Old Friend

The small town of Lys never seemed completely silent.

Even late at night, there was always the creak of poorly shut doors, a dog barking in some distant yard, hurried footsteps on uneven cobblestones. Small and surrounded by hills of dark pines that clustered together in the night like an army in formation, Lys slept under a sky of unmoving clouds, without wind, leaving the world suspended in an uneasy stillness.

The streets narrowed as they descended toward the river, dividing the residential quarters from the town’s modest center. Stone and timber houses lined the slopes in uneven rows, the roofs of the poorer homes dripping steadily after a recent rain. At the top of the main hill stood an old Orthodoxy church, with its slender tower and a bell that only rang on weekends — and not always at the right time.

Something about that night felt… wrong. The hidden moon, the cold mist crawling over the river like pale fingers. Shuttered windows gave the impression that the townsfolk preferred not to see whatever might be happening outside, and it was in this unfriendly atmosphere that Alana Kassler heard the knock on the door downstairs.

The private investigator lived alone above a hardware shop, in a two-room space: one for work, the other for sleeping. Piles of papers, empty bottles, and a small bookshelf filled most of the office, leaving only a scratched wooden desk, two chairs, and a low filing cabinet.

She took the oil lamp that cast a dim yellow glow across the room and moved toward the door leading to the stairs. Alana wore only a wrinkled white shirt, her black hair — normally tied back — hanging loose over her shoulders. At the second knock, she sighed, cursed under her breath, and grabbed the half-empty bottle from the desk.

“Open” she called out, her voice hoarse from drink.

The door creaked open, revealing the figure of Arcius, the local priest — and Alana’s childhood friend.

He was in his thirties, like her, but looked older thanks to deep circles under his eyes and a beard in need of trimming. He wore the black robe of a parish priest, the hem stained with mud — likely from the lowland paths he had taken to reach Alana’s crumbling office — and the rope belt at his waist sat loose, as if he had dressed in haste.

The iron medallion of the Weaver of the End hung dull and worn upon his chest.

Arcius’s pale blue eyes met Alana’s directly as he shut the door behind him, slow and cautious, as though afraid someone might be watching from the street. For a man so respected in the community, there was far too much fear in his eyes.

To the old ladies who spend every day in his church hiding under the hem of his robe, coming here must feel like stepping into a brothel. But the idiot doesn’t need to look so guilty out on the street — and with that face, no less. What does he think I am?!

“You shouldn’t be walking alone at this hour” Alana said aloud, keeping her thoughts to herself as she drank from the cheap wine bottle straight from the neck. “Lys is more dangerous than it used to be. If that’s even possible.”

“You tell me. As far as I remember, I’m not the one digging into this town’s filth.”

From the top of the stairs, she let out a rough laugh.

Arcius climbed slowly, as if carrying the weight of the Empire on his shoulders. Perhaps hearing the lurid confessions of his parishioners — most of them made up, in truth — took as heavy a toll on his health as he had once told her when he was newly ordained by a Vestal priestess from the Gran-Devana.

“I couldn’t sleep” he murmured, passing by Alana to sit in the chair opposite her desk. “Put some clothes on, Alana. Have a little modesty, for the gods’ sake.”

She ignored the remark, not even bothering to adjust the shirt to hide the undergarments peeking through, and sat behind the desk facing him.

“Nonsense, Ar. If the gods are as powerful as you claim, they see me naked every day. Down to the soul. I could take the rest off, you know. Seducing a priest would be quite the scandal. Might even get me kicked out of town for good.”

“I’d sooner throw myself from the window than see you naked, thank you kindly” he retorted, wiping a wooden cup with his sleeve before holding it out. “Pour me some of that wine, would you?”

Alana raised her eyebrows.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not as though priests are forbidden to drink” he shrugged. “But I couldn’t exactly be seen in a tavern. Not in Lys. So I came for a drink with my old friend Alana instead. Truth is, I haven’t been sleeping well at all. When I finally do fall asleep, the dreams… trouble me. Maybe a cup of wine before bed will do me some good.”

Alana frowned. It wasn’t unusual for Arcius to come by to see how she was doing. Even living such different lives, they met like this at least once a week.

He was Alana’s only real friend in this small town.

“You, dreaming? About what?”

He rubbed his face with both hands before answering.

“An eclipse. That lasted seven days.”

Alana was silent for a moment. Arcius wasn’t a man to frighten easily. They had grown up together, endured the same hardships, the same losses. She knew the weight of his faith.

“Seven days?” she asked at last.

“The entire town in darkness.” Arcius stared into nothing, his voice low.

Alana leaned back in her chair, arms crossed.

“And why haven’t you told the Orthodoxy authorities?”

He hesitated, then opened the leather satchel at his side and placed a small metal case on her desk, its edges engraved with the sacred symbols of all the gods.

“Because I don’t trust the Celestial Sanctuary” he said at last, voice firm now. “And because this was with me.”

Alana opened the case.

Inside, on worn velvet, lay an oval medallion of perfectly cut black stone. In its center, a vertical slit suggested a pupil, and when she tilted it under the lamplight, an inner gleam seemed to move within the stone, as if something alive stirred beneath the surface.

“The Eye of Ereth” the priest explained. “It’s been in Lys’s church since before my ordination. Legend says Ereth was a prophet before the Age of the Great Hero, who looked upon the heavens and lost his sanity. The monks kept this medallion of his, but I’ve never found out why in any text I’ve studied.”

“And why bring it to me?” Alana asked, studying the relic without touching it.

“Because every time the dream repeats” Arcius swallowed hard, “the medallion behaves like a real eye… It blinks. It opens. As though something on the other side were watching. As though it were alive.”

Alana drank another mouthful of wine, letting the acid burn down her throat before answering. Thinking always came easier with a little alcohol in her blood.

“What do you want, Arcius?”

“I need you to take it to Castra Devana, my friend. Deliver it to a group called the Convergence.”

“Why me?”

“You’re my friend — the only one I truly trust.” He looked at her in a way that made Alana feel like a child again, scolded by young Arcius for skipping chores or defying the adults. It was enough to make her glance away for a moment. “And you’re the cleverest person I know. If things go wrong, you’ll know what to do.”

They sat in silence for a while. Outside, distant footsteps echoed along the street, but neither looked toward the window.

“Remember when we used to fish in the river?” he asked suddenly. “You, me, and —”

“I remember” Alana cut in before he could finish.

They both knew how that sentence ended. They both knew why Alana lived the way she did, and why her friend worried so much for her. The name of the detective’s father hung unspoken in the air, daring neither to break it.

Arcius took a sip from the cup she had poured for him.

“After everything, I thought you’d want to leave this place behind.”

“I tried” Alana shrugged. “But Lys doesn’t let people go so easily.”

The priest ran a hand over his beard.

“You’ll take the Eye for me?”

“I will” she said, refilling their cups with a sigh. “Before my uncles and aunt show up. They’re due any day now, and I’d rather avoid the family chatter.”

The Eye of Ereth still lay on the desk, and even without touching it, Alana felt as though it were watching her. The wind carried the sound of the church bell — three slow chimes echoing across the damp night.

Lys felt even stranger than usual.

“Wait” Alana said suddenly, eyes on her old friend. “If you’re here, who’s at the church?”

Arcius sipped from his cup again, and a faint smile crept across his face, as though toasting one last time to their friendship.

“It’s too late for me, Alana.”