A City of Light and Shadows

As Rosely and Jones drew closer to Solvigil, the massive golden gates became increasingly imposing. A colossal sun had been carved at the top of the gate, and beneath it, creatures writhed in agony under its light.

The gate stood half open. Several carriages were lined up outside, while what appeared to be knights clad in white-gold armor remained motionless at the entrance, holding large, ornate weapons at the ready.

It was certainly an intimidating sight, yet one that still managed to stir the curiosity of a boy so young. He used to play with sticks, pretending they were swords, alongside other children in his village. He frowned instinctively at the memory. It hurt. Childhood was already behind him.

Rosely seemed to sense these things. She pulled the boy closer against her body.

"It's alright, little one. They're a bit scary, but they're only here to guard the city's entrance," Rosely said with a smile so gentle that not even the large scar on her neck could diminish her beauty.

The three advanced slowly as the line of carriages moved into the city. The guards, encased in heavy armor, appeared to question the passengers. Once answers were given and approved, they were allowed to pass through the great gate.

Three wagons before Rosely, Jones, and the boy's turn, one of the soldiers stopped a small cart driven by two men, both seemingly in their early thirties.

"Halt. What are you carrying in that cart? All goods entering Solvigil must be uncovered and bathed in the light of the Lord of Light," said the soldier at the front.

"Sir, it's wild boar meat we hunted in the woods. We covered it with hide to keep the flies away. You're free to check, sir," replied the man holding the reins, his hands trembling like branches in a strong wind.

It was clear the people feared those soldiers. Even the others waiting in line seemed tense, afraid of what might happen to the two men. Jones himself avoided looking directly at the scene.

One of the soldiers approached the cart, sword in hand, and lifted the hide covering the cargo, revealing the roughly butchered meat and the boar entrails piled in a basket beside it. A smug smile was visible through the slit of one soldier's helmet.

The soldier who had questioned them grabbed both men by their shirts and slammed them to the ground with such force that the noise made the boy instinctively shrink in Rosely's arms.

"Please, sir… I need to take this meat to my family. We've been gone for a week. They're starving," begged the man on the ground, staring only at the soldier's boots.

The younger of the two, who had remained silent until then, didn't accept the situation as easily. He tried to rise, while the older man desperately tried to hold him down.

The younger man got to his feet, his nose bleeding after hitting the ground when he was thrown down. The older man still tried to pull him back, but at that moment the younger made a fatal decision.

He spat onto the armor of the soldier in front of him—a mixture of blood from his nose and phlegm dragged from his throat.

What followed took no more than an instant.

The soldier who had lifted the hide swung his blade in a single, clean motion—from one side of the neck to the other. The sword met no resistance as it sliced through bone and muscle. The head hit the ground with a dull thud.

The man who remained on the ground went into shock, his face frozen in a silent scream. The soldiers behind them laughed cruelly. The one who had delivered the killing blow kicked the man on the ground in the ribs, shoving him aside to clear the way for the other wagons.

What was strangest was that the people in line, despite the horror on their faces, didn't seem to find the act abnormal. They were as numb as the boy clutched in Rosely's arms.

The boy caught a glimpse of Jones's face beside him. Unlike the others, Jones clenched his teeth hard enough to draw blood. He looked as though he might seize his great axe and butcher every soldier there.

"Jones," Rosely said sharply.

Jones took a deep breath, forcing the impulse down.

The line moved forward again without further incident. The young man's body was tossed aside, while the other remained on the ground, sobbing. The cart was taken by one of the guards toward a barracks just inside the gate.

The boy stared at the blood still staining the stone, almost entranced—no doubt reminded of the blood spilled in his own village.

"Halt," ordered the guard before Rosely and Jones.

Both reached into their sleeves and produced what looked like wrist-watches—devices attached to thin chains wrapped several times around their wrists. The marks left by the links suggested the chains were tight, perhaps even warm.

"And what about that little rat?" the soldier asked, pointing at the boy.

"Witness to one of the attacks. We're taking him to headquarters," Jones replied without even looking at him.

The soldier seemed about to argue, but instead stepped aside.

"Move along, filth," he muttered, his expression one of disgust.

Jones bristled but said nothing. The three passed through the great gate.

Inside the city, the view was even more oppressive. Dark alleys lit by weak, flickering lamps. Nearly rotting wooden houses contrasted with the stone buildings of the upper district. At the center, the castle and the temple rose like towering spires—the castle imposing, yet overshadowed by the rays of sunlight bathing the temple, as though crowning a new king.

"So where to first? Headquarters, or do we stop at a tavern to wash down the taste of that travel slop?" Jones asked, rubbing his stomach.

"Let's go to the Black Flame first. The boy hasn't eaten since he woke up. He'll need strength for what comes next, and his leg seems stable for now," Rosely replied, still holding him.

