The city welcomed them with noise, the scent of smoke, and the weight of late-summer dust. The square outside the gate buzzed with voices: merchants shouting over one another, barefoot children splashing near fountains, elderly women haggling over wilted greens. The sun hung low, casting a golden-red hue over the tiled rooftops. The heat clung to everything, but beneath it all pulsed life.
For the first time in days, Irin allowed himself to relax.
They found a modest tavern on the edge of the city, paid with copper coins for water, food, and a room just solid enough to have a roof. Lera smiled — a real one, not the cautious half-curves she wore when in danger. Kael ate in silence, but his shoulders weren't tense. It felt, for a moment, like a place untouched by fire.
They wandered through the city without purpose. Stalls overflowed with dried fruits, woven bracelets, and bottles of spiced oils. Lera paused by a stand selling candied figs.
"Can we get one?" she asked.
Irin shrugged and handed over a coin. She laughed as she took the wrapped fruit, sticky syrup clinging to her fingertips.
There was something surreal about the place. The way laughter echoed between stone buildings. The way no one looked over their shoulder. As if the Mage Houses didn't matter here. As if Inquisitors were just stories to scare children. No one glanced twice at the strangers in travel-stained cloaks. No one noticed the mark hidden beneath Irin's sleeve.
They sat on the edge of a low wall, watching life pass. Irin didn't speak. He just watched the sunlight shimmer in Lera's hair, saw Kael glance at every alleyway out of habit. It was peaceful. Strange.
It felt like the world was holding its breath.
But as dusk began to settle, casting long shadows over the cobbled streets, they made their way back toward the tavern. A shortcut took them through a narrow, winding alley, where light barely touched the ground.
That was where they waited.
Five of them — boys barely older than Kael. Dirty, armed with chipped blades and self-importance. One leaned against the wall, spinning a coin.
"Out-of-towners," he said. "Got any coin?"
Kael took a step forward, but Irin touched his shoulder.
"We're not looking for trouble," Irin said.
"You found it anyway," one of the others grinned, drawing a knife.
Irin didn't flinch. The alley was too tight for running. Too many walls. He let out a slow breath.
"Last chance," he said.
"Or what?" the tallest sneered. "You'll cry?"
The mark under Irin's sleeve pulsed. Heat bloomed through his chest, his veins. He didn't raise his voice, didn't lift a hand. The flame stirred, and the air shifted.
One boy stumbled back. Another hissed, clutching his palm as if burned.
"Mage!" someone shouted.
"He's one of them — Ashborn!"
And then they froze. Not because of Irin.
Two figures had rounded the far corner of the alley. Walking slowly. Deliberately.
Gray cloaks. Shoulder plates bearing a single, stylized eye.
Inquisitors.
The street rats scattered like smoke in wind.
Irin turned slowly, his heart now matching the pulse in his wrist. Lera stiffened beside him. Kael's hand twitched toward his belt.
The Inquisitors stopped a few paces away. A man and a woman. Both tall, both quiet, their expressions unreadable.
"We're looking for someone," the man said. His voice was calm — too calm. He reached into his coat and unfolded a worn piece of parchment. "Have you seen him?"
The sketch was crude, but close enough.
The man in the drawing was older, with longer hair and deeper lines, but it was Irin. Or someone who looked too much like him.
"No," Irin said.
Kael shook his head. Lera didn't speak.
The woman's eyes lingered longer. She didn't blink.
"He's dangerous," the man continued. "If you do see him — don't approach. Report it immediately."
They nodded. The Inquisitors turned to go. But then — the woman hesitated.
Her gaze dropped to Irin's left arm. The sleeve. The faint bulge beneath the cloth.
"What happened to your wrist?" she asked.
"Burn," Irin replied smoothly. "Old one."
Her lips barely moved, but her eyes said everything. She knew. She didn't say it aloud. But she knew.
The two walked away in silence. Once they were out of sight, Irin exhaled.
Behind them, in the gathering dark, a voice murmured.
"You saw it?"
"Yes," she whispered. "The mark is real."
"We report this. Immediately."
They vanished into the descending night, leaving behind the quiet hum of a city that had no idea how close it had come to something ancient — and awakening.
Irin, Lera, and Kael walked the rest of the way without a word. The laughter of children still echoed through the streets, but to them, it felt like a memory. The summer was ending. And with it, the silence before the storm.