It felt good to be moving again. While he didn't regret his time spent recuperating, it had felt like he was in stasis, caught in a limbo state away from the world. It felt good now to be back on the road, despite being unarmoured and alone, with no idea where to start his pursuit.

Re-entering civilisation was the first step. Now that, either walking down this path for however many days it took to reach the nearest village or hitchhiking on the first cart he came across.

The latter, while easy in concept, proved to be harder in execution than he'd anticipated for one key reason: barely anyone seemed to use this road.

He knew it was far from a major thoroughfare, and judging by its state of decay, he must be deep in the Crynmon, far away from any major towns, let alone cities. But even then, he assumed he would eventually come across some travellers, maybe a lumberjack hauling in wood or two. Instead, he trudged along for two days straight without seeing another Soul. He even made camp beside the road in the hopes that anyone passing by might spot his fire.

Nobody. No matter, a walk wouldn't kill him, and it was good to get his exercise in again; he didn't want his muscles to atrophy. He walked from dawn to dusk before making camp and setting aside a meal for himself. He made sure that he was frugal with his food; he had no gold on him until he could make contact with the Company, so any free food was a boon he would cherish.

He thought his luck was looking up when he spotted a pair of travellers on the horizon. They weren't on horseback, but he fancied that they could at least give him directions.

. . .

The first actual traveller he came across came riding by atop a tarped cart and found him sitting at the edge of the road, a few steps away from the pair of bandits' bodies. The cart driver took one look at him, then at the dead bodies, then back at him, and immediately tried to leave as fast as he could.

The carter, who was actually a trader by the name of Rhys, was understandably weary of the Talradian sitting beside a pair of corpses, even after getting a good look at him and seeing that he wasn't, in fact, a serial murderer or bandit himself.

Once he'd calmed him down and explained the situation to him, though, he seemed a lot more understanding.

"If it wouldn't be an inconvenience, good sir, I would greatly appreciate a lift to the nearest village. I could walk there myself, but your aid would be more than welcome. If not, simply pointing me in the right direction would suffice."

"Oh- why of course. I'm heading to Othnail now myself. It's only a few hours away on horseback, and I can hardly leave an older gentleman such as yourself at the mercy of more bandits. And trust me, there have been far worse than them in these woods recently."

Brakenus bowed his head in thanks and got onto the cart beside him. They were moving in no time, and it only occurred to him then how accepting this trader had been with the idea that an 'older gentleman' like him could have killed two bandits without a scratch.

Then again, the average person doesn't want to question the motives or methods of a Talradian.

"The guard will hear about this, I assure you. I shall inform them as soon as we get to Othnail."

"It's quite all right, really."

She shook his head vigorously. "This sort of thing should be stamped out before it becomes a bigger issue. I can't imagine this sort of thing being tolerated further South. I mean, just a few days ago I was passing by another village, and would you believe-"

He began going on a tirade about, presumably, the state of the roads and his misadventures on them, but Brakenus was only listening with one ear. His mind was still, rather unwillingly, focused on the same thing they had been for the last two days.

Two things. Finding and killing the Demon had long since become a permanent fixture in his mind. When he wasn't moving, wasn't actively pursuing, that was where his thoughts would settle again. If anything, it kept his blood pumping, his heart aglow with heat.

But the prophecy he'd been given was something else entirely. The words were ingrained in his brain in such a way that he could never forget them, which wouldn't have been as much of a problem if he understood them. Each line was a mystery by itself. When put together, it became a conspiracy of fate that, after two days, he wasn't close to unravelling. And he'd had a lot of alone time to dwell on it.

Of all of them, it was the last two lines that stuck the most.

Fates watches through you; Hand of the Fated One.

Those lines… he understood parts of them and was getting closer to understanding them in their entirety. Except, if they were referring to what he thought they were… he might not want to know the answer. And every story he had heard throughout his life that mentioned prophecies rarely had a happy ending for those involved.

But what was I supposed to expect? A happy ending?

"-sir?"

He blinked. "Yes? I'm sorry, I was… distracted."

Rhys was pointing ahead with one hand. "As I was saying, Othnail is just around the bend. We should be seeing it about… Ah, there it is."

They rode around a hill, and what came into view was perhaps the most typical, ordinary Carathiliarian village Brakenus had ever seen. It sat around the largest hill in the area, with no doubt the home of the Arglwyden near the crest. Small houses and buildings dotted the landscape, and judging by the recently moved treeline, they were in the process of expanding.

