The forest stirred with dawn. Mist curled between the trees, and somewhere in the distance, footsteps pounded up the hill — a figure running, vanishing into the pale light.
Francis woke with a start. Beside him, a man with red hair lay sleeping, his breath steady, his face softened by dreams. Francis leaned close, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before rising. He dressed quietly, the weight of unfinished duty pressing against his chest.
Stepping outside, he called softly into the forest, a waking call that echoed through the greenery. The air smelled of pine and damp soil. He sighed, gazing at the endless expanse, remembering what awaited him.
Inside the inn, the dining area buzzed with hushed voices. Francis sat, listening.
"Hey, did you hear what happened in the—" one man began.
"Oh, yeah," another replied quickly. "I heard the family is in turmoil. Two heirs dead. It's only a matter of time before the fourth brother appears. Devastating."
The words hung heavy, like smoke.
Chimes rang faintly as Francis sipped his drink, his eyes drifting toward the receptionist. "So… any news?" he asked, voice low.
The receptionist shook his head. "No. I think they're never coming. Or so it seems."
Francis rose, his chair scraping against the floor. He left without another word.
Outside, the town was alive with chaos. Papers were tapped onto walls, headlines screaming of the murders of the two heirs. Citizens whispered, their faces pale, their voices trembling. A mourning party passed through the streets, black banners trailing, grief spilling into the air.
Francis climbed into his carriage, the wheels creaking as it lurched forward. His eyes narrowed, his resolve hardening.
He was heading out — beyond the town, beyond the borders. Toward the edge of Somalia. Toward the truth.
Whatever had happened to Colden, he would find it.
TO BE CONTINUED…
NEXT CHAPTER ON 4th March 2026