While Doren successfully navigated the predatory world of the stone merchant, Anya was facing the chaotic, teeming heart of Limka's industrial market with her own urgent mission. She was to sell the Turkshumu meat and secure new cover clothes.
Anya, the reluctant Fire Elemental, found herself overwhelmed by the sheer sensory assault of the market. The oppressive heat of the day, compounded by the cooking fires and the dense crowd, made her volatility feel dangerously close to the surface. She moved quickly, focused entirely on the transaction and where to begin.
She found a less reputable butcher's stall near the timber yard entrance, a more wise tactical move to avoid the main, more regulated markets.
She walked in, looking around. There was only a counter and a butcher at work. Anya dropped the large, leaf-wrapped bundle of Turkshumu meat onto the butcher's block. The rare meat, a prized find even if hastily prepared, immediately drew the butcher's attention.
"How much?" the butcher grunted, poking the dense, dark meat with a hook.
Anya, remembering Meko's command to be fast and not haggle, gave him a high, firm price. "Enough to buy decent clothes and medicine for four," she stated, her voice tight with urgency. The butcher tried to cut the price, but Anya's eyes, burning with a subtle, internal intensity, silenced him. He paid her a decent amount of silver and copper coins, enough to meet the first part of her objective.
With the coins secured, Anya abandoned the noisy market and rushed to a less conspicuous side street. She quickly purchased four sets of rough, dark wool and coarse leather tunics, which was the clothing of common laborers, designed to blend into the grim environment of Limka's industrial sector. The heavy fabrics would help hide her features and make her appear like any other tired worker.
Anya quickly ducked into a narrow, filthy alleyway sandwiched between a lumber warehouse and a grimy textile dye shop. The smell was sharp, in a mix of stale wood shavings and chemical fumes, but it offered the best immediate concealment.
She quickly shed her conspicuous, lighter clothes from Havenport, stuffing them into an empty wooden crate. She pulled on the new disguise. The clothes were thick and itchy, smelling faintly of sweat and dirt, but they instantly made her blend in with the transient laborers of Limka.
Anya settled down on a stack of damp, broken lumber. The oppressive heat of the city, coupled with the constant noise of hammering and distant shouts, made it difficult for the young lady to fully relax. The fear of discovery still burned in her, manifesting as a subtle, uncomfortable warmth just beneath her skin. She kept her hands tucked securely beneath her arms, determined to maintain absolute control over the volatile energy she had so reluctantly embraced.
She had at least three to four hours to kill before the planned rendezvous at the Central Timber Yard. Anya knew she was supposed to be resting, but the vivid horrors of Doren's scream and the knowledge of their desperate situation made resting impossible.
She sat rigid, counting the minutes and listening to the chaos of the city, watching the flow of workers and wagons, her mind racing with contingency plans and praying for the safe return of her scattered companions.
Meko's mission was two-fold. It was to establish the new, less conspicuous rally point and maintain the security of the "Blackwood Trapping Crew" cover story. Unlike Doren and Anya, Meko didn't need to procure goods, he needed to procure safety and time.
He moved through the crowded streets with the same controlled, economical motion he used to practice his Earth element. He was always solid, never wasteful in his movements. He bypassed the main markets and headed directly toward the western gate, navigating the maze of industrial blocks and storage facilities until he found the Central Timber Yard.
Meko moved through the Central Timber Yard with the deliberate speed of a man who knew exactly how much time he had to lose. His mission was to secure their position and gather quick intelligence. He bypassed the main sorting areas and immediately found the mammoth stack of seasoned logs near the river entrance.
He located a nearby group of sweaty laborers struggling to load massive cedar planks onto a wagon. Meko didn't ask permission, he simply grabbed a discarded, heavy timber hook and threw himself into the work. His powerful Earth element was carefully subdued, used only to subtly brace his legs against the shifting dirt or slightly lighten the load on his end of the plank, allowing him to work with seemingly unnatural, efficient strength.
As he worked alongside a burly man named Borr, Meko kept his tone gruff and focused on the job, weaving his questions into the rhythm of their labor.
"Damn gates are getting tight," Meko grunted, spitting a mouthful of dust as they wrestled a particularly heavy plank into place. "Took 'em ten minutes to write down our name. What's the King's Guard got their drawers in a twist about now? Bandits?"
Borr wiped his brow with a forearm. "Worse than bandits, mate. Fugitives. Supposedly a group of elementals caused some disaster down in Havenport. The bolo's vague, but they're checking everyone."