Quaint. Idyllic for someone who wanted to escape city life and live closer to nature, but it was no Dragonslayer Baile. He figured that he could find all the important buildings and establishments without needing directions. Some things tended to be universal when it came to settlement planning. Ironic, for a people that despised being told they did things 'by the book'.

He asked him to stop once they'd got far enough into the village, and the first couple of houses were behind them.

"My thanks, good sir. For the ride and company."

Rhys nodded his head. "Of course. Are you sure you don't want to come with me to report to the guard? I bet even the Arglwyden would be interested if bandits are showing up on our roads, and as I said, there are dangers lurking-"

He shook his head. "It isn't that big of a deal, really. The occasional robbery in a remote place is hardly the stuff of nightmares. And I have much to do anyway. Good day to you."

And I would rather not make my presence immediately and publicly known. If the Demon is nearby, he will have his ears to the ground for rumours, same as me. Better not hand myself to him on a silver platter.

It was past noon, which meant the streets were clear while everyone was either at home or out working. He didn't meet anybody along his way and only saw a few faces staring at him through windows. As he'd expected, his destination was right where it always was, not far from the centre of town. A slightly rundown but serviceable building with a low-hanging roof and a sign with a keg on it.

The tavern.

If there's one place to get information, connections, and a lay of the land, it's a tavern.

"Fascinating that mortals have created an establishment where all three are possible."

Men are loose-lipped when there's alcohol involved.

He walked in the already open door. The dark and dingy common area was mostly empty, save for a few solitary figures leaning against walls or slumped over in their seats. Most would be out working right about now. He approached the bar, where a thin, greasy-looking Carathiliar with pale green tattoos across his cheeks was polishing glasses.

"Welcome to the Pale Adder's Underside. My name is Alidus. How may I serve you?"

He hadn't even looked up once during his introduction.

"Are you the owner?"

Alidus sighed, "Mr Heath has better things to do than run a bar in the middle of the day. Now if there's anything else, we have-" He looked up for the first time, and his eyes widened. "Oh, uh, I'm sorry."

He crossed his fingers together. "No need to be."

"I- uh, what will it be, Mr… Talradian, sir?"

"I just arrived in your lovely village and was hoping to get a lay of the land, so to speak." He tried to put on a pleasant smile. "Do you know anyone who could help me with that?"

"Uh, well, let me think…" the barkeep stuttered, then snapped his fingers and shouted. "Branwen, are you busy?"

A figure sitting at the end of the room lifted her head. The woman, Branwen, was the only person in the bar not slumped over a drink, though she similarly had one in her hand.

"Depends who's asking? The Talradian?"

Alidus was probably ready to shout or stutter a response back, so Brakenus cut out the middleman and walked over to the Carathiliarian woman. She was resting her back against the wall, one foot on the edge of the table. When he got closer, he saw that she was quite young, probably in her twenties. Her mannerisms seemed… familiar.

He put a hand on the open chair across from her.

"May I sit?"

"I suppose you may." He sat down. "You're a bit light for travelling, aren't you, old man? Visiting relatives?"

"Surveying the sights."

She snorted. "Well, if you made it this far in you've seen most of them already. This place might well be the most run-of-the-mill place I've ever seen."

"So you're not a local, and yet the barkeep considers you a reputable source of information for me?"

"I'd hardly call it reputable." She took a long sip from her mug. "But I get around enough to know a thing or two."

"Ah." So that's why she had seemed so familiar. "An information broker. I hadn't imagined I'd find one of you in such a remote place."

"Everywhere has information, and where there's information, there's gold to be made. Which leads me to my next question, old man. Gold. This isn't a charity business, and I don't take trinkets or family heirlooms as substitutes."

She didn't waste any time. After two weeks dancing circles around what was said and unsaid with Yulia, it was both jarring and relieving to have someone cut to the chase.

"Gold is related to my first request. Ravens. I need one to send a message for me, with the promise of both gold and assurances afterwards. Can you do that?"

She ran a finger over the edge of her mug. "So you want me to get a message sent for you and then get paid afterwards. How did you figure that plan was going to pan out, old man? Only an idiot would take that deal."

"Only an idiot would decline it." He reached for his belt and saw her immediately stiffen. Despite her relaxed posture, her hand had slipped rather quickly to the edge of the table. "Do not be alarmed."

