“I need to find Captain Zeek. Now!”
The sudden edge in the Wanderer’s voice startled Serenya. “What happened?”
“It’s urgent. I’ll explain later, my lady, but please, allow me to leave.”
Serenya hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. I’m heading back to the manor anyway. Meet me there.”
The Wanderer rushed through the crowded streets toward the refugee camp, pushing toward Zeek’s tent. He burst through the fabric,rasping.
“I need to talk to you.”
Zeek, unmoved by the intrusion. “Speak, then.”
“Alone. Please. It’s important.”
With a gesture, Zeek dismissed the guards and the few refugees waiting for processing. Once the tent flap settled, he turned his attention to the Wanderer. “What is it?”
“I saw one of Skida’s personal unit among the refugees.”
Zeek let out a slow sigh. “Is that all? We get Draemirans seeking redemption every day. It doesn't matter who they served-”
“These are different,” the Wanderer cut him off. “They don’t leave. They can't betray Skida.”
Zeek paused, the name finally registering. “Skida. She’s a high general in Draemir, if I’m not mistaken. Why is her unit any different?”
The Wanderer opened his mouth to explain the chained oath around mana circles, but the words died in his throat. How could he explain that without exposing himself?
“If you can’t tell me why,” Zeek said, his voice hardening, “then tell me how you know.”
“I can’t. You just... you need to trust me.”
“That ship has sailed,” Zeek replied flatly. “Anyway, I’ll look into it. You can leave.”
The Wanderer turned to go, his footsteps heavy with reluctance. At the exit, he stopped. “I was part of Skida’s unit,” he admitted, his back still turned. “I can’t give you the details, but that man is one of her soldiers. If he’s here, it’s a bad sign.”
Zeek narrowed his eyes. “Fine. I’ll play along. Let's go, show me this man.”
They stepped out into the camp, heading back toward the processing lines. The Wanderer scanned the sea of faces, his eyes darting until they locked onto a familiar silhouette.
“That’s him,” the Wanderer said, pointing.
Zeek studied the man from a distance. “What’s your theory, then? Knowing Skida, why is he here?”
The Wanderer hesitated. “I’m not sure. Maybe there’s something she wants within Valoria, information, or something else. I can’t confirm it yet.” He lowered his voice, as if he was thinking out loud. “But if she sent one of her high-ranking mages, it must be something massive.”
“Mage?!”
Zeek’s voice was like a wheeler grinding. His eyes widened, fixed on the refugee. “You’re telling me this man bypassed our scans? That he’s standing in the heart of a Nullstone city?”
The Wanderer snapped out by Zeek’s reaction, he intended to hide the mage part till he finds out how this man passed the scan, but it's too late now.
“If what you say is true,” Zeek said, his voice dropping low. “we can’t confront him right away. We have to figure out how he slipped through, or Valoria is in grave danger.”
The Wanderer nodded. “I agree.”
“I’ll have a Mage Seeker tail him,” Zeek continued. “We need to confirm if their staves react to his presence at all.”
“A good idea,” the Wanderer replied, already shifting his weight to leave before the seeker arrives. “I must leave now, before he recognizes me.”
He began to walk away, but Zeek called. “Wait.”
The Wanderer froze mid-step, his heart racing.
“The Mage Seekers scanned you when you entered Valoria, didn't they?” Zeek asked.
Sweat covered at the Wanderer’s skin. He pressed his nails into his palm, the sharp pain helping him steady his breathing before he turned around. “Of course, Captain. Everyone was scanned that day. Besides, if I meant this city harm, I wouldn’t have pointed that man out to you.”
Zeek kept staring without a response. But the suspicion in his eyes grew more visible by the second.
“Excuse me now,” the Wanderer said.
He turned and walked away, not looking back. Once he was out of sight, he glanced down at his bleeding hand. He stared at it, thinking how long it would take before being exposed, bleeding in a city that hated his very nature.
He made his way back to the Bradford manor. Inside, Serenya was in conversation with an older woman whose posture was as straight as the manor’s stone pillars. When Serenya saw him, she gestured for him to join them.
