UMBRA-TE

  Chapter 2: The Gates of Myridian

  The walls of Myridian were not made of stone alone.

  They were made of fear.

  Kaelen watched the towers rise before him, embedded atop a cliff like the teeth of a sleeping beast. The Eternal Light — a radiant pillar that stretched into the sky — bathed the battlements in a sickly blue glow, keeping the Sea of Shadows at bay.

  For now.

  He stopped a hundred steps from the main gate. Not out of caution.

  Out of habit.

  There was always a line. Always guards. Always that look of disgust when they saw his torn clothes, his pale skin, the hollow eyes of someone who had spent too long outside.

  The cursed entered last.

  Kaelen sat on a rock and waited. Behind him, the mist began to thin as it retreated from the artificial light. Ahead, merchants dragged carts piled with scrap — remnants salvaged from the ruins. Hunters carried the carcasses of small creatures, valued for their bones and venom glands.

  No one looked at him.

  He preferred it that way.

  As he waited, Kaelen placed a hand over his chest, where the Mark of the Eclipse pulsed beneath the dirty fabric. A dark stain shaped like an inverted crescent moon, seeming to swallow the light around it. Since childhood, he had learned to hide it.

  If the guards saw it, entry would be denied.

  Or worse.

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  "Well, well," a rough voice cut through his thoughts. "More swamp trash."

  Kaelen looked up.

  Two men stared down at him. Hunters, judging by the smell of dried blood on their clothes. The taller one spat near his feet.

  "Lost, boy? Trash goes through the back gate. Same place as the pigs."

  The other laughed.

  Kaelen said nothing.

  It wasn't worth it.

  "Deaf too?" the man stepped closer. "Stand up when I talk to you."

  Kaelen rose slowly, keeping his hands visible. Not because he feared them — but because he felt the temperature drop slightly.

  His shadow, cast by the Eternal Light behind him, began to stretch toward the men.

  Not now, he thought sharply. If you cause trouble, I'll pay for it.

  The shadow hesitated.

  Then returned to normal.

  The hunter hadn't noticed. He was too busy trying to look intimidating.

  "Get lost before I teach you some respect."

  Kaelen looked away and walked toward the back entrance, as suggested. Not out of submission.

  Out of strategy.

  Fighting idiots at the city gate was a fast way to attract attention.

  But as he moved away, he heard one of them mutter:

  "Strange... that kid's shadow..."

  Kaelen quickened his pace.

  The back gate was a narrow slit in the wall, guarded by two bored sentries. The line was short: half a dozen thin figures with deep eye circles and ragged clothes.

  The rejected.

  The cursed.

  "Name?" one guard growled without looking up.

  "Kaelen."

  "Occupation?"

  "Scavenger."

  The guard lifted his head, studying him with tired eyes.

  "How long outside?"

  "Three days."

  A lie.

  It had been nearly a week. But telling the truth would mean a longer quarantine.

  The guard grunted and nodded.

  "Seven days quarantine in the Cursed District. Don't leave. Cross the line, the Watchers shoot. You understand?"

  "Yes."

  "Go."

  Kaelen stepped through the gate.

  Myridian swallowed him whole.

  The city was a sick organism.

  Narrow streets. Buildings stacked upon one another.

  People crammed into every space. The Cursed District lay in the lower levels, where the Eternal Light arrived weak and filtered through layers of soot and hanging cloth. There, the mist of the Sea of Shadows still lingered — thin, stubborn.

  Kaelen knew the way.

  He crossed alleys, passed thin children playing with bones, old men selling questionable herbs, women washing clothes in filthy water. No one spoke to him.

  Here, everyone survived as they could.

  He stopped before a low building with a crooked sign reading:

  "The Last Glow."

  A tavern. Or something close to one.

  He pushed the door open.

  The smell of burnt grease and sweat greeted him first. Then the stares — quick, calculating, indifferent. Kaelen walked to the counter, where a bald, sweating man wiped a cup with a cloth dirtier than the cup itself.

  "Kaelen," the man said without surprise. "You survived again."

  "It happens, Gorgo."

  "The usual?"

  "Clean water and whatever food you've got."

  Gorgo jerked his chin toward the back.

  "Sit. We'll settle later."

  Kaelen turned to find an empty corner — then stopped.

  At a nearby table, a hooded figure watched him.

  The face was hidden, but the posture was straight, different from the others. Gloved hands rested calmly on the table.

  And even so, Kaelen felt it.

  The Mark burned in his chest.

  For a brief moment, he swore his shadow — cast by the dim lantern light — leaned toward the figure as if it recognized them.

  The hooded figure made a small gesture.

  A subtle wave.

  As if to say: sit.

  Kaelen hesitated.

  The Mark burned hotter.

  End of Chapter 2