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Caelyn still remembered the screaming; it would be imprinted in his mind for turnings to come.

Five Starless emerged from the darkness without warning as the caravan wound along a narrow ridge through sleeting rain. They lurched forward in broken, unnatural motions that should have slowed them. Instead, they crossed the ground with terrifying speed. Not one footfall broke the silence.

One guard hadn’t even had time to scream before black talons tore through his throat. He crumpled soundlessly, blood pouring between his fingers. Moments later, another body struck the mud beside the supply carts, a Starless standing unnaturally still over the fresh corpse.

Caelyn had killed one himself. He had never killed anything in his life except for animals while hunting for food outside the abbey walls.

The Starless had lunged toward one of the younger merchants, and Caelyn moved before anyone else could react. He remembered grabbing its arm hard enough to hear bones snap, and then frost began to spread beneath his fingers.

The Starless had collapsed, convulsing against the icy road. Black sludge had oozed out from its eyes, its nose, its mouth. Whatever was in its veins seeped out onto the ground and sank beneath the earth as if being absorbed by a sponge.

Afterward, the surviving guards looked at him with fear, none of them understanding how he’d done what he’d done. And none had bothered to mention the frost.

That unease amongst his travel companions disturbed him more than accusations might have.

Now Veylspire loomed ahead through a drifting cloud while that same sort of unease crawled beneath his skin. The closer they drew to the city, the worse the resonance became.

He could feel it. Not hear it like the Astrari, specifically like Elowynn and Agatha. But feel. It was like pressure beneath the world, a suffocating presence in his chest.

It was the same as down in the abbey, but worse here in the city.

The caravan captain shouted orders ahead while merchants began reorganizing supply carts for inspection entry into the lower terraces.

Caelyn lowered his hood a bit, Agatha’s parting instructions echoing unpleasantly in memory: Keep your head down. Don’t speak much. Try not to intimidate anyone. You’re big and bulky, so don’t act like a brute.

Very encouraging guidance overall.

Fortunately, the guards at the lower gate didn't spare him a another glance. It helped bolster his confidence that no one would discover what he was.

Caelyn had learned long ago that people rarely noticed men who carried themselves like laborers or caravan escorts. Broad shoulders. Worn clothing. Relaxed posture. Lowered gaze.

Invisible.

Or close enough.

Still, he caught several city guards watching him a heartbeat longer than seemed necessary as the caravan entered the lower districts. Something in their instincts appeared to hesitate over him, as though they sensed he was not quite what he appeared to be. He felt lucky that none had stopped him.

The moment he stepped into the city, he was overwhelmed.

Veylspire was louder than Lumenshire in every possible way.

The lower terraces teemed with scholars, merchants, nobles, resonance engineers, couriers, and observatory attendants moving through layers of glowing bridges beneath massive towers overhead. The astrylite rail systems hummed through the city, carrying resonance cargo between districts while distant observatory bells echoed in constant rhythm through the mountains.

Caelyn was awestruck by everything, even as he felt dwarfed by it all.

Beneath all of the brilliance, though—the currents pulsed.

They were stronger here. Much stronger.

Caelyn kept his head low as he walked along the streets, his eyes taking in everything he possibly could. Agatha had sent him north with enough coin to survive modestly for several moons alongside a warning that not even death would prevent her from murdering him if he wasted any of it gambling.

Which apparently meant she trusted him very little.

Her warning had been warranted, however. Over the last three turnings, Caelyn had developed a fondness for cards at the local tavern back in Lumenshire. It passed the time, sharpened his instincts, and occasionally earned him enough coin to buy supper. But he had never been tempted to let it become anything more.

His only real weakness was somewhere in this city.

And she was worth infinitely more than a deck of cards.