“Mother, this is the Wanderer,” Serenya said.
Lady Bradford’s smile vanished. “Ah. You are the refugee Robert told me about.”
The Wanderer bowed low. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Bradford.”
She turned her gaze to Serenya, ignoring the gesture. “You’re going to turn our home into a shelter at this rate. All of your squires are refugees.” She began to walk away, continuing. “The place is starting to smell like a swamp with all this filth.”
Serenya looked at the Wanderer. “Don’t mind my mother. Her family has always been against the refugee system, and she isn't shy about it.”
“It’s not my position to judge anyone in this house, my lady,” the Wanderer replied quietly.
Serenya laughed, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “Don’t be so formal.” Then, her expression turned curious. “Why did you rush off to see my uncle earlier?”
“I saw a face I hoped never to see again,” the Wanderer said.
Serenya sighed, crossing her arms. “Speaking in riddles is annoying. Everyone treats me like a child.”
The Wanderer hesitated, seeing the frustration in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just… I’ve done many things I’m not proud of.”
“The God of Light forgives his sincere followers,” Serenya said, her voice softening. “As long as you’re honest about it, everything should be fine.”
The Wanderer smiled at her response, thinking if a man like him can be redeemed.
“Go rest now,” she said. “I’m heading to my room as well.”
The days passed in a tense quiet. The Wanderer avoided approaching Zeek again, knowing a Mage Seeker would likely be hovering nearby during the investigation. To keep his distance from the camp, he threw himself into his duties, following Serenya like a shadow.
Most days were spent at the city orphanage. Serenya was a constant presence there, her laughter filling the halls as she read stories to the children, tales of Valorian bravery and how the city was built as a sanctuary for those in need, blessed by the God of Light.
Her smile seemed to radiate through the place, and the children would rush the gates the moment she arrived, jumping and talking loudly for her attention.
The Wanderer watched from a distance, staying just far enough away to hear her voice without intruding on her time with the orphans.
One afternoon, a young girl approached him, holding out a ribbon. "Hey, mister... Can you braid my hair?"
The Wanderer knelt to her level. "I don't know how. I’m sorry."
As the girl’s lower lip began to tear up, he quickly relented. "Alright, alright. Let me try."
He set to work, his calloused hands moving clumsily through the fine hair. By the time he was finished, he had managed to create a tangled mess of a single spike braid. The girl peered into a small hand mirror and saw her hair standing straight up like a horn.
The Wanderer’s face went pale, bracing for a tantrum, but the girl suddenly burst into giggles. "You made me a unicorn!"
Her laughter drew the attention of Serenya and the other children. Seeing the unicorn braid, a crowd of girls rushed toward him, shouting and demanding their own. Serenya leaned against a nearby pillar, doubled over with laughter as she watched the hard faced warrior look completely overwhelmed by a dozen small children.
As they left the orphanage later that evening, Serenya was still smiling. "The kids seem to love you."
The Wanderer laughed, a low sound that felt foreign to his own throat. "They tore me apart," he muttered, though there was no heat in the complaint.
"You didn't seem to mind it," Serenya noted. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and looked toward the city gates. "By the way, tomorrow we’re visiting Hosar. There’s a fair being held in the nearby city, and I need to buy some clothes for the orphans."
"Of course, my lady," he replied, falling back into his stiffened face.
That night, sleep remained out of reach. The Spiral was vibrating in the Wanderer’s chest that he couldn’t quiet. It felt aggressive, clawing at the edges of his consciousness for a reason he couldn't understand.
He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his head in frustration. Finally, he decided to take a walk through the gardens, hoping the cool night air and the dampening effect of the city's Nullstones would settle the storm inside.
As he stepped into the hallway, he froze.
A scent hit, a sensation.
Magic.
He moved silently, a shadow sliding along the stone walls, following the trail of energy until he reached the garden's edge. He stopped as he heard a low buzzing sound, he peaked his head to see the source.
His heart nearly stopped.
There, in the center of the garden, stood Serenya. A glowing sphere illuminated her face, hovering just above her palms.