"Who told you this?!" the Wanderer demanded, grabbing the kid's shoulders, shaking him violently.
The boy winced, his face twisting in pain. "I don't know! I don't know! A man in a dark cloak gave me a few copper coins to say those words to you!"
The Wanderer’s fingers dug deeper into the boy's ragged shirt. "Did he say Zero is here? Is Zero in Hosar?!"
The kid began to tremble violently, tears welling in his eyes. "He didn't say! He only said to tell you... to find the Hand of Justice in Hosar! That's all he said, I swear!"
"Vince, stop! You're going to break his damn arm! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Sunny shouted, stepping in and pulling at the Wanderer's sleeve.
The Wanderer snapped back to reality. He released his grip, and the terrified boy immediately scrambled backward, tripping over his own feet.
Sunny stared at the Wanderer with confusion. "What is going on with you? And who the hell is Zero?"
The Wanderer stood up. "Don't worry about this right now." He reached into his satchel, pulled out a pouch of coins, and shoved it into Sunny's hands. "Take this. Go back to the market and buy some actual meat, I have to leave."
Sunny's eyes went wide as he felt the weight of the pouch. "Vince, this is... where did you get this kind of money?" But the Wanderer was already moving away. Sunny shouted after him down the alley, "Will you be back by dinner?!"
The Wanderer muttered, "Don't wait up."
Leaving the slums behind, the Wanderer moved through the upper districts of Hosar, asking around for the "Hand of Justice." After a few answers from the locals, he knew the location of the tavern.
When he finally arrived, he found the establishment nestled in a shadowed corner of the entertainment district. Structurally, it wasn't much different from the tavern in Valoria, but the atmosphere was more grim.
As the Wanderer pushed the door open and walked inside, the tavern was completely empty. There were no customers nor music, nothing but a lone bartender sitting lazily behind the counter.
The barkeep stopped his movements, staring at the Wanderer for a moment. Then, a slow, thin smile crept onto his face. "Welcome home, Wanderer."
The Wanderer startled, "How do you know-" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Never mind. Where is Zero?"
The man's smile widened and gestured with his head toward the back of the tavern. "Follow me."
The Wanderer trailed him cautiously as the barkeep led him through the kitchen and into a hidden room tucked deep within the storage area. The room was cold, and smelled like detergents.
"So he's actually here in Hosar?" the Wanderer asked, his eyes scanning the dark corners.
"In a way," the barkeep murmured. He pointed toward the center of the room, where a large iron chair sat bolted directly into the wooden floorboards.
The Wanderer hesitated, but he reluctantly walked over and sat down, his muscles tense as he checked his surroundings.
The moment his weight hit the seat, a violent mechanical snap echoed through the room. Heavy iron bars shot out from the armrests and the base of the chair, slamming across his chest, wrists, and ankles, locking him in place.
The Wanderer tried to break free using all his strength, but the metallic embrace was crushing against his ribs, pinning him. "What the hell are you doing?!" he roared. "Release me! Now!"
The barkeep calmly bent over, and began spreading plastic sheets all over the floorboards surrounding the chair.
"What is this?! Let me go!" the Wanderer shouted.
The barkeep, still bent over smoothing out the plastic, slowly turned his head, maintaining that same cold smile. "I just scrubbed these floorboards this morning, friend. I really don't want to have to scrub out bloodstains later."
Before the Wanderer could process the threat, a voice echoed from every wall around him.
"You acted without orders, Wanderer."
"Zero?" the Wanderer shouted into the blackness, his head snapping left and right. "Where the hell are you?!"
"Why did you come to Hosar without my permission?" Zero’s voice demanded.
The Wanderer thrashed against the restraints one last time. "I asked Roger if I could leave, and he told me I wasn't a prisoner! I thought it made sense to get more information about the new identity you gave me."
"He also explicitly told you to meet Baldwin!" the voice roared back, the sound crackling in distortion.
Giving up his attempts to break free, the Wanderer forced his breathing to slow down. "I needed to know who Vincent was first. I needed more background to keep up my act before presenting myself to a judge."
Zero's voice cut back in. "Then explain this... why did absolutely none of our lookouts see you cross Hosar's gates?"
