Chapter 36 - Measured Steps

  Teodor woke to the morning light slipping through a gap in the curtain. Sunlight stretched across the dull floor.

  The air was still cold, carrying the smell of dried cloth and old timber.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, making sure his footing was steady. The white bandage on his leg was no longer clean.

  The door creaked.

  Leon came in first and dropped himself onto the chair near the window. He leaned back and let out a long breath.

  Another pair of footsteps followed. The door closed. Rask placed his shield neatly in the corner of the room, then sat down without a sound.

  “So,” Leon asked, glancing over, “feeling any better?”

  “A little,” Teodor replied.

  Leon rubbed his face. “Sorry, Boss. I wasn’t focused back there.”

  Rask looked over. “How many times are you going to say that?”

  Leon clicked his tongue softly.

  “Relax,” Teodor said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been injured.”

  “This is Guild work,” he continued. “Getting hurt or dying is part of the risk.”

  Leon nodded slightly. “Yeah.”

  Teodor shifted his gaze. “What about the report to the Guild?”

  “Elyn handled it,” Leon said. “I just waited around in the lobby after selling the beast cores.”

  “Surprising she agreed to do it,” Rask said flatly.

  “That woman’s impossible to figure out,” Leon muttered.

  “But Elyn’s better at handling incident reports,” Teodor said. “She knows what needs to be written down.”

  “She’s too straightforward about it,” Leon replied. “A little lying wouldn’t hurt. Make the information sound valuable, and the Guild pays more.”

  “You’re trying to copy the Guild trash,” Rask said.

  Leon let out a short laugh. “You’re too serious, Rask. If the pay’s good, I can take it easy for a few weeks.”

  “That kind of thinking gets other adventurers killed.”

  Leon looked down for a moment. “Yeah. Including us. The ones who end up paying for it.”

  Silence settled between them. From the corridor came the sound of footsteps and another door opening. The light on the floor shifted slowly.

  “You’re not taking a job today?” Teodor asked.

  “Not yet,” Leon said. “The ones on the board aren’t worth it.”

  “Better to hit a clear beast nest,” he added. “Farm cores and sell them.”

  Rask stood and glanced out the window. “Day’s moving. Let’s go.”

  Leon stood as well. “We’re heading out. I’ll stop by again this evening.”

  “Be careful,” Teodor said. “Stick to the safe jobs.”

  They left the room.

  Teodor was alone again. He leaned back against the bed and stared at the ceiling. Outside, the sound of the city slowly grew louder.

  The day went on without pause.

  The small wardrobe door creaked as Zio opened it. He pulled out the only T-shirt that remained.

  His eyes fell on the corner of the room. A pile of dirty clothes had gathered there, crumpled and damp. Some had already been dropped into a wooden bucket leaning against the wall.

  Zio bent down, lifted the bucket, and straightened. The weight didn’t slow him. With his other arm, he gathered the remaining clothes, keeping them from slipping.

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  He stepped toward the door, his feet making almost no sound. The handle turned, and the hinge gave a low creak as the door closed behind him.

  Zio went down the stairs at an unhurried pace, the large bucket in his hand staying steady.

  The inn’s main room was already stirring.

  Glasses were being set in place, chairs scraped softly against the floor, and quiet conversation drifted from a few guests who had come down for breakfast. Warm air carried the scent of soup and firewood that had not fully burned out.

  “Where are you going this early with that?” Thomas asked.

  Zio paused.

  “To the river.”

  Thomas blinked, then let out a small laugh, as if the answer was too straightforward to be real.

  “Seriously? To wash clothes?”

  Zio nodded.

  Thomas leaned his shoulder against a wooden pillar.

  “There’s a washhouse in the eastern district. People pay a little, leave their things, and just wait. Easier than walking all the way out of the city.”

  Zio didn’t answer right away. His gaze shifted briefly toward the door, to the street outside, already beginning to fill with movement.

  “I want to see the river while I walk,” he said at last.

  Thomas studied him for a moment, then exhaled lightly.

  “You know where it is?”

  “I saw it on the map,” Zio replied.

  Thomas looked like he wanted to joke again, but didn’t. He only rubbed his chin.

  “Go through the small gate in the southeast. The eastern gate gets crowded sometimes.”

  Zio nodded once.

  “Thank you.”

  Thomas chuckled. “Thank you for what?”

  “For the map you gave me,” Zio added. “It was helpful.”

  Thomas’s mouth curved into a faint, satisfied smile.

  “Yeah. This city likes making people walk in circles. At least you won’t get lost.”

