On the Streets of Caltheris
Aeron and Allesio walked side by side, their torn cloaks barely concealing the chain binding them together. The marketplace bustled with life—vendors shouting, children laughing, the scent of fresh bread mixing with the stench of unwashed streets.
"Do you have anyone who can help us break the chain?" Aeron asked, glancing at Allesio.
"No." Allesio shook his head, his expression unreadable.
Aeron sighed. "If we could get back to my camp, I'm sure they could help us." He paused, frowning. "But the problem is… we don't have any money to get there."
Allesio's sharp eyes flickered toward something in the distance.
"Hide."
"What—"
Before Aeron could react, Allesio grabbed him by the collar and yanked him into a broken wooden crate wedged between a fruit stall and a vegetable shop. Dust rose around them, and Aeron barely managed to suppress a cough.
Peering through the gaps in the wood, they saw a group of royal guards moving through the street. One of them held up a parchment.
"Have any of you seen these two?" the guard asked, turning the painting of Aeron and Allesio toward a group of merchants.
The shopkeepers exchanged nervous glances but shook their heads.
Nearby, more guards were plastering wanted posters onto the stone walls.
Aeron squinted at the image. "You know…" he whispered with a smirk. "I look handsome in that poster."
Allesio shot him an annoyed look. "We should leave."
As they started to slip out of the crate, a fruit seller emerged from the alley behind the shop, carrying a basket of apples.
Their eyes met.
Aeron's pulse quickened.
The seller's gaze darted from their faces to the chain around their wrists. He could have screamed. Could have called the guards.
But instead…
"Run."
Aeron blinked. "What?"
"Run!" the seller hissed.
Wasting no time, Aeron and Allesio bolted down the alley, the sound of their hurried footsteps echoing off the stone walls.
"Why didn't he turn us in?" Aeron panted as they ran.
Before Allesio could answer, they skidded to a stop.
At the end of the alley stood more guards, scanning the streets for them.
Allesio clicked his tongue. "Get to the roof."
Aeron shot him a bewildered look. "I can't climb buildings like you!"
"Tsk." Allesio exhaled sharply. No time to argue.
He kicked a wooden cart with just enough force to send it rolling across the street. The crate slammed into a guard, sending him toppling over.
"Hey—!!"
The sudden commotion caught the attention of the nearby guards, pulling them toward the fallen soldier.
Aeron and Allesio used the distraction to slip away.
High above them, standing on the roof of a nearby building, a dark figure watched them closely.
Aamon.
His expression was unreadable as he observed their escape, eyes glinting with something dangerous.
Later That Night…
The wind carried the scent of burning wood as Aeron and Allesio returned to the spot where they had spent the previous night. But something was off. Someone was already there.
A figure sat by the fire, his face faintly illuminated by the flickering flames.
Aamon.
Aeron tensed. "What are you doing here?"
Aamon smirked. "I started the fire for you. Cooked you food. At least I deserve a thank you."
Aeron narrowed his eyes. "How did you find us?" His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, drawing it in one swift motion.
But his grip was wrong—too tense, too uncertain.
Aamon let out a quiet chuckle. "That's not how a swordsman holds a sword."
Aeron scowled. "I didn't ask for your advice."
Without warning, Allesio lunged at Aamon, his blade flashing under the moonlight, aimed straight for Aamon's throat.
Clang!
Aamon parried the attack with ease, his sword meeting Allesio's in a sharp clash of metal.
"I didn't come here to fight." With a swift push, Aamon forced Allesio back a few steps.
"Then why are you here?" Aeron demanded, his breath heavy with anger.
Aamon sheathed his sword. "To give you a piece of information."
Aeron watched in disbelief as Allesio lowered his weapon so easily.
"You're listening?" Aeron asked, surprised.
Aamon smirked. "Two days from now, there will be a celebration at the palace."
Allesio's eyes darkened.
"A party," Aamon continued, "to mark the fifth anniversary of King Eryndor's death."
Aeron barely had time to process the words before he saw Allesio move—his sword flashing through the air, heading straight for Aamon's neck.
But just as the blade was about to strike, Aamon spoke again.
"Lilian will be there… with Prince Tyrvaros."
Allesio froze.
The sword stopped inches from Aamon's throat, trembling in his grip.
A heavy silence filled the air.
Then—clang—the blade slipped from Allesio's fingers, hitting the dirt below.
He was shaking.
Aeron had never seen this side of him before. It wasn't anger. It was pain—raw, suffocating pain.
Aamon turned away, his job here done. "The party will be in the usual place," he said as he started walking off.
He stopped just once, glancing back at Aeron.
"Don't leave traces behind," he said, his gaze flickering to the burnt remains of last night's fire.
And then he was gone.
Aeron turned back to Allesio, who had collapsed onto his knees. His fists clenched in the dirt. His whole body shaking.
"…Are you all right?" Aeron asked hesitantly.
Allesio didn't respond.
But the look on his face said everything.
Something inside him was breaking.