Jones nodded, and they headed down a narrow alley running parallel to the city wall.

The stone pavement glistened with scattered rain. The stench was no better—citizens dumped their waste from the windows, which flowed along a shallow groove carved into the street for drainage.

Further down, they spotted a crowd—but not like the one at the gate. This gathering was strangely cheerful. People surrounded a large wooden building, remarkably well maintained for that part of the city. Above the entrance was a crude image of a fig tree engulfed in black flames, and beneath it a sign: **Black Flame Tavern**.

"I've always been amazed at how this place manages to mask the smell of shit in this city," Jones said, cracking his first smile since reaching Solvigil.

"Jones! Rosely! Thought you two went after those damn blood-drinkers!" shouted a faceless voice from the crowd.

The voice took shape as a middle-aged, completely bald man stepped forward, a rag as filthy as the street slung over his shoulder.

"Lucian, you bald bastard. Long time no see," Jones said, pulling him into a rough embrace.

"Good to see you, Lucian," Rosely said, without dismounting or loosening her hold on the boy.

"And what's that scrap of a person? Don't tell me you finally admitted you're a couple and had a kid," Lucian joked, laughing loudly enough to momentarily lift the city's oppressive mood.

Jones answered with a friendly punch to Lucian's stomach—hard enough to shut him up.

"He's a survivor from one of the attacks," Rosely said, dismounting and helping the boy down without letting his feet touch the ground, holding him close.

"No shit… I thought those Divergent sons of bitches didn't leave survivors. Tell me—was it really as bad as they say?" Lucian asked, his smile fading.

"Much worse," Jones muttered, low enough for the boy not to hear.

Rosely confirmed with a slight nod.

"Lucian, we'd like to get some food into him before heading to headquarters," Rosely said.

"I could use some of that filthy slop too—assuming it doesn't kill me this time," Jones added, resting his hands on Lucian's shoulders.

"I could probably steal Rose from you with my filthy slop alone," Lucian shot back, thumping Jones's chest.

Rosely let out a deep sigh—the first since the boy had woken—clearly exhausted by the two men.

Lucian pushed through the crowd, leading them inside the tavern.

Unlike the soldiers at the gate, the people inside the Black Flame greeted Jones and Rosely warmly, shouting cheerfully, their drunken voices amplified by whatever Lucian served there.

"Come in, come in! Mary'll be happy to see you too," Lucian said, weaving through the packed hall and into the kitchen.

"You lazy bald bastard, wandering around while the place is packed to the ceiling," snapped a broad, curly-haired woman behind the stove.

"I'm not wandering, you crazy old hag. Look who I brought," Lucian said, pointing at Rosely and Jones.

"Rose! By the sun, I thought I'd never see you again! It's been almost two months! Where have you two be—wait… what is this scrap of a person? He's nothing but skin and bone. Sit him down, now. I'll make a proper meal for this boy," Mary said, asking no questions and pointedly ignoring Jones.

Rosely seated the boy and sat beside him. Mary brought out a plate far too large for someone his size. The food was pleasant to the eye and to the nose—enough to momentarily forget they were in one of the foulest parts of the city.

The boy didn't eat at first. Only after noticing that Rosely was eating did he begin. For a brief moment, the shock seemed to fade. He devoured the meal as if there were no tomorrow.

Mary and Rosely watched with tenderness—especially Rosely, who was already growing attached to the boy.

"Women," Lucian muttered.

"Can't blame Rose, after what they took from her," Jones said, draining a mug of beer.

"That was the work of demons. I can't even imagine bloodsuckers doing something that cruel," Lucian said, frowning.

"You'd change your mind fast if you saw what we did these last two months," Jones replied darkly.

"I've heard stories, Jones. Travelers always exaggerate."

"They're not exaggerating this time. Entire villages wiped out. Bodies completely drained. Families torn apart. The boy's village looked like an old horror tale. They didn't just kill—they burned houses, mutilated bodies. Some didn't even bother drinking the blood. It felt like perverse entertainment, not a monster's instinct," Jones said, drinking as though trying to drown something at the bottom of the mug.

Lucian swallowed hard.

"If they attack the city, what do we do? We don't have enough Holy Hunters. And I doubt the Last Light Crusaders would care if the lower city fell."

"When have those fanatics ever helped anyone? We'll figure something out," Jones said, glancing at Rosely and the boy.

Hours passed. The three were fed, color returning to the boy's cheeks. He still hadn't spoken, but Rosely could clearly see the difference.

Mary didn't ask questions. She simply seemed happy her friend was there—alive and safe.

After some time, the three left the Black Flame. Mary and Lucian stood with arms around each other, watching as Rosely and Jones walked off toward the main street—likely toward the much-spoken-of headquarters.