  Zio adjusted his grip on the bucket.

  “I’ll be back before evening.”

  “No need to report like a soldier,” Thomas replied easily. “Just go. Ravenhold isn’t going anywhere.”

  Zio didn’t return the humor, but he didn’t seem as stiff as before.

  He only nodded, then stepped toward the door.

  When it opened, morning air slipped in, cooler than the warmth inside the inn.

  Zio left, the bucket of clothes still steady in his hand, blending into the rhythm of a city already in motion.

  Ravenhold’s streets were already busy even before the sun had fully risen.

  Zio walked on, his pace steady amid the growing flow of people filling the morning. Stall tents were being opened one by one. Adventurers headed toward the guild. Couriers quickened their steps, messages clutched close.

  A child ran past with a loaf of warm bread, nearly colliding with someone’s foot before his mother caught him and pulled him back.

  At a street corner, two old men sat on a wooden bench, speaking in low voices while watching the traffic as if it were simply part of their daily routine.

  Zio passed a row of shops just opening their doors. Wood scraped against stone, fabric was hung, and small bells chimed as the first customers stepped inside.

  A few people glanced at the bucket in his hand.

  Not suspicious looks, just brief curiosity. In a city, even simple things were noticed, but never long enough to matter.

  Zio didn’t quicken his pace.

  He studied the shape of the streets.

  Ravenhold really was as Thomas had said. The main roads branched without any clear pattern, winding past warehouses, inns, woodworking shops, and narrow alleys that led to places he didn’t recognize.

  The farther he walked toward the southeast, the more the atmosphere shifted.

  Buildings grew less tightly packed. The salty smell from fish warehouses began to drift through the air.

  In the distance, the lower gate came into view. Smaller than the main gate.

  A pair of guards stood beside it, relaxed, their eyes shaped more by routine than by any expectation of danger.

  A cart rolled by at an easy pace, its wooden wheels creaking as it carried stacked crates toward the market.

  Zio stepped aside to give it room.

  One of the guards gave the bucket a brief glance, then returned his gaze forward.

  No questions. No inspection.

  Zio passed through the gate.

  Beyond the walls, the city’s noise didn’t vanish. It simply faded, like an echo softened by distance.

  The air felt more open. Zio took a slow breath in, then let it out just as calmly.

  A dirt road stretched ahead, and between the scattered trees he could hear the sound of flowing water, gentler than footsteps, softer than the market’s din.

  He kept walking, following the path, letting the city fall away behind him little by little.

  The dirt path sloped gently downward, winding past low shrubs and sparsely growing trees.

  By the time Zio arrived, the sound of the river was already clear.

  The water flowed fast enough to catch the pale morning light. Large stones jutted out in places, and along the banks, wild grass grew thick, still damp with dew.

  There was no crowd.

  Only a few people.

  An old man sat with a simple wooden fishing rod in hand. His hat shaded part of his face, his body still, like someone long accustomed to waiting.

  He glanced toward Zio, his eyes settling briefly on the bucket.

  “Hey. If you’re going to wash, don’t do it over here. You’ll scare the fish away.”

  Zio nodded and moved on, following the riverbank south.

  The rocks formed a shallow hollow.

  He set the bucket down carefully on a flat stone and placed the bundle of clothes beside it.

  Zio took off his long-sleeved shirt and trousers, leaving only his shorts. His movements were unhurried.

  The river water was cold when he dipped his hand in.

  He filled the bucket halfway, then crouched down.

  The first piece of cloth was heavy with dampness. He submerged it, twisting it slowly until the water soaked into the fibers. Then he scrubbed it with the coarse soap he had brought, the lather thin and restrained.

  The sound of fabric rubbing blended with the steady flow of the river.

  A simple routine.

  Minutes passed.

  As he wrung the clothes, the muscles in his arms worked without strain. His movements were efficient, as if his body was already used to doing things like this alone.

  Piece by piece, the clothes were soaked, scrubbed, and wrung out. The water in the bucket turned cloudy. He poured it out and filled it again.

  In the city, everything moved too close together.

  Here, the space felt wider.

  He laid some of the clothes out on a smooth rock, letting the wind dry them slowly. The rest he folded loosely, still a little damp but clean.

  When everything was done, Zio sat down on a nearby stone, his wet hands resting on his knees.

  A small bird skimmed low over the surface of the river.

  He watched the reflection of clouds drifting across the water.

  The wind brushed against his bare skin, not too cold, carrying the quiet sign of early spring.