Page 58 of Shadowvein

Something twists inside me. This place was once familiar, a haven of neutrality where information flowed freely and goods changed hands without scrutiny. I knew every pathway, every tavern keeper, every merchant who could be persuaded to speak of matters beyond their wares. Now it's a stranger wearing a familiar name.

At the town’s center stands a structure that wasn’t there before. A building bearing the Authority’s symbol, its white stone gleaming in the sun. A muscle ticks in my jaw. Twenty-seven years, carved in stone and mortar. Twenty-seven years of their order spreading like a stain across what was once untamed. I search for traces of the Ravencross I knew—the crooked streets, the mismatched buildings raised by necessity rather than design. They're buried beneath this new vision, this Authority-approved replacement.

“The Authority’s presence has grown stronger in my absence.” I can’t hide the hard edge in my voice. “They’ve rooted themselves here. Once, this was a neutral border settlement. Now it bears their mark.”

The river still flows as it always has, cutting through the town's heart, but even its banks have been tamed—stone reinforcements where once there were only natural shorelines. Like everything theAuthority touches, the wild heart has been contained, controlled, redirected to serve their purpose.

It complicates everything. A permanent foothold means tighter control. Increased security. The flow of information I came to find will be harder to access …ifit exists at all.

“Is it safe for us to go there?”

Her question pulls me back to our immediate situation. I calculate risks against necessities, weighing what little I know against what I must discover.

“I’m unlikely to be recognized after this long. If the Authority believes me still confined within the tower, they have no reason to be looking for me.” I nudge my mount forward, pushing down the unfamiliar disorientation. This town holds memories—strategy meetings in hidden rooms, whispered intelligence passed over drinks, plans made and unmade. All ghosts now. “Unless they know it's fallen.”

We rejoin the main road as it approaches the western gate of Ravencross. The path widens, evidence of frequent use by trading caravans. Other travelers appear as we near the town. Farmers bring produce to market, craftspeople with tools and materials, citizens whose business takes them in and out of the town’s walls.

My gaze sweeps the outer boundary, cataloging changes. This is no longer a remote outpost. The town has grown—fortified walls, a standing gate, an organized flow of traffic. Order imposed where once there was only freedom of passage. Two guards stand at the entrance, wearing the green uniform of the town watch rather than Authority crimson. They process new arrivals with bored expressions,checking documentation and collecting small entrance fees from merchants bearing goods.

Behind a mask of casual observation, I mourn what's been lost. Not just a strategic position, but something less tangible. This was the last place in these borderlands where freedom meant something. Where people spoke without looking over their shoulders.

Where shadows weren't something to fear.

I straighten in the saddle. What's done is done. The Ravencross I knew exists only in memory, and memories won't serve my purpose now. Only what lies ahead matters. What can be used, what must be overcome. The Authority has remade this place in their image, but they haven't won yet. Not while I still draw breath.

“Let me handle this.” I draw my hood up. “Say nothing.”

The older of the two guards straightens as we approach, his gaze moving to our sandstriders. Such mounts were always rare in the mountain regions before. From his expression they still are.

“State your business.” His hand rests casually on his sword hilt.

“Resupply and information.” I keep my tone respectful but firm. “We’ve traveled from the western territories.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Documentation?”

“Lost during our journey.” I inject an apologetic note to my voice. “Bandits in the lower passes. We were fortunate to escape with our mounts and lives.”

He studies us both, gaze lingering on Ellie whose coloring and features mark her as unmistakably foreign to the region. Before he can speak again, a merchant approaches with a heavily laden cart, and an impatient huff.

“Two coppers entrance fee,” he says finally, apparently deciding we’re not worth delaying other traffic. “Another two for the mounts. Small blades must be peace-bound while inside the walls.”

I produce the copper coins from the pouch given to me by the desert nomads.

“We have no weapons.”

He gives us one more glance over, then waves us through.

“The Crossroads Inn offers fair prices for travelers. Follow the main street to the central square, and make sure you get your documents replaced before you leave.”

We guide our sandstriders into Ravencross, their scaled feet clicking against cobblestones worn smooth by years of traffic. The main thoroughfare teems with people. Merchants shouting prices that echo off the stone walls, their voices competing in a chaotic symphony of commerce. Craftspeople hammer metal and shape wood in open-fronted stores, the clanging and sawing creating a backdrop to the constant flow of people.

The smells strike first, layered and inescapable. Fresh bread. Charred meat. Hot oil sweat. Livestock. Smoke. Each scent distinct, yet tangled together, pressing in from all sides. After years confined to one small room, and silence, the sensory onslaught is almost dizzying.

But I do not falter. I breathe it in slowly,carefully. I let it pass through me. It’s too much, and yet not unfamiliar. Once this was mine. A domain beyond the Authority’s grasp. A crossing point, a sanctuary. Now their white-stone edifice looms over the market square, visible from every approach, casting its shadow not only across the town, but also across the memory of what I once was.

Ellie’s eyes are wide, flitting from stall to stall, from movement to color to sound. She shifts in the saddle, her spine stiff. For someone from another world, even this modest town must feel like a siege on the senses. It makes me wonder whathertowns are like. What their silence sounds like.

“Stay close.” I guide my sandstrider forward. “Ravencross always welcomed trade from all regions. But with the changes I’m seeing, and the Authority presence, I suspect strangers no longer pass without notice.”

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