Meko nodded, accepting the information as a known fact, which confirmed their cover was necessary. They moved to the next station, where two men were sharpening saws.
Meko leaned against a grinding wheel, asking, "Anyone seen the Guard itself acting strange? Or is it just the gate captains?"
A wiry man named Finn squinted at Meko. "They're twitchy, sure, but there's something else. Seen these figures around the administrative halls, near the Governor's office. Cloaked, dark colors, moving like shadows. Don't wear the King's colors, don't look like common mercenaries either. Just... watchful."
Meko's internal alarm bells rang. Unfamiliar, cloaked figures near administration. That sounded exactly like agents of the Order of the Sunless. They sounded organized, discreet, and looking for information as well as his own group.
He moved to a final station, helping a team roll massive logs down a ramp to get processed. He risked one last, specific question.
"Any of those cloaked folk... did any of them look like they were looking for documents? Asking about old records?"
The foreman, struggling with a winch, simply laughed. "Everyone in this city's looking for something, mate. But those folks, they looked more like they were looking for people to disappear. Best stay clear of the city center if you want to avoid trouble."
Meko thanked the foreman, his hour of authentic labor complete. He now had the critical intelligence: the city was compromised, and the Sunless Order was active, likely targeting the administrative or archive centers. Which was exactly where Katarina was headed.
Meko pulled away from the work crew, wiping his brow. He settled down near the base of the stack they're rendezvousing at, a dusty, exhausted laborer waiting for his own crew, ready to observe the Timber Yard until the others arrived. He now knew he needed the others to be incredibly fast. The longer they stayed in Limka, the closer those shadows would get.
Meko scanned the chaotic activity of the Central Timber Yard, his mind churning over the intelligence that the Sunless Order was already active in Limka. He was focused on the towering stack when his eyes caught a subtle movement in a narrow alleyway across the yard, near the textile dye shops.
He saw a figure, dressed in rough, dark wool peeking cautiously out of the shadows and then quickly withdrawing. The size and shape were right. He immediately recognized the tense, anxious manner of movement: it was Anya.
Meko straightened, relieved that one of his companions was already secure at the rendezvous point, even if she was early. He needed to get confirmation on the situation and reinforce the need for speed.
He moved away from the oak stack, adopting the slow, weary gait of a laborer finished with his shift, and walked across the dusty yard toward the alley where Anya was concealed. He didn't rush or call out, maintaining the cover of a simple, exhausted man.
He reached the alley entrance and spoke in a low, gravelly voice, careful not to look directly at her. "Shift's over, Anya. Don't look so jumpy; you're attracting attention," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the flow of traffic on the main street. "Did you secure the goods?"
"Sure did," Anya replied, her voice tight with relief at seeing him. She reached into her pack and quickly handed Meko a bundle of rough, dark wool and leather, his new disguise. "It's all there. And the meat sold well enough."
Meko took the clothes and nodded, acknowledging her success without drawing attention. "Good work. Stay put." He walked farther down the narrow, pungent alley, using a darker recess between two crates to quickly shed his dirtier, more distinguishable Havenport rags for the common laborer's gear.
He emerged moments later, looking like any other exhausted worker in Limka, his powerful build now draped in anonymous dark wool. He moved to the mouth of the alley where Anya was waiting and looked up into the sky, tracking the sun's descent over the high timber walls.
"We've got about two hours until the sun starts really sinking and the laborers start going home for the day," Meko observed, the time calculation automatic. He turned to Anya, his eyes serious. "Listen. The city's compromised. I picked up chatter from the laborers while I was working. There's rumors of strange, cloaked figures poking around the administrative district. They don't wear the King's colors, and they move like they're looking for trouble. That means they might be looking for paper trails, or they might be waiting for someone to show up at the Archives."
"We need to assume Katarina and Doren are walking straight into trouble," Meko continued, his voice barely a whisper. "If they aren't here in two hours, we have to move without them. No questions. You understand? We don't risk the whole unit for one delay."
Meko muttered, glancing away from the alley mouth. He wasn't serious when he said it before and he wasn't serious about it now. But the threat would be evident and hopefully make his companions hurry. The harsh ultimatum was just his military training kicking in.
He settled into a patient vigil, leaning against the damp brick of the warehouse wall, his senses stretched to monitor the entrance to the Timber Yard. Anya sat rigid beside him, her anxiety barely contained.
The minutes dragged on, the din of the market feeling less like camouflage and more like a clock counting down to disaster. Just as Meko was about to suggest a covert scouting trip, a figure emerged from the chaotic stream of workers heading toward the Timber Yard entrance. It was Doren.
