SPIRITBINDER: The Boy Without A Mark
Chapter 41: Mysterious

Chapter 41: Mysterious

A few days had passed since the failed Awakening Ceremony, but the unease in Baltalaha only deepened. The rulers continued to gather in Crimson’s palace, their discussions yielding little progress. Every plan seemed inadequate in the face of a phenomenon no one could explain.

Medas insisted on bringing Morvane along to each meeting, reasoning that the young man’s unique perspective might prove valuable—or, at the very least, Morvane could learn from observing the political maneuverings of the rulers.

On one such day, as they traveled by carriage through the winding roads leading to Katakwan, the air was unusually still. The rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves on cobblestone was the only sound, and even that seemed muted, as if the world itself held its breath.

Morvane gazed out of the carriage window, lost in thought. The weight of the failed ceremony lingered in his mind like a shadow he couldn’t shake. Drevon’s words haunted him—"This isn’t just a failed ceremony. It’s something more." What could it mean? Was there truly no way to fix this?

The carriage jolted suddenly, snapping Morvane from his thoughts. The driver shouted, yanking the reins of the horses as they reared back with a startled whinny.

"What’s happening?" Medas asked sharply, sitting up straighter.

A young man had stepped into the road, his hooded cloak obscuring most of his features. He moved with a deliberate yet almost dazed pace, seemingly unaware of the danger he had just avoided. The driver cursed under his breath, steadying the horses as they snorted and pawed at the ground.

"Be careful!" the driver barked, but the young man said nothing. He merely adjusted his hood and continued walking, disappearing into the forest on the side of the road.

Medas frowned, watching the figure vanish. "People have grown careless," he muttered, shaking his head.

Morvane, sitting beside him, didn’t reply. Something about the young man had unsettled him, though he couldn’t quite explain why. The way he moved, the eerie calm in his stride—it felt... wrong.

The carriage resumed its journey, the incident quickly forgotten by Medas. However, Morvane couldn’t help but glance back, his gaze lingering on the spot where the hooded figure had disappeared.

.

.

.

The meeting ended in yet another deadlock. The rulers, still with no answers as to why the Awakening Ceremony had failed, could only pin their hopes on the next awakening they will set up at a later date. They discussed preparations for the next attempt, ensuring that no detail would be overlooked. Yet, a cloud of uncertainty hung over them, heavier with each passing day.

As the meeting dispersed, the weight of failure followed Crimson like a shadow. He led Medas and Morvane out of the council hall toward their carriage, the cold air biting against their skin. Crimson’s usual commanding presence seemed subdued, his shoulders slightly hunched, his steps heavier than usual.

Medas noticed. "Crimson," he called, breaking the silence, "you’ve seemed... restless these past few days. I don’t mean to pry, but has something been troubling you?"

Crimson stopped in his tracks, his back to Medas and Morvane. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and burdened. "Ever since the ceremony failed, I haven’t been able to sleep properly. It happened here, in my kingdom. The people are looking to me for answers, and I’ve given them nothing. It feels like this failure is mine to bear."

Morvane exchanged a glance with Medas, unsure of how to respond.

Medas placed a hand on Crimson’s shoulder. "You’re too hard on yourself. No one anticipated this—not you, not the gods, not any of us. Blaming yourself won’t solve anything. What matters is that we’re working together to figure this out."

Crimson sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Maybe. But the people—"

"They’ll understand," Medas interrupted gently. "They always do. And if they don’t, we’ll make them. You’re not alone in this."

Crimson managed a faint smile, though the weight in his eyes remained. Medas, sensing the conversation was growing too heavy, shifted the tone. "You know, you’ve been keeping us cooped up in council halls and meeting rooms. Why don’t you show us a part of your kingdom you actually enjoy? You haven’t let us explore Katakwan yet."

Crimson raised an eyebrow. "You want a tour of Katakwan? At this hour?"

"Why not?" Medas said with a shrug. "You’re the host, after all. Surely there’s a place here you love—a place that reminds you of why you rule."

Crimson chuckled softly. "I suppose there is." He gestured toward the carriage. "Come on. I’ll take you to the market district. It’s always lively, even at night."

