Those words from the Legion soldier should have pressed down on Kilan with an oppressive weight — yet despite the danger of the moment, he remained seated in his place with the solid calm that was simply his nature.
Manuel produced a thick silver hexagonal pendant. One face bore a toothed gear with a hammer at its center; the other, a falcon with wings spread wide, gripping a horizontal sword in its talons, a royal crown above its head. The Legion soldier's face went blank as he took it, then gestured with his hand, and a younger soldier approached — well-groomed, brown-haired, wearing round-lensed glasses that sharpened the keenness of his gaze.
The young soldier produced a flat stone the size of a palm, carved with intricate sun-shaped engravings and a hexagonal cavity at its center that matched the pendant exactly. The moment the pendant settled into the cavity, the stone's engravings lit up with a faint green glow and a quick flash.
The soldier returned the pendant to Manuel and said in a hollow voice, "You may proceed, sir," then fixed Kilan with an examining look that carried a silent warning: *Your papers had better be in order.* This test was an unavoidable rite — in the alleyways of poverty, commoners and farmers holding bronze pendants often forged professional silver ones to escape the weight of class distinction. Though Manuel looked like an unremarkable driver who warranted no suspicion, the Legion's strictness knew no exceptions.
"Your identification pendant, if you please."
The soldier directed the question at Kilan in his customary sharp tone. Kilan reached into a back pocket and produced a silver pendant identical to Manuel's.
At that, the dusty-haired soldier's eyes narrowed with pointed suspicion, his gaze moving back and forth between the pendant and Kilan's face, which remained in complete stillness.
"Hand me the testing stone, Zadir. I'll check it myself."
Soldier "Sumer" took the stone from his colleague and placed Kilan's pendant inside it. For two heavy seconds the stone did not light up, and Sumer's features began to shift with the satisfaction of someone who had been waiting a long time for exactly this catch — then, suddenly, the same brief green glow appeared.
*What was that slight delay in the response?* Sumer asked himself inwardly as he restored his sharp mask.
Kilan spoke with biting sarcasm, as though reading the thoughts moving behind the soldier's eye: "It seems my pendant isn't accustomed to surprise inspections."
Sumer returned the pendant without shifting his gaze from Kilan's eye, then asked firmly, "Is there anyone inside the carriage?"
Manuel answered, "One girl, only."
Sumer stepped toward the carriage door and pulled it open with force. A faint scent of incense drifted out to meet him, and his eyes landed on a girl in a black cloak with dark brown hair rippling down her back, and two striking sky-blue eyes. Sumer froze for a moment, as though searching his memory for a familiar face.
"Are you... Lira?"
The edge in his voice softened abruptly, and his features took on a surprised warmth. Lira answered with a warmth Kilan had never heard from her before: "Good day, Sir Sumer."
Sumer replied, astonishment overtaking his voice: "You've truly grown, Lira... How is Master Graise?"
Lira's face tightened for a few seconds before she drew a faint, practiced smile: "My father died a year ago."
Sumer's eyes widened with genuine shock. "Is that so? I'm sorry to hear it... ever since your father left the Legion's service, all word of him vanished entirely."
Lira gave a gentle nod. "It's all right."
Sumer asked with eager concern: "Is there any favor I can do for you?"
Lira rolled her eyes — as though something lodged in her throat wished to say a great deal — but settled for a quiet shake of her head: "Thank you. I appreciate you asking."
Sumer looked at her with the gaze of someone who sees more than he shows, then drew his sword with quiet dignity and bowed slightly, the blade pointed toward his heart in a solemn military salute: "My deepest condolences, Lira." Then he produced from his pocket a small notebook with a black leather cover whose edges looked singed, tore a page from it, and handed it to her: "If you need anything, simply write it here and burn the page. I'll make certain not to be slow in answering."
Lira smiled and nodded. The old acquaintance had proved its worth — Sumer signaled his soldiers to let the carriage through. And as he closed the door, he noticed a slight smile on Kilan's face, a smile that planted nothing in his chest but unease.
---
### Inside the City of Kildor
The city was drenched in a suffocating humidity, and the smell of wet sawdust filled the lungs. Manuel's carriage stopped before a tavern in a narrow quarter where the air hung heavy with the sharp smell of blood from tanning hides and the sweat of exhausted horses.
"Why the tanners' quarter specifically, son?" Manuel asked, unhooking his horses' harnesses and trying to ignore the pungent odor assaulting his nose.
Kilan answered in an even tone, his sharp eye sweeping the quarter: "To avoid spending everything you have at a single inn."
Manuel muttered with a pained face: "There are plenty of cheap taverns in this city!"
Lira said firmly as she stepped down from the carriage: "No, this place is fine." And she walked straight inside.
Kilan followed with steady steps, carrying the Kirnebis horns wrapped in his removed cloak. Inside, the tavern hummed with muted noise, the smell of travelers' sweat mixing with the heavy scent of ale. Battered wooden tables surrounded by faces worn down by hard days — low-level fighters, raggedly dressed wanderers, and workers from the quarter itself. What they all had in common was that they were men, which meant every gaze in the room turned toward Lira the moment she entered.
Lira went directly to the reception counter, behind which stood a man in his fifties with grey threading through his hair and a small circular black tattoo on his cheek.
"What a fine evening, young miss — how can I help you?" said the tattooed man with a wide smile, wiping a glass with a grey cloth.
Lira sat across from him while Kilan took a seat two positions away, and Manuel sat beside her.
"I'd like lamb and mushroom soup."
The man gave a small laugh: "Quite the appetite, miss... Seven orins for you."
Lira drew seven silver coins from her cloak and placed them on the counter in a vertical row, leaving a deliberate gap between the first and second coin.
Manuel whispered in a reproachful tone: "That was rude, Lady Lira — it would have been better to put them in his hand."
Lira smiled lightly: "My apologies. It's a bad habit of mine."
The tattooed man paused his wiping for a moment, his expression shifting as he took note of how the coins were arranged.
"The lamb may take a little while, young lady."
Lira sighed: "I can't stand waiting. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday."
The man replied in a calm tone: "What I can offer right now is the mushroom soup only."
Lira shrugged with a smile: "Then I'll take a room and have it brought up to me." She glanced toward Kilan, who was pretending to be occupied with a book in his hands, and gestured between the two men: "And put these two gentlemen's orders on my tab."
She placed another seven coins directly in the man's hand this time, and he handed her an old metal key. Lira climbed the creaking wooden stairs beside the counter, glancing back behind her as was her custom.
"And what will it be for you two gentlemen?" the tavern keeper asked with noticeably less enthusiasm than he had shown Lira.
Manuel was ordering with gusto. Kilan, meanwhile, held a book titled *Journey to the Old World*, appearing to read while his mind turned over the strangeness of Lira's actions and her silent codes.
"And you, sir — what will you have?"
Kilan placed on the counter the pendant engraved with a serpent coiling around a stone obelisk, and looked into the tavern keeper's eyes with cool steadiness:
"I'll have the lamb. I don't mind the wait."
---
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