A crowd began to form outside the inn, growing larger by the minute. They all wanted to see the proof. They wanted to see the head of the monster that had terrorised their lives for so long.
The captain of the city guard, a tall, grim-faced man nad Gregor, arrived with a squad of his best soldiers.
They pushed their way through the excited crowd and into the inn. Gregor stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the head. He was a practical man.
He had spent his entire career planning the city’s defences against the swarm. He knew, better than anyone, what this ant.
"Is he still here?" Gregor asked Tyren, his voice low and serious.
"Upstairs," Tyren grunted, pointing with his thumb. "Resting."
Gregor nodded. The man who had saved their city was under his roof. He had a duty to protect him.
"Post a guard," he commanded his soldiers. "Two n at the bottom of the stairs, two at the top. No one, and I an no one, is to disturb the Grey Ghost. Let him rest."
The soldiers took their positions.
Upstairs, in the simple, dusty room, Rhys had discarded his grey cloak on a chair. He sat on the edge of the hard bed, the sounds of the celebration from the city below becoming distant in his ears.
He was not celebrating. He was simply feeling the deep, aching exhaustion in his body.
The fight had been harder than he had shown. The Matriarch was a true Boss, and her power was imnse. He had won, but it had cost him.
He felt the familiar emptiness that ca after a long and difficult battle, a feeling that victory was just another form of survival.
He thought of the reason he had co here. The rare crystals he had collected from the Matriarch’s lair.
They were safe in his Ashen Dinsion now, ready to be used to build the new formations for Cinderfall. His mission was complete.
This city, these people, they were just a footnote in his own, much larger story.
He felt the deep disconnect between his world and theirs. To them, he was a saviour, a god of death who had delivered them from their greatest fear.
To him, they were just strangers he had helped by accident. He felt no connection to them, no responsibility. He was a traveller passing through, and soon, he would be gone.
He thought of Sera, of Seduction, of his own floating city. That was his ho. That was his family. That was the only thing that truly mattered. The loneliness of his path settled over him once more.
He lay back on the hard bed and, for the first ti in days, he slept.
He woke the next morning to the sound of a city reborn. The usual sounds of a frontier town—the nervous shouts, the clang of weapons being sharpened for a battle that was always coming—were gone.
They were replaced by the sounds of construction, of rchants happily calling out their wares, and of children laughing in the streets. It was the sound of a city that had been given a future.
He put on his grey cloak and walked downstairs. The inn was quiet. The main room was clean. The monstrous head of the Matriarch was gone. But the large, round table where it had sat was not empty.
It was covered in offerings.
There was a beautifully cured pelt of a rare Snow Leopard, left by a hunter. There was a small but heavy pouch of gold coins, left by a grateful rchant.
There was a finely crafted steel dagger, its hilt wrapped in clean leather, left by a soldier. There were even a few wildflowers in a simple clay pot, left by one of the town’s children.
They were small, simple gifts, but they were a powerful testant to the city’s gratitude.
Tyren, Elric, and Captain Gregor were waiting for him. They stood as he approached, their heads bowed in a gesture of deep respect.
"Grey Ghost," Tyren said, his voice full of a genuine reverence.
"You have saved us. You have given us a future. The city of Boulder Creek is in your debt. Whatever you ask of us, it is yours. If you wish to be our lord, we will follow you without question."
Rhys looked at their hopeful, expectant faces. He saw their offer of loyalty, their willingness to give him everything they had.
He had not asked for this. He did not want to be a lord of a small, frontier town. It was a distraction from his own goals.
"The swarm is gone," he said, his voice flat. "The city is safe. That is enough."
He turned to leave the inn. He had what he ca for. It was ti to move on.
"But wait!" Tyren called out, taking a step forward. "There must be sothing we can give you. A reward. We cannot let a deed like this go unpaid."
Rhys paused at the door, his back to them. He thought for a mont. He did not need their gold. He did not need their loyalty.
But there was sothing they had that was valuable to him. Sothing more valuable than any treasure.
He turned his head slightly, the shadows of his hood concealing his face.
"Information," he said. His voice was quiet.
"Tell everything you know about the Unclaid Territories to the south. Tell of the ancient ruins, the powerful beasts, the strange legends.
Tell of the great sects and the ancient families that rule the lands to the north. And," he added, a final, practical thought, "keep this city safe. A safe town is a good place for business."
With those final words, he walked out of the inn and disappeared into the morning light, leaving the three leaders of Boulder Creek standing in a stunned, hopeful silence.
The mont the Grey Ghost disappeared into the bright morning light, the spell of stunned silence in the Wandering Wyvern finally broke.
The three n left standing—Tyren the rcenary, Elric the innkeeper, and Gregor the city captain—looked at each other.
"Information," Gregor said, his voice a low, serious rumble. He was the first to fully grasp the weight of the task.
The Grey Ghost had not asked for gold or fealty; he had asked for knowledge. It was a request that spoke of a mind that planned, a mind that saw their world as a map to be understood.
"He wants to know everything."
Tyren nodded, his one good eye sharp with a hunter’s focus. "He wants a map of the world, and we’re the ones who have to draw it for him."
The crowd of patrons was still buzzing with excitent, talking loudly about the death of the Matriarch and the strange gifts on the table.
Gregor turned to them, his captain’s voice cutting through the noise.
"Alright, you’ve seen the proof. The Matriarch is dead. The city is safe. Now clear out. The inn is closed for the day. We have important business to attend to."
The n grumbled, but they obeyed. The authority in Gregor’s voice was absolute. Soon, the inn was empty, save for the three leaders.
Elric locked the heavy oak door and drew the shutters, casting the room in a dim, serious light.
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