Chapter 28 — Rumors Learn to Bite
(Shadeblade POV)
Portscab didn't shout when it learned your name.
It whispered.
I noticed it first in the way people looked away a fraction too late. Not fear — not yet — but recognition forming and being buried in the same breath. Like a word on the tongue that shouldn't be spoken aloud.
The city was adjusting to me.
That realization sat heavier than my bruises.
We moved through the Lower Hook in loose formation. No urgency. No confidence either. Just enough spacing to look like people who belonged here — which, in Portscab, was a lie everyone told.
Bran cracked his neck. "Feels different."
"It is," Mira said quietly. "No one's asking who we are anymore."
Selia glanced at a vendor who abruptly found his shoe fascinating. "They already know."
That bothered me more than open hostility.
I shifted my grip on the sword, the leather worn smooth where my palm rested. The mask stayed in place — bone-white, cracked, familiar. It wasn't hiding my face anymore.
It was defining it.
A pair of dockworkers stopped talking as we passed. One of them muttered something under his breath.
"…that's him."
I pretended not to hear.
Volrag's voice surfaced, unwelcome but steady.
> "When your name becomes a shortcut, boy, people stop seeing you. They see the idea instead."
I hated how accurate that felt.
We reached a narrow square where stalls pressed in from all sides. Cloth canopies flapped lazily above, hiding eyes as much as goods. Mira slowed, pretending to inspect a rack of tools while listening.
Selia didn't pretend. She leaned against a post, gaze unfocused, attention everywhere.
Lysara stood a step behind me, silent as ever. Her presence was easy to forget — which I suspected was intentional.
Korran watched the square like a chessboard already mid-game.
"This isn't random," he said quietly. "The rumors are being guided."
My stomach tightened. "By who?"
"That's the problem," Mira replied. "Everyone. And no one."
A boy ran past us, nearly colliding with my shoulder before darting away. I caught a glimpse of wide eyes, excited, scared.
"Skeleton!" someone whispered behind a stall. "Trip for us!"
Laughter followed. Nervous. Curious.
I kept walking.
Bran leaned toward me. "If you trip now, I'm charging them admission."
"Don't tempt the ground," I muttered.
We turned into a narrower street — quieter, darker. Less audience.
That's when I felt it.
Pressure.
Not killing intent. Not danger.
Expectation.
Three figures waited ahead. Not blocking the road — just standing there, as if they'd been part of the scenery all along. Mercenaries, but different from before. No coordinated stance. No readiness.
Observers.
One of them stepped forward. A woman, scar across her jaw, eyes sharp. "Shadeblade."
I stopped.
The group stopped with me.
She nodded once, respectful. "You're being discussed."
"I imagined," I said.
"You shouldn't," she replied. "That's when it gets dangerous."
Selia tilted her head. "You here to threaten us?"
"No," the woman said. "To warn you."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "People are placing bets. Not on whether you live. On how long before you slip."
Bran frowned. "Slip how?"
She smiled thinly. "Everyone falls eventually."
Her gaze flicked briefly — briefly — to Korran.
Then she stepped back.
"Portscab eats patterns," she continued. "You're becoming one."
With that, she and her companions melted away.
Silence returned.
I exhaled slowly.
"That," Selia said, "was unsettling."
Mira nodded. "She wasn't lying."
Korran finally looked at me. "You're being tested without being touched."
"Feels worse," I admitted.
We moved on.
The city felt closer now. Walls leaning in. Sounds muffled. Even my own steps sounded louder than they should have.
I focused on Volrag's fundamentals.
Balance. Timing. Awareness.
No magic.
No shortcuts.
Just me and the sword.
A stone shifted under my boot.
I froze.
Everyone froze.
The stone rolled harmlessly aside.
I hadn't tripped.
Bran grinned. "Look at that. Growth."
"Don't celebrate," I said. "The day I stop tripping is the day something worse happens."
Selia laughed softly. "You're learning Portscab's rhythm."
"I don't like its tempo," I replied.
We reached a crossroads where three districts met — merchants, docks, and something older beneath. Mira slowed again.
"Something's wrong," she murmured.
I felt it too.
Eyes watching from places that shouldn't hold them. A sense of… alignment. As if pieces were being nudged into place.
A hooded man brushed past me.
Too close.
My hand twitched.
He whispered as he passed, "Next time, fall harder."
I spun.
He was gone.
Cold crept up my spine.
Selia was instantly alert. Bran's humor vanished. Korran's expression didn't change — which worried me more.
"That wasn't a threat," Mira said slowly. "That was confidence."
"Someone knows my pattern," I said.
"Yes," Korran agreed. "And they're waiting for it to fail."
Lysara shifted slightly behind me — the only sign she'd reacted at all.
The city noise returned slowly as we exited the crossroads. Laughter. Shouting. Life pretending nothing had happened.
But I knew better now.
Portscab wasn't laughing with me anymore.
It was watching.
Counting.
Waiting for the moment my luck, my clumsiness, my improvised survival finally betrayed me.
I tightened my grip on the sword.
I won't give it that moment.
Not yet.