Chapter 17 - Ravenhold at Dusk
Zio did not leave Greyhollow at dawn.
He had planned to. He had told himself that leaving early would make the road easier, that distance moved faster when the body was still fresh and the mind unburdened. But the small house at the edge of the refugee village resisted haste, as though the walls themselves demanded a slower farewell.
He cleared the ashes from the hearth, brushing away gray remnants until bare stone showed beneath. He closed the warped wooden shutters one by one, testing each latch even though he already knew which would stick and which would not. He straightened a stool with a cracked leg. He folded a blanket that would never be unfolded again and placed an empty cup back where it had always been.
Not because any of it would matter tomorrow.
Because Trod had never allowed him to leave a place in disorder.
By the time Zio finally stepped outside, the morning had already matured into quiet movement. Greyhollow never truly slept. Refugee villages rarely did. Too many lives were built on vigilance rather than comfort.
A few villagers acknowledged him as he passed. There were no long conversations. No questions that required answers. Only nods, brief murmurs, and looks that understood without explanation. Greyhollow was accustomed to departures without promises of return.
An elderly storekeeper pressed a piece of dried bread into his hand without a word. A woman near the well warned him not to walk alone after nightfall, her voice low and practiced, as though repeating advice she had given too many times before. Zio thanked them quietly. He did not smile. He did not refuse.
Then he left.
The road from Greyhollow to Ravenhold was long enough to demand honesty from the body.
The old trade route wound through thinning forest edges and uneven stone stretches, sometimes passing abandoned guard posts whose weather worn timbers still bore the faint markings of old banners. Remnants from a time when borders had been clearer and safety enforced rather than hoped for.
Zio walked for days.
He rested when he needed to, hunted only when his supplies thinned, and slept lightly beneath open sky or broken shelters. His dagger remained at his side at all times, concealed but ready. Not once did he regret bringing it instead of heavier steel. Speed and silence mattered more than reach.
By the fourth evening, his legs ached in the quiet way that meant they would keep going anyway.
When Ravenhold finally rose against the horizon, the sun was already lowering. Its light stretched thin and amber across stone walls that marked a clear boundary between outside and within.
The city was not grand. It did not loom like a capital. But its walls were solid, practical, and honest in purpose.
Zio adjusted his pace.
Strangers did not linger at thresholds when night approached.
Inside the walls, Ravenhold felt immediately different from Greyhollow.
Stone buildings crowded close together, upper floors leaning inward as though listening. Main roads split into narrower passages, some well lit, others left deliberately dim. The air carried layered sounds. Footsteps. Closing shutters. The dull clatter of metal. Voices settling into evening routines.
As daylight faded, street lamps ignited one by one.
Their glow was steady and pale, emitted from metal frames etched with simple runes. Alchemical lamps powered by refined monster cores. Not extravagant. Not cheap. Enough to light the streets. Enough to deter most trouble. Never enough to banish shadows entirely.
Darkness still pooled in corners. It lingered beneath overhangs and stretched thin fingers into every alley.
Zio slowed at an intersection.
He knew the Guild was here. Ravenhold Guild Hall. Its name was common enough. But cities were not maps, and the center felt denser, more watchful. His instincts urged caution rather than haste.
That was when the city tested him.
"First time in Ravenhold?"
The voice came from his left.
Two men leaned near the edge of the street, half lit by a lamp that did not quite reach them. Their clothes were clean enough to pass inspection but worn in places that suggested long use rather than poverty. Neither wore visible weapons. That, more than anything, unsettled Zio.
"I do not talk to strangers," Zio replied, keeping his tone flat.
The taller one chuckled. "Fair. But you are standing like someone who is lost."
Zio turned slightly, angling his body. Not defensive. Not inviting.
"We help newcomers," the shorter man added. "Guide them. Keep them from wandering into unfriendly parts."
Zio's gaze flicked toward the branching roads. He said nothing.
"Guild registration is closed by now," the tall man continued easily. "If that is what you are looking for, you will not get in tonight."
A true statement. Which made it more dangerous.
"And inns near the center," the shorter man said. "Expensive. Especially for travelers without papers."
Zio's fingers brushed the edge of his cloak. "What do you want?"
The tall man smiled. "Just coin for our time. Small fee. Better than losing your purse to someone less polite."
The threat was not sharp. It did not need to be.
Zio had seen this before. People who thrived on uncertainty rather than violence. He could walk away. He could ignore them. But the city was large, the night deepening, and instinct warned him that turning his back might invite pursuit.
Before he could decide, a third voice cut in.
"Oi."
A young man approached from the brighter side of the street, his pace unhurried but his eyes alert. Brown hair slightly unkempt. Clothes plain but clean. No visible weapon.
"Did I not tell you two to stop prowling this corner?" the newcomer said lightly.
The tall man frowned. "This does not concern you."
The young man tilted his head. "Funny. Looks like it does."
Zio shifted his weight. Not toward either side. Ready.
The shorter man scoffed. "You again? Go home, Eren."
Eren's mouth curved into a faint smile. "After you."
The lamp overhead brightened slightly as the alchemical core within responded to movement, casting clearer light over the scene. The tall man's jaw tightened. He glanced at Zio, reassessing.
"This is not worth it," he muttered.
They stepped back, melting into the darker street with practiced ease.
Only when they were gone did Eren exhale.
"You all right?" he asked.
Zio studied him. "You knew them."
"Unfortunately," Eren said. "They target newcomers. Mostly intimidation. Rarely ends bloody, but it can."
Zio nodded once. "Thank you."
"Do not mention it." Eren paused, then asked, "What is your hometown?"
Zio exhaled slowly.
"Greyhollow."
Eren's brows lifted before settling again. "That is a long walk."
Zio did not comment.
Eren glanced toward the lamps. "Guild registration is closed. And wandering tonight would just invite more attention."
Zio already knew that.
"My parents run an inn," Eren said. "Near the outer ring. Not fancy. But safe."
"I do not have much coin," Zio replied.
Eren waved it off. "Pay later. Or do not. My father will not throw you out."
Zio searched his face. Hesitation. Calculation. Anything out of place. He found none.
"One night," Zio said.
Eren smiled. "That is enough."
The streets grew quieter as they moved away from the center.
Here, the lamps were spaced farther apart. Stone showed its age. Doorways remained shut, and windows watched without revealing.
The Halvors Inn stood modestly among them. Stone and timber. Two stories tall. A wooden sign bore the family name, its paint faded by years of weather.
Inside, warmth greeted them.
A few guests occupied the common room, eating simple meals in silence. No music. No forced laughter. Just rest.
Darian Halvors glanced up once, his gaze sharp but measured. He nodded at Zio and returned to his work. Mirella offered a polite smile.
No questions were asked.
That night, Zio lay on a narrow bed, listening to the inn settle.
Ravenhold was not home.
But it was a place where tomorrow waited.
And tomorrow, the city would decide whether it would accept him, or test him further.
End of Chapter 17