He withdrew a flat, circular piece of wood smaller than his palm and placed it on the table between them. She flipped her legs off and leaned in to get a better look. A glint appeared in her eyes as she glanced between the symbol and him.

"Well, now that is interesting," she muttered. "Never would have taken you for the Demon Hunting type, old man. And they say not all Talradians are involved in it, hah."

His eye twitched slightly. He picked the piece of wood back up and returned it to his belt. "Will you take it on my word then that you will be paid in due time?"

She nodded. "I suppose so. There's a man- I don't remember his name- down at the edge of the village that owns a few ravens you could use. He can be troublesome and suspicious of strangers, so I can play the intermediary for you if you want."

"And in turn be given ample opportunity to read my missives. Thank you, but I think I will visit him myself."

She shrugged. "Worth a shot. So what else do you need to know? And, if you don't mind me asking, what brings a Demon Hunter to Othnail?"

"What else?" He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. He wasn't sure how much their drunken companions could hear or would even remember, but he wasn't going to take any chances. "A Demon. I need any information and rumours relating to a Demon here or in the surrounding areas within the last two weeks. I can give you a description of the one I'm looking for. I will also need a map, or as close to one as you can get me, since, frankly, I have no idea where I am."

He began giving an in-depth description of the Demon, pausing only to let her reach down and pull out a scrap piece of parchment and call for a quill to write it all down.

"Right. I don't know how long it will take for me to get back to you on that, at least a day. I can tell you that no one matching that description has passed through here."

"You are certain?"

"It is my job to note these things. Is there anything else?"

"There is another pair that I am seeking out, though I don't know if they came this way. A man and a woman. The man would be tall, brown-haired and armed with a longsword. A follower of the Light. The woman would be shorter than him, also armed, and likely wearing a hat or hood to conceal herself. Both foreigners."

He started giving a more in-depth description of them, but Branwen cut him off.

"Don't need it. The pair you're describing passed through here six, maybe seven days ago. Didn't stay long, I don't think they even stayed the night, before continuing down the road."

"Really?"

She clicked her tongue. "As I said, it's my job to know. And the man was hardly indiscreet, wandering around with the symbol of that Light-damned Goddess on his chest. It's no wonder they didn't stick around." She took another sip from her drink before her eyes widened a little, and she almost choked on it. "Wait, was one of them a Demon? As well?"

"The female, yes."

Branwen rubbed her eyes. "What is the world coming to. Two Demons around Othnail? If the Arglwyden knew, he would have a fit. Then go into shock."

She got up from her seat, checking her pockets and fixing her pants as she did. "If that's all, then I have some work to do. I'll have a runner send you a map once I get my hands on one. You'll be easy to find."

"You may leave your bill with the ravenkeeper, and I will see to it that both of you are paid for your efforts."

She walked away from the table, then stopped only a few metres away.

She looked back. "If you have time to kill, there's a house you should visit on the other side of the hill. You'll know it when you see it; it stands out."

He opened his mouth to ask what that meant but had already vanished out the open door.

He did have time, especially now that he didn't have to scour the village himself for any signs. He would still do that, of course; there were techniques and tracks Demons left that only Hunters were aware of, but the brunt of the search was out of his hands.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

That dug at him a little, but it was more efficient this way. If Branwen came back with even the vaguest rumour of someone matching the description, he would find him. Perhaps in Demagain, another plane of existence, he might be safe, but on Andwelm, there was no place a Demon could hide that a Hunter wouldn't find them.

He left the Pale Adder's Underside and followed the admittedly vague directions the information broker had given him. 'Go to the other side of the hill' wasn't much to work off of, but apparently, he would know what he was looking for when he saw it.

He wondered what about her had seemed so familiar. Being an information broker was only part of it; he'd met them plenty of times, and while they all had their quirks, the casual intelligence and nonchalance in public spaces tended to be par for the course. Was it her age… maybe it was-

Oh.

Of course.

She looked to be around the age Keleiva had been when she'd first begun working as one. He still remembered it like it was yesterday, coming down to Fordain again, he'd spent a lot more time around there those days, when his company was new, and finding her set up in the worst part of town.

They'd argued, well, he had argued, and she had sat and listened, before addressing him with a rare instance of a calm and well-thought-out explanation.

"What else am I supposed to do? If there's one way I can aid you and the cause, it's by doing this. I'm good at this, uncle."

When he'd looked at her and seen something on her face other than anger and resentment at him for not letting her become a fully-fledged Demon Hunter, seen satisfaction, how could he say no?