The Wanderer masked his panic with a mocking grin. "Oh, so now you're blaming me for your incompetent men? Maybe they were busy napping."
Zero’s distorted laughter boomed from the shadows. "Or maybe... you purposefully avoided being seen at the gates because you wanted to ensure no one could place you in the area at the exact time our hideout was attacked. Am I wrong, veteran?"
No words came out of the Wanderer’s throat. Cold sweat began to form on his forehead as his mind raced, failing to construct a plausible justification.
"You have been suspicious since the very first day you stumbled into our path," Zero continued. "But you gave us results, and that's all that mattered to me. Results buy leniency. But now... now you are becoming a liability."
The sound of footsteps crunched on the plastic sheeting. The barkeep approached the chair through the dark, scraping two daggers against each other. "Try not to move around too much," the barkeep murmured casually. "I'll make it quick."
The Wanderer’s eyes locked onto the sharp blades. His heart hammered against the iron bars crushing his chest. "Okay! Okay, I’ll confess!" he shouted, his voice trembling slightly despite himself. "I did witness the hideout attack! But I didn't plan it, someone told me about it!"
"Stop!" Zero’s voice barked.
The edge of the dagger stopped a mere millimeter from the Wanderer’s throat.
The barkeep let out a bored sigh, lowering the blade. "He's just buying time, sir. Let me finish it."
"There is a traitor among your men!" the Wanderer gasped out, leaning his neck back as far as the iron chair would allow.
"Lies!" Zero’s voice boomed.
"If you think I'm lying, then think about it logically!" the Wanderer countered desperately. "How else could I possibly find the exact location of a hidden desert bunker? More importantly... how else do you think I know your true identity, Zero?"
The silence that followed was absolute. Zero’s voice returned, stripped away from his usual confidence for the first time.
"Who is the traitor?" Zero whispered.
The Wanderer caught his breath, a laugh escaped his lips. "If I tell you that now, you'll just have your friend here cut my throat the second the name leaves my mouth. But I can easily prove I know the truth. Tell me... do you really want your bartender here to find out your actual name?"
The barkeep lazily shifted his weight, using the tip of one of the daggers to pick at his teeth. "Honestly, sir, I don't really care. You can say it if you want."
"No!" Zero snapped, panicking all over his tone. "No. There is no need for that. At least... not right now."
A momentary pause followed as the leader took an audible breath, forcing his authoritative tone back into place. "But how can I possibly trust a word you say if you refuse to give up the information? How about you show yourself to me, and we can discuss this matter privately?"
The Wanderer, picking up on the delays between Zero’s responses, thinking it might be some sort of remote communication technology he had never encountered before. "Why don't you show your own face first? Tell me where you are."
"I am not even in Hosar, you brick-head," Zero muttered. "My God... what on earth was Roger thinking when he recruited you this time? The man has become sloppy."
The Wanderer leaned forward against the iron bars. "Then set me free. When we can both find a way to trust each other again... I'll give you the name of the man who sold you out."
"I might have a usage for you in Hosar after all," Zero said, the distorted audio smoothing.
The Wanderer stared at the darkness. "Of course you do. You always have something going on."
"Drop the attitude," Zero snapped. "We aren't friends. You are alive because you are still functional." He took a breath calming his voice. "I need you to enter the Red Citadel. Our contact inside has been silent for much longer than he should be. I need you to find out why."
The Wanderer’s brow furrowed. "You want me to get in there as Vincent?"
"Yes," Zero replied. "Giving you a brand new face right now would raise far too many red flags if you tried to cross the inner thresholds. You already foolishly announced yourself as Vincent to the market vendors; you will have to sleep in the bed you made. Find a way inside."
The barkeep pulled a concealed lever behind the chair. The iron bars snapped open, retracting back into the frame of the chair.
The Wanderer stood up, stepping off the plastic sheeting. He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his wrists and chest. "The guards at the main gate already refused to let me in," he said, looking around the dark room. "They called me a 'Black Crown' and told me to go beg for bread. What's the deal with that?"
Zero let out a sigh. "If you had actually taken a look at the god-damn papers Roger gave you, you would already know. The Dragonborn family is fractured. Only the Red Crowns are allowed unrestricted access within the Red Citadel, alongside a few permitted servants and laborers."
