Chapter 33 - Chapter 33 - The Weight of Silence

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They didn't say much after that.

The market's rhythm continued around them—calls from vendors, the shuffle of feet, the creak of wheels over stone—but for James and Ofelia, the noise felt distant now. She walked beside him, her gaze low, her steps smaller than before.

James didn't push. He just adjusted his pace to match hers and let the silence settle.

They wandered aimlessly, past overflowing fruit stalls and musicians playing on worn instruments. Eventually, they turned down a side street that curved gently uphill, the crowd thinning with every step. Stone gave way to gravel, and buildings to low stone walls covered in creeping vines.

At the top of the path, they found a quiet overlook—a small terrace framed by short trees and an old bench looking out over the rooftops of Edima. The wind was gentler here, tugging at cloaks and hair, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and distant chimneys.

James sat down on the bench without a word. After a moment, Ofelia joined him, her hands resting on her lap, fingers brushing the small pendant he'd bought her earlier.

She didn't speak, but she held the charm like it was something fragile. Something important.

James watched the sky for a while. A gull cried somewhere overhead. Far below, the city pulsed with life—colors, motion, sound. But up here, it was just the two of them.

"You okay?" he asked softly, not looking at her.

She didn't answer right away.

Then, barely audible: "Sometimes… I forget. You make me feel... normal. Then someone… speaks like them."

James said nothing. He didn't need to.

He leaned back, elbows resting on the bench's edge, eyes following the lazy drift of a cloud above. He let the silence do its work—softening the edges, giving her space to breathe.

Beside him, Ofelia slowly unwrapped her cloak a little, letting the breeze touch her skin. She clutched the pendant tighter, then let her hand fall.

Not a word more was said. But she stayed there. That was enough.

They remained there for a while—just long enough for the sun to shift slightly, casting longer shadows across the terrace. Neither spoke. There was no need.

Eventually, James let out a quiet breath and stood, brushing off the back of his cloak. Ofelia followed suit, her movements slow but steady. She didn't look at him, but her expression had changed—less withdrawn, more present. The pendant still hung loosely in her hand, swinging gently with each step.

"We should head back," James said softly. "Wilbert will be expecting us soon."

Ofelia gave a small nod, her hood falling back into place as she adjusted her cloak.

They turned from the overlook and descended the quiet path together, side by side.

As the city noise gradually returned—carts rattling, voices rising, hammers ringing in the distance—James glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't smiling, but her posture was straighter, her steps more assured.

The past still clung to her, he knew. But at least now, it didn't seem quite so heavy.

By the time they reached the main street, the sun had dropped lower in the sky, painting Edima in gold and amber. The adventurer's guild wasn't far now.

The stone facade of Edima's Adventurer's Guild came into view as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. Lanterns hanging near the entrance had already been lit, casting warm halos against the weathered walls. A familiar weight settled over James's shoulders as they stepped inside—not unwelcome, just… familiar. The place where the day had started. 

The main hall was alive with movement. A pair of twin mercenaries argued over the size of a boar. A courier with dust-covered boots darted between tables, clutching sealed scrolls. The scent of sweat, leather, and woodsmoke hung thick in the air.

Wilbert stood near the main board, surrounded by a small group of adventurers. His broad frame was relaxed but commanded attention, one hand resting on his belt, the other gesturing as he spoke. He was in the middle of some tale—probably exaggerated, if the laughter around him was anything to go by.

"—and that's when the damn frog exploded!" he said, arms wide.

Laughter erupted around him.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Wilbert caught sight of James and straightened immediately. His posture shifted—not stiff, but sharper, more focused. He raised a hand, cutting off the lingering chuckles with practiced ease.

"I'll finish that one later," he said to the group, already stepping away. "Clients just walked in."

The others murmured in acknowledgment, some curious glances following him as he made his way to James.

Wilbert clapped a firm hand on James's shoulder, his grin returning. "Good timing. Thought I'd have to send a search party." His attention totally on James. "So? How was the city?"