He jolted himself back to reality. There was no point in dwelling on the past. There was no point… he kept walking.

Maybe he had spent more time talking to Branwen and reminiscing than he had realised, or maybe it was just fate's hand pulling on his strings again, but the route he chose had a lot more people on it than before. There weren't a lot, but enough that he felt their eyes on him whenever he passed, even though there were none that would meet his when he turned to look at them.

I doubt any of them have even seen a Talradian in years. The children might never have at all.

He was proven correct when a passing father and son stalled in carrying crates to their cart. The boy stared at him, then blushed and tried to hide it. Brakenus could not fault him for it, there was a reason that he enjoyed the anonymity armour gave him. Protection was the first bonus, hiding his identity was the other.

With skin whiter than a corpse and eyes like glass, his face was the sort that gave young children nightmares. He'd had to break up a number of brawls between his Hunters and locals who had complained about the same thing. And despite what many believed, those often were Carathiliar.

If the Carathiliar responded to Demons with fear and disgust, then they responded to Talradians with a mix of pity, support, and, more often than both, a sense of wariness. The desire to keep them at arm's length away, for all they said, they stood beside them. And still, he thought it was an improvement.

But he would rather have them fear him than pity him. Few things made him upset with them as much as that shake of a head and sorrowful frown did. Pity, pity for the poor people brought low. Pity, but no action, like they were beggars on the streets that you felt bad about, but nonetheless kept walking.

The road was coming to an end soon, and he still hadn't seen anything that had stuck out to him, except a two-story home that was impressively well built for a small village like this. Then he came around a bend, and his pace ground to a halt.

The last house at the edge of the village was different to the others, and that wasn't just in size. If anything, it was smaller than its contemporary neighbours, but that wasn't why it stood out. Unlike the curved slants and low-hanging roofs that the Carathiliarian architecture was famous for, this building used slabs and squares bent at different angles to form its shape, ending with a thinner but wider and taller roof. The edges were lined with Heldasian wood, dark and burnt in complexion, and the stone changed from the usual red to dark silver. Amongst the other village houses, it no doubt drew the eye, and it drew his eye because he recognised it. He knew it. It was as familiar to him as the morning dawn.

Talradian architecture.

He walked over to the front door, uncaring of the eyes watching him. Above the porch was a dark, tent-like covering that blocked out most of the incoming light if you were inside. Painted onto the door was the Visage of the Celestial Path, the old religion of Talradius. He knocked.

There wasn't an immediate response. Then he heard shuffling and hurried footsteps, and the door was flung open by a Carathiliarian woman.

"Not again- listen, we don't want any busybodies-"

She cut off as she saw who he was, or rather, what he was.

"I'm so sorry, are you… a relation? Family?"

He shook his head. "Just a traveller. Are they around?"

"There isn't anywhere else he can go, really. Please, come inside."

She let him in, and he noticed that, despite the time of day, she had a lit candle sitting beside the door. The reason for this was obvious: the entire house was covered in darkness. Windows had their curtains drawn in, he assumed permanently, and the only lit candle was the one she now held. Naturally, it didn't bother him at all, and he had to consciously take in that lack of light, because to him it was all quite normal.

Definitely a Talradian home. And she's… a caretaker?

Perhaps noticing his glances, the woman nodded her head. "I'm his caretaker; he pays me to help him eat, maintain the house, and other things."

"So he has wealth? Gold?"

"Some. I believe he has quite a lot saved up but barely uses it." She opened a door and led him through. "Right this way. Though I don't know if he'll be awake, he usually takes his afternoon naps right about now."

She led him into a bedroom, lavishly adorned by the standards of both the village and his people in general. A wardrobe in the corner, tapestries on the walls, and even a bookshelf across from the door. It was dominated by a large, empty double bed.

Creak.

He turned.

In the far corner of the room, beside a covered window, was a rocking chair, made of the same Heldasian wood as the rest of the house.

Creak.

Sitting in it was an old Talradian man. His face was gaunt, his skin withered, and the only difference you would notice between him and a corpse was the slow lifting of his chest. His glass eyes were staring off into nothing, unfocused from the present. He rocked back and forth

Creak.

Back and forth.

Creak.

Brakenus stepped towards him slowly. When he reached the edge of the rocking chair, he leaned down onto his knees.

"Hello, my friend."

Creak.

