Chapter Eighty-One: Havenstown

  Fortunately, the rest of the journey to Havenstown went smoothly. After a night of camping and two long days on the road, they finally spotted the small town on the horizon.

  The last remnants of dusk bled from the sky as the group trudged into Havenstown. Loren’s wagon creaked, the wheels protesting against the uneven cobblestones, while Lara hummed a tuneless lullaby under her breath.

  As Jace and his companions stepped off the creaky cart and onto the worn stone of the town square, an eerie silence greeted them. The last rays of sunlight glinted faintly on the polished stones, casting long shadows.

  The tinker and his granddaughter refused the group’s help with unloading, but they insisted—except for Marcus, who stood idly by, watching. Lara didn’t seem to mind. She gave him a hug, which he awkwardly tried to resist, and Loren shook his hand firmly before they parted ways.

  The villagers moved through their last tasks of the day with a sense of urgency, their faces tight with worry as they cast furtive glances towards the darkened windows of the aged stone buildings that framed the square. A tension hung in the air, almost tangible enough to make your skin prickle.

  “Feels like stepping into a painting,” Alice murmured, her breath forming ghostly plumes in the chill air. “One forgotten by time.”

  “Something’s off here,” Ell said, her voice a whisper that seemed too loud. She absently touched the sapphire shard hanging around her neck, seeking comfort or perhaps guidance.

  Jace nodded, his grey eyes flickering to each companion, gauging their unease. Marcus stood apart, his gaze fixed upon the ground, brow furrowed.

  A colossal bell loomed above the town center of Havenstown, its patina-encrusted surface testament to the passage of countless suns and moons. It hung silent and still, yet its very presence resonated with an ominous portent, as if it could toll at any moment with a sound that would fracture the eerie hush blanketing the square. The iron clapper was stilled by chains wrapped in ancient, moth-eaten velvet, hinting at a desperate attempt to muzzle whatever dread voices might echo from its bronze throat.

  Underneath the bell stood an old stone platform, marked by countless feet and heavy burdens. Symbols of protection and unity were carved into its smooth surface, eroded by generations of use. The ground surrounding the platform was worn smooth from the many who had gathered there, their eyes fixed on the bell and their hearts united in hope or dread.

  Below, the cobblestones lay uneven, as though rejecting the order imposed upon them by the hands of forgotten masons. Shadows played across their irregular faces, cast by flickering torches that struggled against an unfelt breeze. Buildings rose like stoic guardians around the perimeter, their timeworn facades watching over the square with windows dark and shuttered, as if the inhabitants cowered from unseen specters that roamed under the cloak of night.

  The iron lampposts twisted and intertwined with vines. In the daylight, they seemed almost decorative, but as darkness fell, their long shadows stretched across the ground. The faint light they provided did little to alleviate the uneasy feeling that hung over the town, only enhancing its ghostly charm.

  Alice shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her as she surveyed the empty streets.

  Ell’s face scrunched up slightly, her gaze scanning over the cobblestone, shuttered windows, and peering eyes. She looked like she wanted to dismiss it all but couldn’t quite shake off the tension in her shoulders and deliberate movements.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Jace adjusted his satchel strap and carefully observed every detail of the town’s facade: the weathered signs swaying in the gentle breeze, the distant tolling of a bell, and the sense of something lurking just beyond sight. The usually bustling village was unnaturally quiet, as if holding its breath in anticipation of something inevitable.

  As they strolled through the cobblestone streets, Marcus pulled a yellow crystal from his inventory and activated it. In an instant, the dust of the road vanished, and he reappeared in a vibrant purple suit—every trace of wear scrubbed clean. He stood with the poised confidence of someone used to command, his tailored clothes untouched by the dust that clung to everything else in this town. His dark hair, perfectly styled, caught the dim light, the color of polished obsidian. A cold smile played on his lips, but it never reached the critical eyes locked on Jace.

  Yet, something felt different about him. He wore no jewelry now, and a new glint flickered in his eyes—softer, almost thoughtful. Still, his arrogance lingered like a familiar scent, though the shift was undeniable.

  He realized how dirty they all must look, after having fought the elemental and days of travel. The first order of business was to get cleaned up and find somewhere to stay for the night.

  “Quite the welcome, eh?” Marcus’s voice cut through the silence, sharp as ever.

  “Or lack thereof,” Jace shot back, his stance just as unwavering.

  “I’ve heard stories about towns like this—never too friendly to Travelers,” Dex muttered, glancing around uneasily.

  Marcus shrugged, his indifference almost theatrical. “We’ll squeeze what we need out of them and move on.”

  Villagers peeked nervously from behind shuttered windows, faces flickering between fear and curiosity.

  The inn’s sign swayed overhead, barely illuminated by the dying light of dusk, its edges worn from years of neglect. Jace lifted a fist to knock when the door cracked open just enough for a pair of bloodshot eyes to peek out. The innkeeper’s face contorted into something between a sneer and a grimace, lips thin and pale.

  Without a word, the man slammed the door shut. The dull thud echoed, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock. A moment later, the sign in the window flipped to “No Vacancies,” the letters painted in a hurried scrawl.

  Jace stood there, hand still raised, his brow furrowing as he exhaled through his nose. Marcus, leaning against a half-rotted post nearby, chuckled low in his throat, arms crossed over his chest.

  “I know what’s wrong,” he drawled, amusement pulling at the corner of his lips. “You look like day-old breakfast.”

  Jace shot him a glare, but the effect was weak, as if the frustration had drained out of him before it even reached his eyes. “Helpful, Marcus,” he muttered. “Really helpful.”

  Marcus straightened, pushing off the post with a lazy stretch. “Look, a town like this? There’s always somewhere else. Somewhere a bit less... picky.” He waved a hand, dismissing the situation as he started walking down the narrow street, boots clacking against the cobblestones with an almost deliberate nonchalance.

  “Do you even know where you’re going?” Alice asked, skepticism clear, though she followed a few steps behind.

  Marcus didn’t answer, didn’t even turn his head. His confidence was maddening, like someone who knew the punchline to a joke no one else had heard.

  Dex ambled up beside Jace, giving a half-hearted shrug. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he said under his breath, though his hand never strayed far from the hilt of the dagger at his waist.

  Jace let out a laugh, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

  “Really, Dex? Really?” He shot Dex an incredulous look. “Didn’t learn from my mistake?”

  The alley they turned into was narrow, the walls crowding in. The smell of stale smoke and grease coated the air, heavy and suffocating, wrapping around them as the shadows deepened. At the end of the alley sat a squat building, slumped against the edge of town like it had grown weary of holding itself upright.

  The tavern’s wooden sign swayed in the same tired way as the first inn’s, half its letters faded beyond recognition. Whatever it promised, it didn’t seem eager to deliver.

  Marcus strode right in without looking back, like he belonged there, the old door creaking on rusty hinges behind him. Jace hesitated, exchanging a glance with Alice. Her blue eyes darted around, scanning the street like she expected something—or someone—to emerge from the dark corners.

  Jace leaned in, just enough to catch sight of Marcus at the bar, already chatting up the innkeeper like they were old friends. The man behind the bar, his clothes stained with sweat and his face etched with deep lines, regarded him with the wary suspicion of someone all too familiar with deception. But that suspicion waned the moment Marcus flashed a grin—and a small pouch of coins that clinked softly as it slid across the counter.