James returned the grin faintly. "Busy. Crowded. But we managed to look around a bit. Made some interesting finds."

Wilbert raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

James nodded. "Picked up a things I'll want your thoughts on later. As for property, though..."

He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. "Even the worst houses go for two hundred gold. And the better ones? A thousand, easy."

Wilbert barked a laugh, louder than necessary. "Of course they do! Only big-ass merchants can afford a home here. The rest of us?" He gestured broadly to the room. "We rotate through the hundred inns this city's buried under. Long as your coin's good and your boots are dry, that's home enough."

James smirked. "I figured."

Wilbert crossed his arms, still grinning. "Welcome to Edima—the merchants' city," he said with a wink, the words dripping with mock ceremony.

Then, without missing a beat, he turned and gestured for them to follow. "Come on. You've got a portal to catch."

James and Ofelia walked behind him as he led them across the hall toward the far side of the guild—a wide alcove set with runes and reinforced arches, the familiar sigils of teleportation faintly pulsing along the stone floor. A few adventurers lingered nearby, waiting their turn or watching the process with quiet curiosity.

James reached into his pouch and retrieved four silver coins, dropping them into Wilbert's outstretched hand with a muted clink.

Wilbert gave the coins a quick glance, then nodded. "Right. Stand close."

Then, under his breath, he recited a short incantation—quiet and controlled.

The carved lines lit up in sequence, tracing outward from his palm like water spreading through cracks in stone. In moments, the wall shimmered, then folded inward, revealing a tall, oval portal of glowing light. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, like a slow heartbeat—calm, steady, inevitable.

Wilbert stepped aside and gestured. "Go through quickly."

As before, passing through the portal felt akin to breaking the surface of water during a dive.

For a brief moment, the world spun sideways—light bending, sound muffled, weight vanishing—before everything snapped back into place.

James staggered slightly as his boots found solid ground again. A faint nausea swirled in his gut, but he kept his balance. Beside him, Ofelia lowered her head, one hand briefly pressing against her side as she steadied her breathing.

The air was different—cooler, damper. The lighting less intense, more familiar.

They were back in Trudid.

The room they arrived in was the same reception chamber they'd departed from earlier: modest stone walls, wooden beams, and the ever-present faint scent of parchment, sweat and oil. The enchantments embedded in the arrival sigils flickered one last time, then dulled, leaving only silence.

Wilbert stepped through behind them, and the portal vanished with a soft pop of displaced air.

He gave them a quick once-over, noting their slightly pale expressions. "Not as bad the second time, huh?"

James exhaled slowly through his nose. "Still feels like jumping into a frozen lake."

Wilbert chuckled. "You get used to it. Or you stop noticing when you don't."

Once the dizziness faded and his balance returned, James hesitated before leaving the reception chamber.

He glanced at Ofelia, who had already begun adjusting her cloak, eyes focused, quiet as always. Then he turned slightly toward Wilbert and said, low enough to keep it between them, "Got a second?"

Wilbert raised an eyebrow but nodded. James motioned him aside, toward a quieter corner of the chamber.

From his bag, James withdrew the dagger—the rusted, timeworn blade with the faint etchings that caught the light only if you looked just right. He held it flat in his palm, eyes on Wilbert. "I picked this up in the market. Looks like junk, I know. But I'm sure it's enchanted. Water-based damage or something like that."

Wilbert let out a soft whistle. "No kidding."

He leaned in, studying it briefly, then looked back at James with a smirk. "And I'm guessing it's doing absolutely nothing?"

"Exactly," James said. "How do you activate something like this?"

Wilbert grinned wider, as if he'd been waiting for that question. He reached into one of the many pockets lining his leather belt and pulled out a small, smooth stone. It was identical in shape and size to the ones James and Ofelia had seen before—like the one each of them carried—but this one glowed faintly from within with a warm, reddish hue.

"First thing you need," Wilbert said, holding the stone between his fingers, "is one of these. A charged magic stone."

