The guards didn't reach for their weapons.

Not yet, at least.

They simply stared—bewildered, and uncertain at the girl walking calmly toward them with a skull nestled in her arms like some kind of porcelain doll. She gave a polite nod as she approached.

The shorter of the two stepped forward. "State your name and purpose," he said, trying to sound firm, though his grip on the spear was far from confident.

Enya opened her mouth to speak, but Pell beat her to it.

"Her name is irrelevant," he said, his voice hollow and resonant from within the bone. "She's a noble from a distant province on a sanctioned journey."

Both guards blinked.

Their gazes dropped to the skull. One took a half-step back. The taller one squinted, uncertain if this was a prank or a cursed object about to explode.

Pell continued before either could panic. "We'll be staying no more than a day or two. Her master has sent her on an errand to Eiyuria. She simply needs rest and supplies."

The shorter guard frowned. "You—uh... you're speaking. But you're a skull."

"Correct. I am a crafted artifact," Pell replied evenly. "The young lady is a Paragon of Crafting. One of the youngest the continent has seen, if we're being generous."

Their eyes widened.

"A... a Paragon?" the tall one asked. "She's, what, eleven? Twelve?"

"She's…" Pell's expression froze. He didn't actually know what her age was. "Don't you know its rude to ask a woman her age?"

The guard's eyes narrowed. "Ah… sorry."

Enya said nothing. She kept her expression neutral, tilting her head slightly at the interaction.

The guards looked at each other. Nervous and meek. Poorly armed, by Pell's estimation—standard chainmail, no visible enchantments, and their boots looked worn through. The town itself didn't look like it could afford more. It might have been even poorer than Eiyuria.

They probably wouldn't stay for long.

The two guards shared another long look. One of them whispered something to the other—something about not wanting to risk offending some noble. They had surely noticed the clothing Enya wore that was of utmost quality.

Finally, they both stepped slightly to the side.

"You can go in," the shorter one said, lowering his spear. "Just... don't cause trouble."

"We won't," Enya replied politely.

"If you're staying longer than a day or two," the taller one added, "stay inside after dark. Especially past ten."

Enya frowned. "Why?"

The guards did not answer right away.

Their posture didn't change, but something else did. Their expressions remained neutral, but their tone dulled and flattened, like something had quietly pressed the life out of their voices. They had changed into completely different people.

"No one is allowed outside past ten," the shorter one said. "It's the law of the village."

Neither of them blinked. The the taller guard nodded, waved his hand toward the gate, and spoke again in that same muted voice.

"You may enter. Welcome to Darsmouth."

Enya walked forward. She said nothing more, but her eyes remained fixed on the pair as she passed between them.

Pell didn't notice. Or, if he did, he gave no indication. His sockets glowed faintly, but his attention was already moving toward the layout of the town—where the shops were, whether there were any inns, and which corners might have posted notices or merchants.

But Enya noticed something.

It wasn't in their words or their stance. It was in the shift. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there was something definitely there. Was it her passive perception that let her know? Or was she simply imagining things?

Enya and Pell walked along the worn cobblestone sidewalks.

The village of Darsmouth was quiet. Not silent, but subdued. Voices lingered low, conversations rarely raised above what was needed. The scent of firewood and damp straw hung in the air; boots and sandals shuffled across muddy paths lined with uneven cobblestones.

Enya walked slowly, cradling Pell's skull against her chest as her eyes moved across the town's buildings.

They were small and plain—wood, dark stone, and a kind of pale gray mortar that flaked at the corners. Unlike Talo, which gleamed with smooth white facades and glass-pane windows, Darsmouth was drenched in shades of brown and black. Roofs slouched slightly, some patched with cloth or moss. Paint was rare, and when it existed, it was peeled.

People passed by with hunched shoulders and quiet steps. Most wore simple white or beige tunics, the sort dyed from cheap fibers. A few had better garments—cleaner vests, worn jackets, small hints of dull metal pins—but nothing Enya wouldn't have already seen from nobles in Talo.

Even the air felt different here.

She had grown used to the crowded busyness of Talo, the sweeping steps of its towers, and the way sunlight danced off pale stone walls. Darsmouth, by comparison, was narrow, slanty, and earthy. Maybe it was more real, but it was far smaller, and more sad than she expected of another city or town.

For now, the both of them were looking for something. Anything official. An inn. A guild hall. A news post. Even a public board. Somewhere to gather information or rest.

They passed a narrow alley that split between two leaning houses; the walls were close enough to touch with both arms out. Further ahead, a crooked wooden sign hung from rusted chains outside a squat, windowless building. The paint was so chipped Enya could barely read the script.

They had barely made it past the square when a voice called out.

"Hey."

Enya slowed and looked to her left.