The old man's withered face didn't even flinch. He just kept rocking, back and forth. Brakenus reached out and placed a hand on his.

"Where is your strength?"

The creaking stopped. The Talradian's head turned slowly, and their eyes met for the first time.

"…stars above, I had not thought to see another for so long. How are you, my boy?"

He cracked a small smile. "I have been better. And you?"

"…seventy-nine years old a few weeks ago. Can barely clean my own face anymore."

He laughed quietly. "Your strength amazes me, friend. How did you come to live in such a remote place?"

"Where else was there to go…" His eyes fluttered as he trailed off, then snapped back open again. "…took my wife and son here after we lost our home. We were the lucky ones."

"As was I. Where are they now?"

"…gone."

He gripped the old man's hand a little tighter. "I'm sorry. I… my niece was taken from me."

The Talradian's right arm shifted. Behind him, he heard the caretaker gasp. Then, slowly, painfully slowly, he reached out and ran it over Brakenus' cheek.

"They go ahead to wait for us, son. We will all be together again soon enough. Soon enough…"

He took a deep breath. "I-" his voice cracked, "I wish it were so, my friend. I wish it were so."

"…it has been years since last I spoke with one of my own. Tell me… how fare our people in the world outside?"

"It is no kinder to them than the Destruction. We grow old, weep for the last of us, and pass on soon after. But for each of us that falls, so too does a Demon turn to dust."

The old Talradian mumbled something that he couldn't catch as his head dropped down again. He swung it up again.

"…petty vengeance, my boy. What point is there to it? More senseless death, more mourning widows and children."

He closed his eyes. "They slaughtered us. Doom us. Cursed us."

"And we slaughter them in turn. To what end? The cycle ends the same way…" The old man trailed off again, muttering to himself.

Finally, his eyes barely open, he asked in a low voice, "What is your name?"

"Brakenus Ulvargen. And yours?"

He caught something coming out of his throat. It sounded like… a chuckle, the ghost of laughter. His response was a whisper.

"Cameron Aldestine. Stars guide you, your… highness…"

He drifted off into sleep again, his head slouched against the back of the rocking chair. Brakenus stood and gently pried his hands from him. He turned back to the caretaker, who was silently watching him in amazement.

"That's the most I've heard him speak in weeks. And even then, those were usually just orders and requests. He doesn't even talk in his sleep anymore."

"How is he? I mean… how much time would you say he has?"

She shook her head. "Who can say. He's survived illness, grief, and the stretches of time. I fear now that he will suffer a slow death. It… he's been around here longer than I've been alive, but I worry for the next Winter Year."

She led him to the door. When he got there, he turned back to her. "If he ever needs gold or assistance in any way, send a raven to Tandrias City to a Lord Asteron. Tell him that Brakenus recommended you."

He gently closed the door behind him.

"You have done this before" "Often, in fact." "Why?"

"Don't you know the answers to everything?"

"Not everything." "An answer would be welcome."

"Why wouldn't I? My coffers are wide enough to compensate for the few I find. I have salvaged enough over the years to be considered wealthy; most were not as fortunate."

"Even at risk of stretching those coffers thin?" "To what end?"

"If there is a chance I can help ease their passing, I will take it."

It's the least I can do. And I wish I could do more.

That feeling of responsibility weighed heavily on him, and heavier still when he saw their faces, watched as they withered away before him, or were cut down in their prime, and all the while the question still remained.

Why had he not gone first?

. . .

Finding the ravenkeeper was easy enough after asking around. Negotiating, less so, as Branwen had warned him, but decades spent negotiating with local mayors, tianas, and arglwydens had given him some skills in that department, enough that they were eventually able to reach an understanding, and Brakenus had a raven bearing his letter in the skies before dusk had settled.

It was around that time that a young boy ran up to him in the street and handed him a map, courtesy of the information broker. It was rough, and the details went out the window the moment it left the Crynmon, but it was enough for him to get his bearings.

North side of the Keloweyne. That means the next major town is... Murthir. And that's still weeks away.

He needed to track the Demon down, figure out his movements and whether his end goal was to return to Demagain via one of their paths or do more damage to the people here. But he knew that even if he did find him, he might as well have signed his death warrant with how ill-equipped he was.

Swords, no armour, no tools, no backup. The raven will keep them from declaring me dead and alert them to my location, but it isn't enough. It's not like they can send back what I need.

