The city bustled around him, a chaotic symphony of shouting vendors, clattering cartwheels, and the general murmur of the people going about their day. It was a stark contrast to the ordered, echoing stone corridors of Stormborn Castle. Here, life spilled onto the streets, vibrant and messy. He kept his head down, melting into the flow of bodies, just another traveler heading out.

  Soon the cobblestones turned into a well-worn dirt path leading toward the whispering edge of the forest. The air changed, the city's grime replaced by the sharp, clean scent of pine and the rich aroma of damp earth and decaying leaves.

  The backpack was a significant burden. Even though his young body was rapidly adapting to his training, making him stronger, he was still relatively weak compared to Leo and Darius.

  Seriously, this thing weighs a ton, he muttered to himself, adjusting the straps for what felt like the hundredth time. Having servants pack for you sounds great until they interpret 'adequately equipped' as 'prepare for a three-month siege'.

  Aren veered off the main path, pushing through ferns and low-hanging branches, relying on the landmarks he’d memorized. He wondered if he would encounter that Ursai again, but he only saw small animals, reminiscent of rabbits and foxes, along the way. He reached his destination without much trouble – a cluster of moss-covered boulders, unremarkable to anyone not looking for them, nestled in a small clearing. He set down his backpack and began searching for the oilskin hidden amongst the rocks. After locating it, he retreated a short distance, finding a fallen log to sit on, and carefully unrolled the oilskin. Inside was the map Lycas had given him. It was crudely drawn on a piece of rough parchment with charcoal lines, depicting the river, the city, the forest edge, and a few key landmarks. A single, prominent 'X' marked a spot directly on the river downstream, which didn't immediately concern him.

  Alright, let's see. He traced the lines with a finger. The forest ends here… there's the road… and it looks like it passes near a small settlement by the river before reaching the marked area. He estimated the distance. Walking, especially with this damned backpack, would take the better part of the day. Might as well follow the road. And maybe grab a bite and rest at that settlement.

  He tucked the map securely inside his tunic and hefted the backpack once more, wincing slightly. He made his way back to the forest's edge, emerging onto the wide, rutted track that served as the logging road. It curved gently, following the lay of the land, offering glimpses of the sprawling forest to his left and rolling fields stretching away to his right. The sun climbed higher, warming his back, and the rhythmic crunch of his boots on the packed earth became a steady companion.

  Hours passed. The sun beat down, and the backpack grew heavier with every step. Aren walked steadily, his mind drifting between the immediate discomfort and the anticipation of reaching the Black Market. He thought about Lycas, the debt, the mercenaries, and the strange, sentient Ether that pulsed faintly within him, still stubbornly unresponsive to his calmer attempts at control.

  Finally, the distant sound of voices and the faint, unmistakable smell of woodsmoke and cooking fish reached him. The road dipped, revealing a small cluster of buildings nestled in a bend of the riverbank ahead. It wasn't much more than a hamlet – a dozen or so sturdy timber houses, a small pier with fishing boats pulled ashore, nets drying on racks, and a single, larger building near the road that looked like an inn. Smoke curled lazily from its chimney.

  Looks promising. His stomach rumbled in agreement.

  He walked into the settlement, drawing a few curious glances from weathered-looking locals mending nets or sorting through their catches near the river. They were simple folk, their faces etched by sun and wind, their clothes practical and worn. He nodded politely to those he passed, receiving gruff but not unfriendly acknowledgments in return.

  A faded wooden sign depicting a leaping fish identified the inn, dim and cool inside.

  The air was thick with the savory aroma of frying fish and ale. A few patrons sat nursing drinks at rough-hewn tables, their conversations low and sporadic. Aren dropped his backpack near the entrance with a sigh of relief and approached the counter where a stout woman with flour dusting her apron was wiping down the surface.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Afternoon," Aren said, drawn by the aroma. "Is that fried fish I smell? Smells great."

  "Aye, the best river catch, fried fresh," the woman confirmed, glancing him over. "Sit where you like. Thirsty? Ale?"

  "Water's fine, thank you. And a plate of the fish, please."

  He placed ten copper coins on the counter and went to a table near a window overlooking the river. The water flowed wide and calm here, sunlight glinting off its surface. Across the bank, tall grass swayed gently in the breeze. It was peaceful, a world away from ducal politics and hidden powers.

