“Thank you, sir tainted. May I ask which house you belong to?”

  “Who's in the carriage?”

  “His Royal Highness the first prince, sir. Did you not hear my question?”

  Ethan moved towards the carriage, ignoring the presence of the Knight. He looked down towards his spoil, a Nightmare heart, something he assumed was of value. As he examined it, a blue color moved up the heart slowly, disintegrating it bit by bit. What the hell? Before he could even react, the heart was gone. A rune on the back of his hand glowed again before disappearing. What the fuck? Did this thing just eat the heart? Damn it. I'll figure it out later, no time right now. He moved towards the carriage.

  In the brass reflection, he saw a face he hadn't seen before. A gaunt, pale, boyish man with black eyes and long brown hair flowing down. He stepped back, getting a clearer view. He was of medium height but thin. And extremely young, way younger than Ethan’s actual age. This isn't my body. Its younger paler almost like a damn teenager. And I'm built like a twig. Was there really no other choice of body for me, god?

  “I must ask you to stop there. You aren't allowed in there.” The guard steps behind Ethan, gesturing towards his sheathed sword.

  “It's fine. Let him in.” A soft, muffled voice comes from inside the brass carriage.

  Ethan looks at the guard with a flat, almost dead stare before he entered the carriage. A tall man sat opposite him, his long silver hair draping over a coat of deep blue and gold. Despite the regal embroidery, his smile was surprisingly warm.

  A prince. He seems useful.

  “Are you a foreigner? The normal response for people is to bow and say how much it is an honor to meet me, but you don't seem to care. ” He snickered to himself.

  “Where I'm from, there is a concept called equivalent exchange. I assume it's the same here.”

  “Of course, such a noble act surely has its benefits. What do you desire?”

  “A ride to the nearest city. And money”

  “We're heading to the Bastion. You're welcome to come with us. And you shall be rewarded properly there. I don't carry silver around with me wherever I go. Does that satisfy you?” He raised his hand around his mouth and coughed twice.

  “It will work.”

  The prince opened the carriage door. Looking down at the confused knight waiting impatiently. “Henry. Continue to the Bastion.”

  “What about their bodies, sir?”

  “I'll make sure they get a proper burial and that their families are well compensated once we reach the city.”

  “Aye, my lord.” He closed the door and sat back down on the uncomfortable seating.

  “Now then. I think it's time for an introduction. First prince of the Radomir empire. Dorian Radomir.” He looks at Ethan with a spark of interest in his eyes.

  A name. This place seems close to medieval times, with Knights, Kings, and carriages roaming about. What name is normal for this place? He pauses, rummaging through his head, looking for a good name. I don't like it, but i'm gonna have to use what he gave me.

  “Victor H—-- The carriage jolted violently. Causing Him to take flight and almost bite his tongue.

  “I'm sorry for the bumpiness. We haven't exactly perfected this thing yet.”

  Ethan sighs tiredly. “Victor Hale”

  “Peculiar name. Seems Novarian. So I take it that's where you’ve come from. But what brings you to Radimir?”

  He really loves assuming things. Not that I'm complaining; it just makes my life easier.

  “I have my reasons,” Ethan replied.

  “You aren't the sharing type, it seems. Oh well, everybody has their secrets. But tell me, do you believe in fate?”

  Strange question. There is no fate, only action and consequences.

  “No”

  “That is the normal response. But it's not mine. See I believe that everything has a reason for happening. And this meeting is certainly one of those things.”

  “In what way?”

  “Once I got to the bastion, I would have had to find somebody both capable and unrelated to me. But here you are, the perfect man for what I need.”

  Ethan stays silent, waiting for Dorian to continue.

  “If you're willing, that is. Tell me your price.”

  I have no clue of the money system here, i guess the only thing i can really ask for is that.

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  “The heart of a grade two Chained. Can you provide that?”

  “That is a price too high, I'm afraid. This job isn't that demanding.”

  “Well then, set a price.”

  “A grade 1 artifact. The gloves of strength that is the most I can give, so do you accept?” Dorian puts his gloved hand out towards Ethan.

  Whatever an artifact is must be valuable, and I see nothing wrong with getting in the good graces of a prince. I can just leave anyway if things go wrong, I see no reason to decline

  “I accept. At least, for now.” Ethan said as he grabbed Doriam’s hand firmly and shook it.

  Dorian shines brightly with a delighted expression. “I need you to gain the trust of the consortium. And pay them 600 silver coins in exchange for the answer to this question: Is there a device that can replace a Tainter in the ruins?”

  “Where am I meant to find this consortium?”

  "Just say this sentence without the pauses. The one who deals in shadows unseen, who knows the truths that remain between. The herald of knowledge, I beseech you, enlighten me." Dorian said, adding a large pause between each word.

  “They will find you and test you. As long as you pass their test, you will be allowed access to their services.”

  They sound like a cult. Not sure if i want to get too involved with them.

  “Do the gods not care about the consortium?”

  “Oh, they have been trying to eliminate them for ages. But they are just far too slippery. And since you're a foreigner, you probably don't know, but I'm not considered a friend of the houses either. Although, at least I'm not an enemy.” He sighs.

  “We're at the bastion, sir.” The muffled voice of a knight pierces through the wooden walls.

  “Stop here,” Dorian shouts back.

  “You will get off here. Get a room at an inn. My people will find you and bring the silver you need. 200 is for you, while the rest is payment for the consortium.”

  Is he trying to get rid of me?

  “I need a guarantee.”

  "I don’t have guarantees to give. If you can’t extend the same trust I’ve shown you, then perhaps this partnership isn’t meant to be."

  Not much I can do, it seems.

  “Fine”

  Ethan stepped off the carriage landing on the dirt road. He looked towards his right. Giant stone walls surround the city. The road leads to a wooden gate guarded by several guards.

  Dorian poked his head out and said, “Henry give him whatever silver you have on you.”

  “Yes, lord.” The knight reached into the pouch strapped to his belt. Pulling out 20 silver coins. He put his hand out towards Ethan, gesturing for him to grab it. He snatched the coins out of the man's hand.

  “That should cover your expenses for the night. I expect your mission to be done by next Sunday. Three days should be enough, right? For now, however, goodbye.” Dorian closes the door.

  Sunday? Does this place use the same time system as back home?

  Henry spurred on the horses, forcing the carriage into motion.

  Ethan trudged through the muddy roads towards the walled city.

  ....

  “Good evening, sirs,” Ethan said as he moved towards the door.

  “Stand there. We need to check for any contraband.” A knight puts his palm out in front of Ethan.

  I'm pretty sure I have nothing on me.

  The guards pat Ethan down and check his pockets.

  “Gods you stink like a rat's ass. Get a wash, you wretch,” the Knight sighs and shakes his head. “He's clear. Go on then.”

  He walked through the gate. The smell of feces, wood, and urine invaded his nostrils as he looked around the city. Shoddily made houses and stalls made out of wood and stone cluttered the city. And giant stone walls closed in on them. The streets were quiet and dark barely anybody was out at this time. The only real sign of life were the guards patrolling around with torches.

  As Ethan walked around, he noticed a two story wooden building with a sign saying “Whitehall Inn.” Inscribed upon it. He walked up to the reeky wooden door and pushed it slightly. The door slowly opened with a loud creak. The smell of alcohol and meat washed over him as he stepped into the inn.

  Two large wooden tables with chairs surrounding them are in the middle of the room. Five people were hunched over at the table and eating various foods and making loud, almost abrasive, conversation with each other. Despite their differences in race, stature, or wealth, they all shared a singular thing. A symbol inscribed on their gear. A fist armored in heavy gauntlets aimed upwards.