There was one other boon that he could call upon. Depending on how fast he'd been, and if he had followed his orders to the letter, Lieutenant Oredeith and his band would have already crossed to this side of the Domain. It was a small window; he could have delayed, which meant Brakenus was too early to meet him, but if too much time had passed, then the band might very well have begun marching south already.

Another thing to look into. Regardless, they could, and would, be sending gold, which would let him buy whatever he needed. He wouldn't be able to get proper armour like his own, but anything was worse than nothing. He just needed to find a settlement with the blacksmiths who could do it.

Which means Murthir. Or Paloesca beyond it, which may be a better choice between the two. Murthir is…

Strange.

If he had to describe it from an informational sense, it was a dark spot. Demon Hunters that went there were, for lack of a better word, repelled. None had died that he had known of, and he wasn't sure if he could call the Tiana hostile to them, because he'd never once returned his letters.

Demons that fled there vanished. They had never been able to ascertain if that was good or bad, so in general, he had placed a standing order to avoid Murthir and the surrounding lands. Naturally, he had been disobeyed before, but the outcome remained the same.

And now it might be my best chance for supplies. Paloesca might be safer, but the trip is longer, and if I stray too far… it all depends on what Branwen can bring to me. If I have even the smallest lead to work of off, I must hold to it.

Which was why his next and final stop for the day was right back to where he'd begun. The Pale Adder's Underside. He figured that a tavern would be open later than anywhere else, and if she needed to contact him, he would be easier to find. Although, in fairness, he would likely be easy to find anywhere in the village. The local inn was his second choice, but considering he still lacked gold and would until his raven made it to the city and back, he didn't have high hopes for getting a room.

He also wasn't sure if he would be allowed into a bar without any intention of drinking, but with the day ended and the night in full swing, the bar would be filled with patrons. Men and women drinking, laughing, and sometimes fighting was good cover for the average person, but he worried that his… complexion might still draw eyes.

When he reached the open door, a large man came flying out, creating a dirt cloud where he landed. Laughter followed him out as he shouted curses and shook a fist. He swayed side to side and pushed passed Brakenus, which, given the wide road, was entirely unnecessary.

"Outta my way."

He watched the drunkard continue to stumble a few more steps away before leaning against the wall and promptly passing out.

Ah, alcohol. The great equaliser.

When he entered the bar, not a single eye lingered on him. Why would they bother with the Talradian when their ale was begging them for attention? He dodged staggering patrons and shifting chairs, eventually finding an unoccupied table in the corner of the room. He put his backpack down beside him, where he could still see it. He sighed; it was only marginally quieter here, but anything would do.

"Not a fan of crowds, huh?"

His head jerked to the right. He hadn't even seen the man beside him sit down.

"I am not averse to the Carathiliarian drinking culture, but do find the noise to be a bit grating, yes. What about yourself?"

The figure waved a hand. His features were entirely covered by a beige cloak and hood. The shadow they cast was dark enough that he couldn't even see his mouth when he spoke. "Oh, I find it fascinating. You hear so much that shouldn't be said, and the stories-" He laughed. "Some of the best. I've known bards who couldn't hold a candle to the raw and sincere nature of a drunkard." He began to laugh again.

It wasn't a voice he recognised. He sounded young, though that could be deceiving. With gloves covering his hands, he couldn't even tell if there were wrinkles on them. A strange, hooded man entering a bar at night wasn't uncommon.

Moving undetected by me is. I would have noticed someone like him the moment I entered, and surely he would draw someone's attention.

Cloaks and hoods were good for avoiding being spotted in public spaces, because so many people did it for that very reason that you ended up looking just like everybody else. In a bar, though, where, depending on how late it was, even clothes were not a basic requirement, looking so obviously anonymous meant you actually stuck out like a sore thumb.

The stranger turned to him. "You said you're not against drinking, but I see that your hands are empty. Nothing take your fancy?"

"I prefer to be frugal and not spend unnecessary silver when it can be avoided."

He scoffed. "Psh, come on, they sell a pint here for less than six bonara."

"And it probably tastes closer to flavoured water than ale. I'll pass." He looked down and saw that, despite his words, the stranger's hands were also empty. "Why haven't you taken yourself up on that incredible deal?"

"Well, I can't very well remember their stories if I'm just as blasted drunk as they are." The stranger laughed again. He seemed to be fond of doing that.

"So you actually come down here just to listen to the stories of intoxicated men and women? Are you a bard of some sort?"