A girl stood just off the path, dressed in a faded tunic stained with old dirt. Her sandals were worn thin, the leather cracked and peeling at the edges. A small brown cap was pulled snug over her hair, and a long smear of dirty grime ran down one cheek like a dried tear.

"You're new," the girl said. Her voice was soft, almost too calm. "Want a guide?"

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Enya blinked. "A guide?"

"One gold coin," the girl replied, holding up a finger.

Pell hissed from her arms. "Absolutely not."

Enya looked down at the skull in her arms. His sockets flared slightly.

"That much could buy a full set of new chain mail armor," he said. "No child's walking tour is worth that."

The girl's eyes flicked toward Pell for only a second. There was no reaction, no fear, no surprise. Just a brief glance before her gaze returned to Enya.

"One gold coin," she repeated.

Enya hesitated.

She might have been the same age as her. Enya was aware of her short height; her legs always dangled from chairs. This girl in front of her was nearly shorter than her, if not identical in height. Even Risha was slightly taller than her. But that wasn't all. There was something off. Something about the way the girl stood, hands clasped behind her back, posture perfectly straight, eyes too still.

Pell stared at her. Something about the girl's clothes, her posture, her tone—it all reeked of poverty. He'd seen peasant kids before. Most had some spark of mischief, or shame, or hope. This one didn't.

He sighed. "We'll pay one silver. For a quick guide. That's already extremely generous enough."

Enya dug through her pockets and pulled out a silver coin that Pell had given her. The girl took it and pocketed it without a word, then turned on her heel and began walking. She didn't say "follow me," or "this way"—she just started down the path like it was already decided.

Enya and Pell followed.

The village opened up slowly as they walked through.

Most of the buildings were small and cramped. Sloped roofs leaned to one side; stone steps had long since cracked under their own weight. A few shops lined the main road, but none of them looked like they saw much coin. Or just… anything at all.

Enya glanced at the people they passed.

Some stood idle near doorways; others walked with baskets, though few of them looked full. Their movements were sluggish. Faces downcast. Clothing faded in color and shape. There were very few children; none ran, shouted, or played around.

"Is there an adventurer's guild?" Enya asked.

"No," the girl answered.

"Crafting house?"

"No."

Pell's sockets dimmed. "Information hall?"

"No."

They passed a building that looked slightly larger than the others. A sign hung above it, tilted sideways and missing a letter. Inside, a woman stirred something in a pot, the smell of cabbage drifting out into the street. She never looked up.

Enya shifted Pell in her arms.

The girl kept walking, steady and quiet. She pointed out buildings as they passed them: "That's where the baker was. He's gone now." Then, a little further down, "That's the old herb shop. Don't go there." Then, a narrow alley, "Sometimes rats get big there. Careful."

There wasn't anything notable in the village. Nothing official or recognized organization. Just sagging homes, scattered shops, and a pervasive, odd stillness that clung to the atmosphere.

The "blacksmith" shop in town was missing a door. Its windows had been boarded shut. Moss and vines curled along the base. Strangely enough, there was still a kindling flame within. The blacksmith was probably in there.

"This place feels dead," Pell muttered under his empty breath, quiet enough so that the girl guiding them couldn't hear.

Enya nodded slowly. She couldn't put it into words, but the air here wasn't right. It was suffocating and heavy. As though something had scooped out part of the world and left the shell behind.

"That's the well. Don't drink from it. That's the shed where the grain is. It's always locked. That's the square. And that's where the statue is, but it's broken now."

They passed the statue.

Or rather, what was left of one. Only the legs remained; rough-hewn stone boots rested on a crumbling pedestal. The rest had clearly been smashed.

Enya slowed, staring. "What was it?"

The girl didn't answer.

Pell narrowed his sockets. "You said you were our guide. That means answering questions."

The girl shrugged. "It broke. I think someone pushed it over."

"Who?" Enya asked.

"I don't know."

The girl turned again. "Come now. I'll take you to the village leader now."

Enya hesitated for half a second, her grip on Pell tightening slightly.

Pell didn't speak, but he definitely noticed the mannerisms and signs.

The girl had never once smiled. Never once blinked in confusion or asked for a name. She didn't even offer her own name. Her tone hadn't shifted since the moment they met. And every building she pointed at was either shut, crumbling, or half-abandoned.

Not that there was a building that wasn't crumbling or decayed.

The girl led them to the edge of the village, where the path thinned and the buildings gave way to a small clearing.

At the center sat a large hut.

It wasn't made of stone or timber like the rest of the village. Its walls were shaped from thick bundles of dried straw, woven together in overlapping layers and reinforced with crude rope. The roof sloped into a broad dome, giving it the look of a massive hay-covered shell. At the front hung a faded green tarp that rustled slightly in the breeze.