James's eyes narrowed slightly. "Charged?"

"Yup," Wilbert confirmed, flipping the stone lightly into the air and catching it again. "Uncharged ones are dead weight. But once you've got energy in them? That's what fuels enchantments like the one on your dagger."

James studied the faint glow. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat slowed to a crawl.

"I don't know where they all come from," Wilbert went on, "but for us adventurers, they mostly come from the Maze. You know… that lovely place where you get easily lost and the floor's monster tries to kill you."

James nodded slowly. "We have already gone there."

"Well then, you're already halfway there." Wilbert leaned casually against the wall, his tone dropping slightly. "From what I've seen—and heard from others—once you're inside a Maze, these stones start feeding off the energy around them. Like they're tuned to it. But it gets a lot stronger if you kill something in there. Every time a monster dies, it releases a ton of energy. And if your stone's close when it happens? It drinks deep."

He made a subtle sloshing motion with the stone and gave a small chuckle.

James's gaze returned to the dagger in his hand.

"So once the stone's charged...?" he asked.

Wilbert nodded. "You keep it on you—pocket, pouch, whatever. Then you focus. Hold the weapon. Channel your intent into it. If the enchantment is real, and your stone's charged, it'll turn on. You'll feel it. Like a shift in the air."

James ran a thumb along the worn leather grip of the dagger, thoughtful.

"Of course," Wilbert added, slipping the stone back into his belt, "some weapons are pickier than others. Might need blood if its curse. But most? The stone and focus will do the trick."

Wilbert pushed off the wall with an easy motion, slipping the red stone back into his belt. "Any time. Us seniors should always educate the new blood," he said with a half-grin. "This way they at least stand a bit of a chance in that nasty place."

James gave a small smirk. "Appreciate it. I'd rather not find out the hard way."

Wilbert chuckled. "Trust me, kid—everyone finds out the hard way. But with a little prep, you might at least walk out with your eyebrows intact."

He gave James a pat on the shoulder and turned to head back toward the main hall, his presence quickly swallowed by the noise and motion of the guild.

James lingered for a moment, then glanced toward Ofelia, who was quietly waiting next to him. She met his eyes, tilting her head slightly in silent question.

"We've got a bit more to figure out," he said, walking toward her. "But we're getting there."

With the guild business settled for the day, James and Ofelia made their way through the streets of Trudid, the familiar cobblestones now bathed in the warm hues of sunset. The noise of the city had softened with the evening, replaced by the clatter of dishes from taverns and the distant laughter of townsfolk winding down their day.

They soon reached Marlin's inn, its wooden sign creaking gently in the breeze. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the comforting scent of roasted meat and herbs drifted out with each opening of the door.

Inside, the common room was quieter than usual, with only a few patrons scattered at the tables. Marlin stood behind the counter, wiping down a mug with a rag that had definitely seen better days.

James approached and dropped four silver coins onto the counter with a light clink. "Room and dinner for the two of us."

Marlin looked up, grinned, and scooped the coins into his apron pocket. "You're just in time. Kitchen's still hot. I'll have something out for you shortly—meat stew tonight, with fresh bread if you're lucky."

James gave a grateful nod. "Sounds perfect."

He turned to Ofelia, who was pulling back her hood a bit, letting the warmth of the inn settle across her face. She said nothing, but her shoulders had relaxed slightly, her eyes drawn to the fire crackling in the hearth.

They didn't need anything extravagant.Warmth food would be enough.

James and Ofelia moved toward their usual spot—a small table tucked near the hearth, half-shielded from the main room by an old support beam. The warmth from the fire reached them in gentle waves, and the worn wood of the bench creaked familiarly beneath them as they sat.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before Marlin approached, carrying a wooden tray with two steaming bowls of stew and thick slices of bread balanced on the side. The rich smell of simmered meat and root vegetables filled the air as he set everything down with practiced ease.

