The journey to Olkaris took Ithor five days, traveling mostly at night to avoid unwanted attention. As an exile without tribal markings or official papers, he was vulnerable to questioning by patrols from any of the seven races. The territories between Esh-Tahar and the Olkhar capital were a patchwork of jurisdictions, each with their own regulations regarding travelers.
But years of living on society's margins had taught Ithor how to move unseen, how to skirt checkpoints and settlements, how to blend into the background when avoidance was impossible. The skills that had once made him an exceptional warden now served him as a ghost, passing through the world without leaving traces.
The crystal amulet given to him by the Sangor elder remained cool and quiet for most of the journey, showing no sign of the resonance it supposedly would exhibit when near the other two individuals he sought. But as Ithor approached the outskirts of Olkaris on the evening of the fifth day, he felt a change — a subtle warming of the crystal, a faint vibration against his skin where it hung beneath his clothing.
He paused on a ridge overlooking the city, taking in the sight of the Olkhar capital spread below him in the fading light. Olkaris was a marvel of architecture and magical engineering, its crystal spires catching the sunset and transforming it into a kaleidoscope of colors. Unlike the chaotic sprawl of border settlements like Esh-Tahar, the city followed a precise geometric pattern, with concentric circles of buildings surrounding a central complex that could only be the royal compound.
It was beautiful, orderly, and completely intimidating to someone like Ithor, who had spent the last three years avoiding exactly this kind of civilization.
"How am I supposed to find anyone in that?" he muttered to himself, the crystal's faint warmth providing no specific direction, only a general confirmation that he was moving toward one of his targets.
As if in response to his doubt, he felt the familiar flicker of Faaron's presence — stronger than usual, almost tangible in the gathering dusk. A sensation of reassurance flowed through the remnants of their bond, along with a nudge toward a less obvious approach to the city than the main gates that were visible from his vantage point.
Ithor had learned to trust these impressions, these ghostly guidances from his lost companion. He turned away from the main road and began making his way along the ridge, seeking the alternative entry that Faaron's spirit seemed to be indicating.
After an hour of careful movement through increasingly cultivated land — orchards and terraced gardens that marked the transition from wilderness to civilization — Ithor found what he was looking for: a small stream that flowed from the hills into the city, passing beneath the outer walls through a grated tunnel. The grate was substantial, designed to prevent entry, but Ithor noticed that one section had been damaged and imperfectly repaired, leaving a gap that might be just large enough for a man of his size to squeeze through.
He waited until full darkness before approaching, using all his hunter's skills to ensure he wasn't observed. The stream was shallow this time of year, allowing him to wade through knee-deep water to reach the damaged grate. The gap was indeed tight — painfully so — but with careful maneuvering and a few minor scrapes, Ithor managed to slip through into the tunnel beyond.
The passage beneath the city wall was longer than he had expected, and completely dark. Ithor moved by touch, one hand on the slimy stone wall, the other held protectively before his face to avoid unseen obstacles. The sound of running water echoed around him, masking any noise he might make but also potentially hiding the approach of anyone else who might be using this secret entrance.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, Ithor saw a faint glow ahead - light filtering down from somewhere above. He approached cautiously and found himself beneath a street-level grate, this one designed for drainage rather than security. Through its metal bars, he could see a quiet side street in what appeared to be a residential district of the city.
He listened carefully for any sign of passersby, then, hearing nothing, pushed against the grate. It lifted more easily than he had expected, suggesting it was regularly used as an entrance and exit. Ithor made a mental note of this — he might not be the only one using the city's drainage system to bypass official checkpoints.
Emerging onto the street, Ithor quickly replaced the grate and moved into the shadows of a nearby building to get his bearings. The neighborhood appeared modest but respectable — the homes of craftspeople and minor merchants, perhaps. The streets were lit by magical lanterns that cast a soft blue glow, bright enough to navigate by but dim enough to leave plenty of shadows for someone who wished to remain unseen.
Now that he was within the city, the crystal amulet's warmth had increased noticeably. It still provided no specific direction, but its response confirmed that at least one of the individuals he sought was indeed in Olkaris.