The girl stopped a few steps short of the entrance.

She didn't announce their presence, nor did she wait for anyone to emerge. She simply gestured at the flap.

"You can go in," she said. "Enjoy your stay."

Before Enya could respond, the girl turned and walked away. Her bare feet made no sound against the packed dirt; her cap dipped slightly as she disappeared down the hill, vanishing between two leaning homes without ever looking back.

Enya stared at the tarp for a moment, then shifted Pell in her arms.

"Well," Pell muttered. "I suppose we're committed."

"Yeah…" Enya said quietly.

She stepped forward and pulled the cloth aside.

The interior was surprisingly warm. Light filtered in through a small opening in the roof, casting a hazy gold glow across the interior. The floor was covered in thick carpets, layered with pelts of dark fur and patterned with strange, geometric designs. Every inch of the space was draped in texture—woven mats, old cushions, decorative rugs hung along the walls. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old leather.

It felt... curated and homey. It seemed messy, but also oddly cozy.

A man sat cross-legged on the far side of the room, behind a low, circular table made from dark wood. His complexion was clear and full of color, in stark contrast to the pallid villagers outside. His short black hair was neatly trimmed, and his posture relaxed. He wore a plain white undershirt, but over it was a long black robe stitched with silver filigree.

His face was sharp; cheekbones high, brow narrow—he held a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

He looked up as they entered.

"Welcome," he said warmly. His voice was soft, but it carried easily through the space. "It's not often we have visitors."

He gestured to the fur-lined cushions across from him.

"Please, sit. I'm always happy to meet travelers. Especially ones who manage to find this place."

She stepped further inside, her boots muted against the carpets. She sat slowly, adjusting Pell in her arms so his skull faced forward, placed gently on the table.

The man's gaze flicked briefly to the talking skull, but he showed no surprise.

"You must be tired," he said. "We don't get many guests... but when we do, we treat them well."

Pell's sockets narrowed slightly. "Are you the village leader?"

"Yes," the man said, still smiling faintly. "My name is Marne, and I am the village leader."

He folded his hands neatly atop the table. His fingers were long, nails carefully trimmed. The overhead light glinted on the fine silver thread of his black robe.

"This is the village of Darsmouth. A quiet place, hidden deep within the jungle forest. Remote, but peaceful."

Enya frowned.

She looked over her shoulder, then back at him. "Jungle forest?"

The path they had come through had been thick with oaks and pine, with soft dirt underfoot and scattered mushrooms by the trunks. Although Enya wasn't familiar with what a jungle was exactly, she knew enough what it should have had. Vines, large dark trees—neither had been present.

"Yes," the man said, nodding once. "A very old jungle."

He spoke the word without humor. As if correcting her.

Pell said nothing at first. Enya glanced at him, then back to the man.

"We're... actually passing through," Enya said slowly. "We're trying to find Pell's hometown. Some place called... Eiya?"

"Eiyuria," Pell corrected flatly. "Not Eiya."

"Yeah. That," Enya said quickly.

The man nodded slowly, folding his hands together.

"Ah. Yes. Eiya."

Pell's sockets dimmed.

"A beautiful town," the man continued. "A shame it's so far. But if you're in no great rush, I implore you—stay a while here in Darsmouth. We are a small community, but we value our guests deeply. Our village is very... accommodating."

"Appreciate the offer," Pell replied, voice flat. "But we're mostly looking for directions. We've been... wandering for a few days. Got a little lost."

The man nodded with the same slow cadence. "Of course. That happens often. The forest is tricky. It confuses travelers."

The leader reached toward the table and picked up a small wooden bell. With a casual flick, he rang it once.

"Before we talk maps," he said smoothly, "let us first enjoy a moment of rest. I will offer you both something to drink. Our tea is quite good."

He turned his head slightly, looking toward a curtained section at the back of the hut with long, flowing drapes of pale green that barely swayed.

"Could you bring us some of your special tea?" he called out gently. "Make enough for three. Our guests will both love it."

There was no reply. But something stirred behind the mantled drape. A faint sound of movement; a footstep, or the soft bristle of fabric on skin.

"Our tea is quite special," the man continued, looking back to them. "It is made from native herbs. Sweet, with a bit of bitterness. It is quite addictive. You will both love it."

Enya blinked.

Pell stared.

"I don't have a tongue," Pell said, deadpan.

The man's smile did not falter. His eyes didn't blink and simply stared at the both of them. "I insist. I insist. Getting you two a map and some directions will take a bit of time. So please, accept our gesture of kindness before you go."

Enya and Pell exchanged a long look.

From behind the curtain, the soft clink of ceramic echoed faintly.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.