The Beastbinder's Ascension

Chapter 108: The Town Watches Back


The morning mist in Westridge Hollow hung low, clinging to rooftops and spirit-lamps like draped gauze. Every sound—boots against gravel, the occasional cough, the rustle of market cloth—was quieter here, like the town didn't trust echoes.

Aston—no, Narec Vale—blended with that quiet.

He moved like a shadow clothed in patience, his routine stitched into invisibility.

Each morning, he exited the modest room he'd rented above a tea seller's shop, carrying a satchel that held only a single core flare marker and a forged maintenance kit for beast-related trappings. The persona he wore—a mid-tier drifter with a quiet demeanor—fit well. No one questioned a man who paid on time and asked nothing.

He took breakfast at the corner vendor near the dry well—rice rolls and spirit-leaf tea—then circled the market square once, appearing to glance over beast gear, but actually tracing the routes of local enforcers and mapping line-of-sight from every stall.

[Observation log updated.]

Nova's quiet pings were his metronome. By mid-morning, Aston had charted the angles from the apothecary's side alley and the rear of the incense stall—ideal if he needed a short escape path.

At noon, he circled by the warehouse he'd marked earlier.

Still no glyphs. Still a simple lock.

Too simple.

But someone had swept the ground recently. The dust pattern was off—curved strokes around the hinge, not from foot traffic but deliberate brushing. Someone didn't want tracking powder to work here.

Aston ducked into a shaded porch corner and nibbled on dried fruit as he studied interactions.

The warehouse received visitors irregularly—never the same person twice. One wore a courier's coat, another arrived with a bag that looked far too light for its size. Each stayed no more than five minutes. None carried goods in or out.

It wasn't a trade post. It was a checkpoint.

Relay cache, maybe. Or something worse.

Then came the encounter.

Late afternoon, while seated at a bench near the abandoned shrine, Aston noticed a man with burnished armor plates and a crooked scar walking along the western road. The man paused near the tavern—looked directly at Aston.

Too directly.

Not suspicion. Recognition.

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Aston's mind ticked through possibilities.

Had this identity been leaked? No. Erin's network was solid. Then… the mask? Is he above the garter's strength threshold?

He didn't react. Just nodded slightly, the way a traveler might to another stranger.

The man tilted his head.

Then walked over.

"East Reaches?" he asked, voice dry and gravel-lined.

Aston blinked once. "You know it?"

"I've passed through. You don't have the accent."

Aston smiled, a tired, travel-worn expression. "Spent more time on the move than at home."

The man studied him for three full seconds. Gray, tucked under the bench, didn't stir—but Mirage, cloaked above in the shrine's ruined beams, tensed slightly.

Then the man smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Well, good luck staying dry tonight. Weather turns fast up here."

He walked away.

Aston stood after a minute and turned toward the market again—more visible now, to throw off the scent.

He's probing new arrivals.

It wasn't a mistake to be noticed. It was inevitable.

What mattered now was keeping pace.

That evening, Aston altered his route slightly. He avoided the inn tavern and instead bought a bottle of weak spirit-wine from a roadside vendor and sat along the terrace wall, watching the hollow light up with ghostly blue lanterns as dusk settled in.

Below him, the false town lived its false life.

[Two new arrivals detected at warehouse. One bore a sealed crate, core traces unregistered.]

Nova's report appeared over his vision.

Aston tracked the movement through the rooftop pattern he'd memorized. No one lingered. No one talked. All rehearsed. All controlled.

This wasn't just a smuggling op.

It was a veil.

And now he was walking into it.

He waited until full nightfall before returning to his room, setting a spirit-thread across the door frame. Not a trap—just a tell.

Nothing touched it.

He lay down on the stiff mattress and stared at the cracked ceiling.

Gray curled at his side. Mirage folded into a corner shadow, wings hidden.

He whispered, "Day one complete. No mistakes. But they're watching."

Nova's response was a soft hum.

[Warning: Five hours of Seraphis Shed usage logged. Remaining safe period: 1 hour.]

Aston exhaled.

"I'll remove it after lights-out."

He stared into the darkness, feeling the slight pressure of his borrowed face. It hadn't fused—but it was beginning to whisper.

He could almost hear it—Narec Vale, beast tamer from the East Reaches. Likes his tea bitter. Has a limp on rainy days. Never draws his beast unless paid first.

The mask was writing a man who didn't exist.

I have to stay myself.

He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. The first day of surveillance is over.

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