  The fish arrived quickly, golden brown and sizzling on a wooden platter, accompanied by a chunk of dark bread. It was simple fare, but delicious. The fish was flaky and sweet, the skin perfectly crisp. Aren ate slowly, savoring the taste and the brief rest.

  He finished his meal, refilled his waterskin, and shouldered his pack again. The brief rest had helped, but the weight was still considerable. Giving a final nod to the innkeeper, Aren stepped back out into the afternoon sun and continued along the road, following the river downstream.

  The landscape gradually grew wilder as he left the settlement behind. The fields gave way to denser thickets and rocky outcrops. The river widened slightly, its current quickening, whispering over stones. The sun began its slow descent towards the horizon. The air grew cooler, carrying the scent of the approaching evening.

  Following the river's bends and curves, he compared landmarks on the map with the real view. According to Lycas' map, there should be three large trees near the mark. Aren followed the river until he spotted the distinctive trees in the distance. He reached them late in the evening. This has to be it. Anticipation mingled with caution. The Black Market wasn't exactly advertised with welcome signs.

  Aren began his search, eyes scanning the rocky slope, the dense undergrowth, the water's edge. He walked the perimeter, pushing aside branches, running his hands over rock faces, looking for any sign – a hidden lever, an unnatural seam, a concealed doorway.

  Nothing. The riverbank seemed entirely natural, solid rock and earth. The only sounds were the river's murmur and the chirp of early night insects. Frustration began to creep in.

  Did Lycas give me a bum steer? Or is it just hidden really well? He glanced back at the map, though it was almost too dark to see clearly. The 'X' was definitely in the middle of the wide river, between the riverbanks. Maybe… in the water?

  It seemed unlikely, but he was running out of options. Shucking off the heavy backpack and stripping off his clothes, he waded into the river. The water was shockingly cold, stealing his breath for a moment. The current tugged at his legs. He probed crevices, felt for loose stones, anything out of place. He even ducked under briefly, eyes stinging in the murky water, but saw only smooth, worn rock and waving river weeds.

  Aren emerged shivering, teeth chattering slightly. Definitely not in the water. Or if it is, it's deeper out, and I'm not equipped for a dive. He opened his backpack and rummaged for something to dry himself off. He found something resembling pajamas and used them to towel off as best he could. Then, he put his travel clothes back on, deep in thought.

  Aren felt a surge of annoyance. He'd come all this way, endured the backpack from hell, searched high and low… for nothing? Then, a memory surfaced. The password Lycas had given him: 'The moon's shadow hides the merchant's hand.' Perhaps the entrance will reveal itself at night. I hope I don't have to wait for the full moon; that's definitely not tonight.

  In his backpack, he found a rolled-up tent. He set it up and took out water and some jerky the servants had packed for him. Carrying all this wasn't in vain after all. He settled down in the tent to wait.

  Aren focused on his breathing, trying to ignore the cold and the growing stiffness in his limbs. Might as well try to meditate and see if I can get a better grip on the Ether.

  Hours went by. A low grinding sound awoke him from his meditative state, seemingly emanating from the river itself. Aren sat bolt upright, senses on high alert. The sound grew louder, a deep, resonant groan of stone on stone.

  He peeked outside. The surface of the river churned. Then, incredibly, stones began to rise from the depths. Smooth, dark, and glistening wet, they emerged one by one, fitting together seamlessly, forming a narrow walkway that stretched from the riverbank out towards the center of the current. The pathway glowed faintly, not with magical light, but as if reflecting the moonlight from within the stone itself. It didn't lead across the river but ended abruptly right in the middle.

  As the last stone settled into place, the grinding stopped. The end of the walkway, the part furthest into the river, shimmered. The water beneath it dissolved, revealing not the riverbed, but the top steps of a spiral staircase descending into blackness.

  Aren stared, momentarily speechless. Well, I'll be damned. A secret entrance rising from a river at midnight. Very dramatic.

  He packed everything and cautiously stepped onto the stone path. It felt solid beneath his boots. He walked carefully towards the opening, the river swirling silently on either side. Reaching the spiral stairs, he peered down. Utter darkness greeted him, swallowing the moonlight, hinting at depths unknown. A cool, slightly musty air wafted up.

  Taking a deep breath, Aren adjusted the pack on his shoulders and began his descent into the void.