Ithor needed information, and for that, he needed to find the kind of establishment where people talked freely — preferably with the assistance of alcohol. Every city had its taverns and gathering places where news and rumors flowed as freely as the drinks. The challenge would be finding one where an obvious outsider wouldn't attract too much unwanted attention.
He moved through the streets carefully, keeping to shadows and side alleys, gradually working his way toward what sounded like a more active area of the city. The noise of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter led him to a small square where several establishments were still open despite the late hour.
One in particular caught his attention — a modest tavern with a sign depicting a crystal goblet, its windows glowing with warm light. Unlike the more upscale establishments nearby, this one had a diverse clientele visible through its windows: not just Olkhar, but individuals from several of the seven races. A place where outsiders were welcome, then.
Ithor adjusted his cloak to better hide his Naruun features and the tribal markings that were still visible despite his efforts to obscure them. Then, adopting the slightly hunched posture of someone who doesn't want to be noticed rather than his natural hunter's stance, he entered the tavern.
The interior was warm and smoky, filled with the mingled scents of food, drink, and too many bodies in too small a space. Conversations created a constant background hum, punctuated by occasional laughter or the clink of glasses. No one paid particular attention to Ithor as he made his way to the bar — just another traveler seeking refreshment at the end of the day.
The barkeeper, a middle-aged Olkhar woman with the characteristic silver hair of her race, gave him a cursory glance as he approached. "What'll it be?" she asked, her tone neither friendly nor hostile — simply businesslike.
"Whatever's local," Ithor replied, keeping his voice low and his accent neutral. He placed a few coins on the counter — not too many, which might attract attention, but enough to show he could pay his way.
The barkeeper nodded and filled a mug from a nearby barrel, sliding it across to him. "Three copper. You passing through or staying a while?"
It was a casual question, the kind barkeepers everywhere asked new faces, but Ithor was careful with his response. "Depends on what I find here. I'm looking for work."
"What kind of work?" she asked, making change from his coins.
"I have skills with animals," Ithor said, which was true enough without revealing his Naruun background. "Hunting, tracking, that sort of thing."
The barkeeper seemed to accept this. "You might try the eastern quarter tomorrow. The guild halls there sometimes have postings for those kinds of skills. Though with all that's been happening lately, people aren't venturing outside the city walls much."
This caught Ithor's interest. "Oh? What's been happening?"
The woman glanced around, then leaned in slightly. "Strange things. Dead Zones forming where they never have before. One appeared right in the market square a few days ago — a perfect circle of nothing, right in the middle of the city. Never heard of such a thing."
Ithor kept his expression neutral despite his surprise. Dead Zones were wilderness phenomena, occurring in remote areas far from settlements. For one to form in the heart of a major city was unprecedented — and aligned with what the Sangor elder had told him about the cycle accelerating.
"That sounds... concerning," he said carefully. "Was anyone hurt?"
"No, thank the Dome," the barkeeper replied. "But it caused quite a stir. The royal guard cordoned off the area, and there are rumors that Prince Karel himself came to investigate."
"Prince Karel?" Ithor repeated, the name triggering a memory of what the Sangor elder had told him about an Olkhar prince who had manifested all seven gifts — a potential candidate for the Bearer.
"The regent's nephew," the barkeeper explained, misinterpreting his question as unfamiliarity with Olkhar royalty. "He just underwent his Awakening ceremony a few days ago. Caused quite a sensation, from what I hear. Some say he manifested more gifts than any Olkhar in history."
This was exactly the information Ithor had been hoping for. "Is that unusual?" he asked, feigning ignorance to keep the barkeeper talking.
She snorted. "Unusual? It's unheard of. Most Olkhar manifest one or two gifts at their Awakening. The royal line typically manifests five. But the rumors say Prince Karel manifested all seven - something that's never happened before."
All seven gifts. Just as the Sangor elder had described. The Bearer.
"Sounds like an important young man," Ithor commented, taking a sip of his drink to hide his intense interest.
"Important and closely guarded," the barkeeper said. "Especially after what happened at the Awakening ceremony."