The night was bright, too bright for Kairos' liking. The snow reflected the moonlight so clearly that even the shadows seemed pale. The village, once bustling with sellers and drunkards, now lay in peaceful silence. Kairos felt free.
Moving unseen would be harder tonight. He'd hoped for a darker sky, something that would let him vanish completely.
But still, he moved through the sleeping village with ease, each step calculated and silent. He'd spent years hiding from the world, blending into the darkness. Even in this harsh brightness, he was a ghost among rooftops and alleys, watching from the shadows. It felt right. There was satisfaction in the silence. In being hidden, in knowing that no one could see him, hear him.
His senses were sharper than ever. He could pick out heartbeats through walls, catch distant conversations, even hear the soft crack of footsteps on frozen earth. The village whispered to him: laughter spilling out from a tavern, the creak of doors, a muffled cough.
He preferred the dark. It wrapped around him like an old friend. In it, he could breathe, unseen and unjudged. The villagers feared the night; for Kairos, it was safety.
Now that he was free to move as he pleased, he realized the village was bigger than he expected. Clusters of wooden houses. And most importantly, a stone building with a tower attached. Probably a garrison. The sounds of drunken laughter and clanging metal from inside confirmed it. Most would be asleep by now. No one would want to wake the whole village with steel.
Danger. He'd sensed it immediately.
"Better not go near that," he thought. A confrontation with northern guards wasn't something he could afford. Even if he could take them all down, it would ruin everything, no more spying, no more clues. Everything would reset to square one.
"I have to be careful," he reminded himself. "I'm not fighting in a forest anymore."
Every step mattered now. The louder he moved, the more likely death would catch his scent.
Snow blanketed the thatched roofs, making the village look like it was wrapped in a white cloak. His clothes were mostly white too, helping him blend into the frost. Only the worn leather plates on his shoulders, the faint gleam of his sword hilt, broke the illusion. Not that it mattered. If a single person spotted him, they'd never live to tell the tale. And if a group saw him... he'd leave no witnesses.
He crouched low on a rooftop, listening.
Drunken laughter. Curses. A faint weeping.
And then something else.
Two men were talking about the chieftain. Something about a gathering up north.
"This could be a problem. Cultists and northern soldiers were both dangerous, each in their own way. Drawing the attention of both this would be a death sentence," he thought.
Northern warriors especially treated mages like trophies. They'd take locks of white hair, shards of horn, as proof of their victory. He'd heard that the chieftain himself wore such trophies.
"For them, it's like a game," he thought. "I'll be glad to leave this cursed place once I find the bastard who killed my father."
He stood and listened more carefully.
Laughter.
Cries.
More drunken shouting.
And then, something interesting.
"Remember to close the doors, darling. You've heard the stories. Are all the pets home?" A woman's voice. Probably a couple.
"You and your pets, woman," a man answered. "You think anyone would steal your cat?"
"You know what's happening out there! The merchants haven't come back, even though they promised."
"Otto's probably lost, or he's adopted another orphan. You think cult members are out there snatching kids just because of rumors?"
"Oh, quiet, you'll wake the kids."
Kairos smiled slightly.
"So the cult is spreading."
Good news and bad. The more people knew about it, the more he could learn. But it also meant the cult had grown. And that wasn't a good sign.
He dropped silently from the rooftop, slipping into the narrow spaces between the houses. Hours passed like this, listening, waiting, until a familiar voice reached him.
"Excuse me, doctor," a young girl said.
Kairos recognized her at once. Agnes. The same girl from earlier that day.
"Do you have any news of my father?"
"By the gods, Agnes," the doctor said, lowering his voice. "What are you doing out so late? It's the middle of the night."
The torchlight revealed him a young man, no older than twenty-five, with dark hair and a calm, clean-shaven face. Not a local. Neither was the girl. 'Agnes' didn't sound like a northern name.
"Didn't your father leave you in the care of his relative?" the doctor asked. She nodded.
"And you ran away, didn't you?"
"I'm just worried," she whispered.
"I understand. It's strange he hasn't come back yet, he promised me he would. Why did he have to go…" His voice trailed off when he saw the tears in her eyes. "Hey, don't worry. Your father's a smart man. I'm sure he's fine."
He smiled gently, kneeling to meet her gaze. "Tell you what, tomorrow, I'm heading to the salt mine. Some workers there fell ill and couldn't make it back. If you want, you can come with me. We might run into your father along the way."
Agnes' eyes brightened. "Really, mister?"
"Of course. We'll just speak to your guardian... Erik, right? I know him well. Treated his son once. He'll let us go." He placed a reassuring hand on her head. "Now come on, let's get you home. They're probably worried sick. And you might get sick too if you stay out here all night."
He led her away, hand in hand.
Kairos watched them disappear into the dark. "Nothing useful," he muttered. Still, something about the doctor unsettled him. His manner, perhaps. Or something else. "Probably just a southerner," he decided, shaking off the unease.
The night dragged on. He moved again, listening to everything around him: an argument behind a wall, two drunks fighting in the distance, more laughter, then nothing.
He was about to call it a night when a sharp voice broke the silence.
"Wait, all of them? You mean all forty?"
"Yes. None returned. It must've been him again."
"That fucking devil. How many more have to die because of him?"
Kairos froze.
"Found them."
Two men stood in a snow-covered alley, far away from the village center. One had a reddish beard and the heavy build of a fighter; the other's face was hidden beneath a hood, though Kairos could see a small beard. He crouched low, moving closer.
"So what now?" the bearded man asked. "What's the plan?"
"The Grandmaster ordered us to meet three miles north of the salt mine," the hooded man said. "He'll be there with the rest of the instructions."
"Personally? Must be something big."
The hooded man smirked.
"And what about the newcomer?" the bearded man asked. "The bartender said his eyes were strange, suspects he might be a mage. He's about the right age. Should I tell the others?"
"No. If he's the one, he'll kill you. If he's just some mage, we don't care. Tell the guards instead. The chieftain's men are nearby. They'll pay for the info. If it's right, they'll hunt him down like an animal."
"Alright. I'll talk to the rest and speak to the guards tomorrow. Farewell."
"Oh, one more thing," the hooded man added. "Otto's caravan was lost because of him."
"Oh… that's why no one's heard from him. Poor girl. If I find that bastard, I'll gut him myself."
"Sure you will," the hooded man murmured with a mocking smile.
Kairos slipped back into the shadows. Now he had what he needed. Killing the messenger would be too risky. He couldn't afford to expose himself. But he knew where they'd meet. Just not when, and that made his fists clench.
"The Grandmaster…" he whispered. "Maybe that's the bastard who killed my father."
His fists clenched. He turned back toward the stable where he'd been sleeping, eyes burning with quiet fury. In a few quick steps, he dropped to the street and started to run, fast as the snow allowed.
Far behind him, the hooded man lifted his head toward the sky, a slow smile creeping across his face. The moonlight glinted off the star-shaped medallion around his neck, the red ruby glowing faintly in the dark.
He turned north and walked away, knowing the fish had taken the bait.
The Grandmaster would be pleased.