As Crimson, Medas, and Morvane made their way through the market, the vibrant energy of the district surrounded them. Vendors called out, lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, and the scent of grilled meats and sweet pastries filled the air.

But amidst the bustle, Morvane suddenly froze, his eyes narrowing. His gaze locked on a figure ahead—a young man in a hooded cloak, moving quietly along the edge of the street. It was the same man from earlier, the one who had nearly been trampled by their horse.

"Medas," Morvane said, tugging at his companion’s sleeve.

Medas followed his line of sight, his brow furrowing. "It’s him again."

Crimson noticed their sudden change in demeanor and turned toward them. "Do you know him?" he asked, his tone sharp and curious.

Morvane hesitated before answering. "Not really. We saw him earlier, back on the road. He almost got hit by our carriage."

Crimson’s gaze darkened as he studied the hooded figure. "If he’s following us, we need to know why."

At that moment, the young man seemed to sense their eyes on him. He turned his head slightly, just enough for them to catch a glimpse of his face—a young, sharp-featured countenance framed by strands of dark hair. His eyes widened, a flash of surprise crossing his features before he abruptly spun around and quickened his pace, vanishing into the crowd.

"Wait!" Morvane exclaimed, breaking into a run.

But before he could get far, Medas grabbed his arm and pulled him back firmly. "No, Morvane. Don’t be distracted. Whoever he is, he’ll show himself again if it matters."

Morvane glanced back toward where the figure had disappeared, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. "But what if—"

"We don’t need more uncertainties," Medas said, his voice low but resolute. "We have enough of those already."

Crimson stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Morvane’s shoulder. "Medas is right. Let’s not lose focus. Come, I’ll take you somewhere quieter."

A few minutes later, the three of them arrived at a small but lively liquor store tucked away on a quieter street. The interior was warm and inviting, with wooden beams lining the ceiling and shelves stocked with an impressive array of bottles. A few patrons sat at scattered tables, their quiet laughter adding to the cozy atmosphere.

Crimson led them to a corner table near a window, where they settled in. A server approached, and Crimson ordered drinks for himself and Medas—a strong, amber-colored whiskey for him and a lighter fruit-based wine for Medas. For Morvane, they ordered a non-alcoholic drink, a refreshing blend of citrus and herbs.

"This is one of my favorite places," Crimson said as he leaned back in his chair, the dim light catching the faint smile on his face. "The owner brews everything himself. It’s one of the few places I can relax."

Medas took a sip of his drink, nodding in approval. "I can see why. This wine is excellent."

Morvane, meanwhile, sipped at his drink, the citrus tang refreshing but his mind elsewhere. His thoughts kept drifting back to the hooded man. Who was he? Why was he here? And why did he seem to be watching them?

His musings were interrupted when he glanced out the window—and froze.

There he was again. The hooded young man stood across the street, half-hidden in the shadows. His lips moved as if he were speaking, though no sound reached Morvane through the glass. He seemed to be muttering something to himself, his expression intense and focused.

Morvane set his drink down slowly, his eyes never leaving the figure. "He’s here," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Medas and Crimson followed his gaze, their expressions hardening as they spotted the young man.

"Still him," Crimson muttered, his grip tightening around his glass.

The young man suddenly stopped muttering, his eyes locking onto Morvane through the window. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as the two stared at each other, the noise of the tavern fading into the background. Then, without warning, the young man turned and walked briskly down the street, disappearing into the night once more.

Crimson sighed, his tone filled with frustration. "Whoever he is, he’s persistent. And bold."

"We can’t ignore this anymore," Morvane said, his voice firm. "He’s not just a coincidence. He’s following us for a reason."

Medas set his glass down, his usual calm demeanor giving way to a more serious expression. "You might be right. But until we know more, we need to be cautious. If he wanted to harm us, he would have acted by now. That means he either wants something... or he’s afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Crimson asked.

Medas shook his head. "That’s what we need to figure out."

The three sat in silence for a moment, the air around them heavy with unanswered questions. Outside, the market continued to buzz with life, but for Morvane, Medas, and Crimson, the world had narrowed to a single mystery: the hooded boy and the secrets he seemed to carry.

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