"Hardly. I can't sing to save my life. Let's just say I'm more interested in the people themselves, and where they fit into all of it. Such as yourself."

"…me?"

"Why of course." He shifted his chair closer. "A Talradian just happens upon the lonely village of Othnail, so remote I doubt it's aware of the latest news from last year? Mark me, there's a fine story there, and one I would love to hear."

"Well, you may have to wait long to hear it, I'm afraid." He didn't like how close and personal he was getting, physically and in his enquiries. "The way you talk about Othnail, you aren't a local either?"

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not." He bobbed his hooded head side to side. "Okay, I'm not."

"Why the disguise?"

"Not all of us are as easily welcomed by the grey-skins as you and your countrymen are."

Now that was a funny joke, though he made the tactical choice not to encourage the stranger by laughing. His comment did tell him one thing: he wasn't Carathiliarian, but why a foreigner of all people would be here boggled the mind even further.

He didn't sound or look like anyone he knew. He certainly wasn't the Angelica, and if he'd been the Demon, then there wouldn't have been so much back and forth, just outright bloodshed.

He tentatively began to edge his mana out to try and inspect him for any of the noticeable fluctuations mages left, but right at that moment, a barmaid came over to their table.

"Evening all, would either of you be interested in- woah!"

She'd somehow tripped over something on the floor, and Brakenus reached out to steady her before she fell over.

"Thank you. We should really check these floorboards out again; someone could get hurt. Anything for you two?"

He shook his head, and likewise his unwanted companion declined. When the barmaid left, Brakenus took a second to glance where she'd tripped. Now, he was no carpenter, but far from being old and in need of repair, the planks where she had tripped almost seemed new.

When he straightened his back again, the stranger was still watching him. Well, he assumed he was watching him, since his body was turned his way.

"Listen, do you need something? I'm not going to be downing enough pints tonight to be open to sharing my story with a complete stranger."

"Just one question, if you don't mind."

"I do mind."

"Great," he ignored him. "I'll be brief. How often do you think fate plays its hand a bit harder than usual, Brakenus? Do you think they interfere directly with the given outcome?"

Brakenus stared at him as the background noise became a distant murmur in his mind. "What did you-"

"Ah, there you are. I was hoping I would find you here. Then again, there aren't many other places you could've strayed to." He was thrown back into reality by Branwen, wading her way through the rowdy patrons and stopping in front of his table. "Good of you to find a quiet table."

He looked back. The stranger had vanished, just as quickly as he'd appeared, without leaving a trace that he'd even been there. He was unsettled by that, and that was without accounting for what he'd said. Did fate have a hand to play? Did it interfere directly? It almost felt theological, but without pertaining to any religion he knew. Conceptual, then?

He cleared his throat. "What do you need, Branwen? I got the map you sent me already, and I only expected you to meet back with me tomorrow at the earliest."

She sat down in the now-empty chair beside him. He figured that she would try to keep her voice low, but given the state of the room, even talking at a normal volume had the same effect.

"Well, I said that because, with respect, I didn't think I was going to find anything regarding your… target. His description helped, but it was generic enough that there could be upwards of dozens matching it."

"And yet I judge from the way you're talking that was not the case."

"Better than that. Well, some would call it worse. Forget looking for an anonymous figure; there was a trader who saw a Demon massacring a caravan a few days ago. I'm going to cut down my price because, frankly, the whole village will probably be hearing about this tomorrow morning. The trader went straight to the Arglwyden."

The trader… Brakenus put his hands on his head and rubbed his eyes. That couldn't have been… There weren't any others around, were there? He wanted to punch himself, but it would be difficult to do it without looking insane. How much time have I wasted today? If he had gone the other way, would he be closer to his goal?

"You seem to be taking this well."

"Where?"

"North." She had him retrieve his map and pointed out the path. "Now I can't judge for you where he's heading or to what end, but if he keeps going the way he's going, then he'll head straight to Murthir and Paloesca. At that point-"

"He will slip onto the Great Southern Road, where he will be lost amongst the travellers." There was nothing Demon Hunters hated more than major thoroughfares. It was so easy to vanish in them and stopping to inspect everyone there was just untenable. "I have my work cut out for me. Does this town sell any horses?"

She nodded. "I'm sure there's someone around that you could find. First thing in the morning?"

He shook his head. "First thing tonight. I'm behind on time already."

His recently healed muscles weren't going to be thanking him any time soon.

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