"There should be no complaints tonight," he grunted. "It's hot, it's hearty, and it's not burnt."

James smirked. "That's already better than a couple places I've seen in Edima."

Marlin gave him a look, one brow raised. "So you did make it there, huh?"

James nodded. "We did."

Marlin pulled out the third chair, turned it around, and sat on it backwards, arms resting on the backrest as he eyed them both.

"Well? Don't leave me hangin'. What's the story? That place still smell like perfume and horse piss?"

James chuckled. "Worse, actually. The buildings are nice, the food's overpriced, and the cheapest house costs more than this whole inn."

Marlin let out a low whistle. "Sounds about right. Always figured Edima was for two types of people: merchants with too much gold… and adventurers dumb enough to think they could live like one."

He looked to Ofelia, who hadn't spoken, but was looking down, her eyes fixed on the bowl in front of her.

Marlin didn't press. He turned back to James. "So? Worth the trip?"

James stirred his stew thoughtfully. "We learned a few things. Saw a few scams. Found one or two good surprises."

Marlin grinned. "That's Edima for you. She'll try to rob you blind with one hand and charm you with the other."

He stood and grabbed his tray. "Eat up. You two look like you've had a day."

As he walked off toward the counter, James glanced at Ofelia. She gave a small nod before starting to eat. The food was good. The fire was warm.

And for the first time in days, neither of them felt like they were being making fun of or judged.

After the meal, they made their way upstairs, each step heavier than the last. The familiar creak of the floorboards greeted them as they reached the end of the hall and entered their room.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

James dropped his gear near the wall with a low grunt, then pulled off his tunic and belt in a single motion. Boots, trousers—everything found the floor in moments. The bed called to him like a siren. He fell onto it half-naked, exhausted, exhaling deeply as his muscles finally relaxed.

Ofelia remained near the corner of the room, silent.

She'd set down her things methodically—cloak, belt, dagger—but her hands hovered uncertainly at the hem of her tunic. Her eyes lingered on the bed, then flicked to him. Hesitation.

James turned his head slightly, sensing it. His brows furrowed just a little as he met her gaze.

Her voice came out in a whisper. "Are you… sure?"

He blinked, pushing himself up onto one elbow. "About what?"

She looked away, her voice brittle. "Me. About… me. I'm just a slave. A worthless slave."

The words hit the room like a stone dropped into still water—quiet, but rippling deep.

James sat up fully, his expression sobering. He stood and crossed the small space between them without rushing, without force. When he reached her, he took her hands—those nervous hands always moving, always betraying what she felt—and held them gently in his own.

She didn't pull away, but her fingers trembled.

He looked her straight in the eyes, voice low and steady. "To me, you're not."

She swallowed hard, her lip quivering.

"I don't care what this world says, or how blind the people in it are. You matter, Feli. You always have."

Her breath caught, and the tears that had welled in her eyes finally slipped free, trailing silently down her cheeks.

James said nothing more. He didn't have to.

He didn't say anything else.

He just hugged her—close, firm, warm. One hand between her shoulder blades, the other gently resting against the back of her head. She clung to him like a lifeline, silent but shaking, and he stayed there, steady as stone, until the tremors began to fade.

Eventually, her breathing slowed.

Only then did James ease back, brushing a few strands of hair from her cheek before guiding her gently toward the bed.

He didn't rush her.

Once she seemed a little more composed, he helped her with the rest of her clothes—nothing rushed, nothing forced. Just quiet care. She let him, her eyes never quite leaving his face. Then, wordlessly, he pulled back the covers and drew her in beside him.

The blanket settled around them, and he wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her close beneath the warmth.

She didn't say anything. Neither did he.

The silence between them was no longer heavy—it was comforting. Alive.

Her head found its place against his chest, and her body relaxed gradually, melting into the safety of his hold.

And then, at some point, she simply… fell asleep.

Still holding him.

Still held by him.

James stayed awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing.

In that moment, her peace of mind was what he wanted, nothing else mattered.