five players.

  “They may be friendly,” he whispered. “They may not.”

  He looked at each of them, voice low. “If they try anything—act first. I mean it. Don’t wait. Don’t ask me. Just act.”

  The ex-soldier nodded silently. The others exchanged excited looks.

  “Is this a real quest?” the student whispered.

  Karl didn’t answer.

  ---

  Tanir Hask didn’t like it.

  He hadn’t liked it from the moment they opened the gate.

  The ruined fortress was too quiet. Too clean. The fire was banked right. The gear was stacked too neatly. Someone here knew order.

  He glanced at the five strangers. They stood apart. Same clothes. Same posture. Not a word spoken between them.

  He watched the five silent strangers move like wolves—too quiet, too disciplined.

  That wasn’t how lost travelers walked. That was how soldiers walked when they were pretending not to be.

  Tanir narrowed his eyes.

  He’d seen this before—during his years in the 3rd Imperial Cavalry.

  Back when he still wore a badge, not a bandit’s cloak.

  Once an officer, always an officer.

  Even now, after years of border-running and black-market smuggling, he still knew what a squad looked like.

  And these five? They weren’t travelers.

  Not with that formation. Not with that silence.

  They were either trained killers… or very good liars.

  ---

  Tanir didn’t sleep.

  He made a slow circuit of the ruins instead. Checking windows. Doors. Tracks. Listening.

  At one point, he passed behind the outer wall and caught movement—one of the five strangers, sneaking after him.

  He doubled back.

  By the time the man noticed, Tanir was already behind him.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked calmly.

  The player froze. His eyes went wide.

  He said nothing. Just tilted his head, like trying to hear something.

  No panic. No stammering. No attempt to explain.

  Tanir let him go.

  That confirmed it.

  ---

  Karl lay near the fire, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

  They were too close to danger.

  Too close to being found.

  Too close to running out of luck.

  His fingers curled slightly, and the faint shimmer of the Star Key’s interface flickered just beneath his palm—hidden from view.

  In the silence, rain tapping the stone, both sides waited.

  And no one slept.