He walked with the weary, head-down posture of a laborer, but his gait was slightly too hurried, his eyes fixed on the distant outline of the stacked logs. He was clutching a small drawstring pouch against his chest. Meko immediately recognized the shape of a full money bag.
Doren passed directly by the mouth of the narrow alley where Meko and Anya were concealed. He was less than five feet away, but in his intense concentration, he didn't spare the shadows a glance. The warnings from his nightmare, 'They're going to find you and your friends. They know what they're looking for, and you're the focal point', had made him hyper-focused on the destination, blinding his periphery.
He walked straight toward the rally point, the towering stack of seasoned wood. He was early, successful, and terrifyingly oblivious to his companions hidden just feet away. He had made it to the lumber yard.
Meko held his breath, exchanging a quick, exasperated look with Anya. He waited a beat to ensure Doren reached the shelter of the massive log stack without drawing attention, then pushed himself off the wall.
"Alright," Meko whispered to Anya. "He's early, he's got the gold, and he's blind as a newborn. Let's go before he draws the whole city to that log pile."
Meko pushed off the alley wall and moved with a sudden burst of speed, cutting diagonally across the dusty yard. Anya followed his lead, keeping a safe distance behind.
He reached Doren just as the boy was about to duck behind the stack of logs. Meko grabbed Doren's shoulder, pulling him firmly back into the relative open and away from the conspicuous stack.
"Are you insane?" Meko hissed, his voice low and intense, his hands still gripping Doren's shoulder. "You walk through here like you own the place, but you didn't even see us ten feet away?"
Doren spun around, startled, his eyes wide. He quickly realized his error and clutched the drawstring pouch tighter against his chest.
"Meko! Anya! I.. I didn't see you," Doren stammered, his focus finally broken from his internalized fear. "I got the gold. I found the historian's name, Fenix. But we have to move, they knew the fountain was a trap, I saw-"
"Quiet!" Meko cut him off sharply, glancing around to ensure no one was paying attention to the brief exchange. "I know, kid. We trust your feeling, that's why we changed the spot. But you just drew more attention to this spot by acting like a startled fawn."
Meko lowered his voice further, leaning in. "We're waiting for Katarina. She's going after the archives, which is where the real danger is. We've been hiding in that alleyway, you walked right past us." He pointed back toward the textile dye shop. "Now you come back with us. Act like you're exhausted and just looking for a cool drink. We wait in the shadows until she shows, and then we're out of Limka."
He gave Doren a warning squeeze on the shoulder. "Don't move more than you have to. And don't talk about anything important until we're far from these walls." Meko then steered Doren firmly toward the dubious safety of the narrow alley.
Meko pulled Doren deeper into the dank, narrow alley, away from the dust and noise of the Timber Yard. "Get this on, now," he instructed, handing Doren his bundle of rough, dark clothes.
Doren quickly changed out of his rags, pulling on the coarse wool tunic and heavy laborer's trousers. The rough fabric felt like a second skin, completing his disguise. He emerged from the shadows and rejoined Meko and Anya.
"Fennix," Doren said, his voice hushed, repeating the name the greedy merchant, Grell, had given him. "He's an old scholar. Grell told me he lives on Shifton Island."
Doren rubbed his eye. "Grell kept calling him 'The Seer of the South.' Said he's mad, but he can see everything and anything all at once. The past, present, and the paths between. If anyone knows what happened to my father, or the history of the Powerhart, it's him." Doren swallowed hard. "I know that's all the way south."
Meko let out a sharp sigh, his anxiety mounting. "And beyond dangerous," he confirmed, running a frustrated hand through his hair as he mentally traced the journey on the map. Shifton Island was the large landmass at the southern tip of Erenia, separated from the mainland by a narrow, but volatile, strait. "Dammit. That's at least a week and a half trip of constant, brutal traveling."
He began calculating the impossibility aloud. "That means getting out of this forest, avoiding the capital, crossing the entire breadth of the central plains, which is heavily patrolled by the King's cavalry, might I add, and then hitting the coast at the southern strait."
Meko looked at the others, his face grim. "Crossing that strait is the problem. It's the main chokepoint for all trade in Southern Erenia, which means it'll be locked down by a massive, fortified military base. We can't sneak a boat across. We can't swim it without being spotted. It's not just a journey, Doren. It's a full-scale assault just to get onto that island."
Meko paused, gathering his composure. "We wait for Katarina. If she brings back the archive locations, we might find a local link, or a quicker route. Otherwise, Shifton Island is the only answer we have, and it may well be the last place we go."