The Wanderer nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll find a way through the cracks. Who's your silent contact inside?"
"Nigel Dragonborn," Zero said. "He is a ranking commander within the citadel walls. Find him, see why he's gone dark, and report back."
"And how exactly am I supposed to contact you?" the Wanderer asked, glancing at the shadows. "I don't think you're going to leave a magical device in my pocket."
"Just ask the barkeep to deliver what you need," Zero replied, his voice beginning to fade as the connection started to terminate. "He knows how to reach me."
The Wanderer adjusted the collar of his uniform and turned toward the door, walking out of the hidden storage room. "Fine then."
"Wanderer!" Zero’s voice boomed one last time. "We will meet again. This time... prove yourself worthy."
The Wanderer stopped at the threshold, without turning back he muttered, "We surely will."
The barkeep followed closely at his heels, stepping out of the shadows and back into the empty tavern. The man maintained that same annoying smile, as if nothing happened. "Hope you enjoyed your stay, friend," he said smoothly, wiping his hands on his apron.
The Wanderer spun around and threw a punch straight into the center of the barkeep's jaw, sending him crashing onto the wooden floorboards.
The man groaned, as The Wanderer stood over him, staring down at the bleeding mouth. "Thank you for your hospitality."
The barkeep spat a glob of blood onto the clear floor, he slowly pushed himself back up into a sitting position and sighed.
"Great," the barkeep muttered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "More cleaning to do."
The Wanderer left the tavern just as the silver moon reached the peak of the desert sky.
As he walked back toward the slums, his mind began to drift.
He realized he had risked everything back in that cave. He had walked right into a trap, faced down an entire platoon of Owls, and had now barely survived a literal death trap with Zero. If his bluff about a traitor hadn't worked, he would be a corpse on a plastic sheet right now.
He thought, did she really mean that much to him? "I didn't stop to ask myself that... not even once," he murmured to himself, his voice swallowed by the quiet night. He didn't have an answer. All he knew was that escaping this life wasn't an option anymore. The Owls were everywhere; their reach extended from the walls of Valoria. They would hunt him to the ends of the earth. And even if he did somehow manage to slip away from them... where would he go?.
Lost in his thoughts, he finally arrived back at the splintered wooden door. He took a deep breath, and knocked.
Sunny swung the door open, a relieved grin breaking through his messy face. "Finally!" he cheered, heading straight back to the small wooden table in the center of the room.
Helen and an older man were already sitting there. The smell of roasted chickens filling the air.
"What took you so long, Vincent?" Helen asked as she stood up to fetch him a wooden plate.
Sunny, already tearing into a piece of food with his mouth full of chicken thigh, mumbled, "Aunt Helen wouldn't let us eat a single bite until you returned. I was starving to death."
Helen ignored the boy, turning her eyes to the quiet man sitting across from her. "Come on, Harith. Aren't you going to welcome your son home?"
Harith was tapping his fingers against the wooden table, his old eyes boring holes straight through the Wanderer.
Slowly, Harith stood up. "Follow me inside," he said. "Now."
Helen shaking her head. "No, Harith. Let the boy eat first, then you can give him one of your speeches after."
From the doorway of the house's single room, Harith's voice shouted back. "Come here. Now."
The Wanderer looked over at Sunny, silently searching for an explanation or a warning, but the young man just shrugged carelessly, completely focused on his chicken.
Reluctantly, the Wanderer walked to the room.
Trying to play along with the identity and ease the tension, the Wanderer looked around and forced a casual tone. "Nothing has changed since I left, huh?"
Harith ignored him and reached behind a stack of old sacks and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth, he unwrapped the fabric, revealing a beautifully crafted, long black sword.
He held the weapon out, presenting it to the Wanderer. "Hold this for me."
The Wanderer hesitated for a second, but to keep up the charade of the loyal son, he faked a smile and reached out his hand. "If you want me to, father..."
The moment his fingers clamped around the hilt, a searing agony tore through his palm.
He let out a grunt, instantly dropping the black blade. The Wanderer stumbled back a step, seeing burns rapidly forming across his skin. Before he could even process the shock, an edge of a steel dagger entered his field of vision, pinning his chin up.
He slowly lifted his gaze to see Harith staring down at him.
"Who the hell are you?" Harith whispered.