Chapter 21: 21 Nameless city

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21: Nameless city 21: Nameless city As soon as he was outside the walls, the air changed.

It was no longer the suffocating, ritualistic air that permeated the Tower, a mixture of iron, rotting moss, and sulfur.

The icy wind greeted him with a breath that lifted his cloak, making its edges flutter like black wings.

He didn’t look up: he kept his head down, his hood pulled down, like a pilgrim who already knew his destination and had no need to scan the road.

The slippery stones of the path, blackened by time and humidity, crunched under his bare feet.

He felt no pain; every roughness, every sharp point of the rock was a reminder of reality, a reminder of his choice.

Around him, the landscape was barren and cruel.

No greenery, no life, only dark rock outcrops opening into deep fissures, crevices exuding thick mists, and nameless, twisted trees with broken branches reaching upward like pleading fingers.

Some oozed a red resin, like dried blood, which dripped to the ground and mingled with the rain.

Kairan walked, hooded.

Not a sound escaped him, as if silence were a necessity.

For the first time in his life, his shadow belonged to him alone, and it would follow him on that path that seemed decidedly long and hostile.

But essential.

The first city Kairan had to pass through appeared like a scar on the landscape.

Shacks of rotten wood and cracked stone, roofs tilted under the weight of the rain, half-torn doors creaking in the wind.

No torchlight: only sickly red glows coming from battered braziers fed with bone fragments and rotting wood.

An acrid stench greeted him well before he could make out the silhouettes of its inhabitants: rancid flesh, spilled alcohol, bodies rotting in the shadows.

And the gazes immediately followed him like a ghostly welcome.

Yellow, green, and white eyes, pupilless: hundreds of deformed eyes that widened as he passed.

Malformed creatures, demons with a desperate or hungry air, peered at him suspiciously from the cracks of the shacks and the dark corners of the alleys.

In that forgotten place, where only the kingdom’s outcasts arrived, a hooded traveler was either prey or a threat.

Never a welcome guest.

Three figures blocked his path.

Larger and more muscular than the others, they carried improvised weapons: a club of bones tied with ropes, a rusty blade snatched from who knows who, a staff bristling with crooked nails.

The tallest one spoke, his hoarse voice corroded by age and alcohol.

“Hey, traveler, there’s no free passage here.” Kairan didn’t raise his head.

He continued walking, his pace unchanged, neither faster nor slower.

The second demon reached out a clawed hand and grabbed the fabric of his cloak.

A moment, just one: Kairan looked up, and those eyes, blue, shining, brimming with a superiority that needed no words, rested on the demon.

The creature released its grip, as if burned by a living flame.

It staggered back.

The other two did the same, suddenly unable to withstand the invisible pressure that crushed them to the ground without even touching them.

It was instinctive recognition, the kind no mind can control: the soul of the demonic world knew how to distinguish an heir from a usurper, a predator from its prey.

Faced with that hooded child, their bodies had made a decision of their own.

Kneel or flee.

Kairan walked past, didn’t turn around, didn’t say a word.

The rain washed away that moment, as if it had never existed.

A little further on, from the entrance of a decaying tavern, three demonesses emerged.

Young, beautiful, dangerous.

The water lapped at their bodies, accentuating the curves their tattered veils barely concealed.

Purple skin, green eyes burning with mischief, crimson lips curved in smiles that promised sin and death in equal measure.

“Stranger…” the first murmured, drawing a circle on his chest with a sharp finger.

“You don’t look like the others.” “You’re different…” the second whispered, trying to peer into his face beneath the hood.

“Hide your eyes.

But your scent…

is power.

Pure power.” The third slid beside him, her bare side brushing his arm, her forked tongue flicking between her lips.

“Stay with us, nameless prince.

Just for one night: you can forget the mud, the rain, and whatever it is you’re seeking.” Kairan didn’t stop, didn’t look up, didn’t say a word.

Silence was his only response, and it was sharper than any refusal, more definitive than any insult.

Those creatures, accustomed to bending even the strongest warriors with seduction, found themselves facing an insurmountable wall.

For a moment they remained still, disconcerted, then laughed nervously, trying to hide their embarrassment.

But no one dared touch him again.

It was like this in every village: Blackened walls, smoking braziers, demons lurking in the shadows.

Gangs ready to ambush, assassins waiting for a misstep, demonesses emerging from broken doors, attempting to capture him with glances and smiles.

Kairan remained the same: hooded, head bowed, gaze fixed straight ahead, he strode forward undaunted.

His silence was a sentence, and no one could break it.

Yet, behind that indifference, Kairan’s eyes absorbed every detail.

Every crack in the walls, every body lying in the filthy water, every knife that glinted for a moment in the rain, every flame devouring pieces of wood and indistinct flesh.

It was a world that breathed desperation, an ecosystem founded on fame and violence; a world that recognized him as its prince, but which he did not recognize as his.

The distant roar vibrated through the air again, but even there, Kairan didn’t stop.

Every step brought him closer to Dareth’s Crest.