Date: April 6, 541, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
The morning after the saber-toothed cat hunt brought Dur not only well-deserved rest, but also a strange, lingering feeling of discomfort. Ligra seemed to have changed its tone towards him. Before, he had been just a shadow among shadows, an unnoticed hunter in a worn cloak. Now, as soon as he stepped over the threshold of their new cubbyhole above the tannery, he felt gazes on his skin.
Whispers followed him in the bread queue: "Look, it's that guy… Horn's man," "The one who took down the mountain devil with one shot," "Shadow of the Eagle…". For the townsfolk, he had become a hero, a symbol that the Agrim guard was truly capable of protecting their way of life. But for Dur, this attention was like a bright bonfire in the night forest—beautiful, warm, but revealing your location to every predator in the vicinity.
Maël returned to the refuge around noon. He hadn't brought food, though he'd promised. He slipped through the door, instantly bolted it, and pressed his back against the wood, breathing heavily and rapidly. His usually lively, ironic face was now pale as candle wax.
"We're being tailed, Dur," he breathed out, not looking at his friend. "Professionally. Coldly. By all the rules of the 'Inner Circle.'"
Dur, sitting by the window fletching arrows, froze. "Who? Horn's guard?"
"If only," Maël jerked his shoulder nervously. "Horn's a guard dog, he barks loud. The ones on us now—they're invisible wolves. I spotted the first at the Three Sisters fountain. An ordinary water carrier, but he wasn't looking at the coins, he was looking at my boots. I saw the second in a mirror shop—he followed me for three blocks, changing his gait."
Maël went to the table and began frantically gathering his few belongings. His hands trembled finely. Dur noticed the haze around his friend's fingers beginning to shimmer again—the Spirit of Adaptability was awakening from the high stress level, forcing Maël's body to seek escape routes.
"We need to leave," Maël spoke rapidly. "Right now. Over the roofs to the southern drains. I know a place in the slums behind the market, they won't find us there. We need to lie low, Dur. Stop sticking out. Your feats with the cats and saboteurs have made us too… too bright. We're burning like torches in a cellar."
Dur slowly stood up. He looked at his bow, then at the copper token lying on the table. The eagle on the copper glinted dully, as if mocking them. "No," Dur said firmly.
Maël froze, half an old map stuffed into his bag. "What do you mean 'no'? Dur, you don't understand. If these are Sarim's people… if they've connected you and me…"
"Exactly," Dur interrupted him. "If we run now, we confirm everything they suspect about us. Who runs? A criminal. Someone with something to hide."
Dur walked over to Maël and placed his heavy, calloused palm on his shoulder, forcing the lad to calm down. "In the forest, when a predator picks up your trail, you have two choices. Run until you drop from exhaustion, and then it eats you. Or hide in plain sight, acting like you're part of the forest, and you're the master here."
"This is a city, Dur!" Maël burst out, nearly shouting. "There's no forest here! Here, every stone is someone's informer!"
"Here, there are rules," Dur countered calmly. "I'm an official guard tracker. I have a token signed by Horn. I have gold earned from honest work. If we disappear now, Horn will put out a search. And then we'll be hunted not by three professionals from the 'circle,' but by every patrolman in Ligra. We'd trap ourselves with our own hands."
Maël sank helplessly onto the stool, clutching his head. "Logic… damned forest logic. You're suggesting we just… sit here and wait for them to knock on the door?"
"I'm suggesting we become doubly cautious, but not change our rhythm of life," Dur sat down opposite his friend. "You'll go to the market, but act like a tracker's assistant. Be nervous, grumble about prices, be ordinary. I'll go to Horn for a new assignment. We need to show them we're just two guys trying to earn bread and ale. There's no such thing as the uncatchable, Maël. There are only those who are boring to catch."
Maël raised his head. His gaze became more focused. His Spirit, adapting to Dur's calmness, began to subside, returning clarity to his body. "'Boring to catch'…" he repeated. "You want us to become everyday trash to them."
"Exactly. Your problem, Maël, is that you're afraid. And your fear smells stronger than yesterday's tripe at the market. They smell your fear, and it makes them dig deeper. Stop being afraid—and you'll become transparent to them."
Maël was silent for a long time, looking at the candle flame flickering in the draft. In this tiny cubbyhole, their fate was being decided. A mistake in tactics could cost them their freedom, and possibly their lives.
"You're right," Maël finally whispered. "Running is an admission of guilt. I just… I've been used to disappearing at the slightest threat for too long. In my family… in the places where I grew up, it was the only way to survive."
Dur noted the "in my family" mentally, but didn't ask questions. Not now. "We stay," Dur concluded. "But from now on: no more tavern visits together. No more loud jokes. And if you spot a tail—don't weave. Go home, buy some cabbage on the way, curse at a neighbor. Be Ligra, Maël. Become this stone."
Maël nodded, his face assuming a mask of resolve. "Alright. I'll be a 'dirty city assistant.' But Dur… be careful with Horn. He might not know who's tailing us, but he's no fool. If he figures out you're using his token as a shield, he'll cut our throats himself."
Dur looked at his knife. "Horn values results. As long as I bring him saboteurs' heads and cats' hides, I'm the best tool in his arsenal. And tools in Ligra are taken care of."
That evening, they didn't celebrate. Dur trained in the darkness, honing his knife movements, while Maël sat by the window, transformed into a motionless shadow. They had made a pact with the city—a pact of inconspicuousness. But Dur knew: the price of this inconspicuousness was rising with every hour. Ligra had begun its game, and the rules were changing on the fly. Now they were being watched not just out of curiosity, but with a specific purpose. And that purpose, Dur suspected, was not him at all, but the one who sat beside him now, trying to merge with the gray plaster of the wall.