Chapter 35 – The Mask That Drinks in Silence
Part 2: The One Who Watched Back
The Red Lantern stayed open past midnight.
Most taverns in Ziraka did. The city never slept fully—only drifted. The deeper into night it went, the louder the stories got. Slurred confessions, bragging drunks, secret business murmured over half-empty cups.
Ashern listened to all of it.
He wiped glasses, delivered bottles, refilled chipped mugs of bitter wine—and memorized every word that wasn't meant to be heard.
In a corner booth, a caravan captain boasted about surviving a run through warlock-infested salt flats.
Near the front, two mercenaries debated whether the "Ghost of Almaarad" was real or just Church propaganda.
A guild runner passed through, too young to hide his nerves, and left behind a sealed letter for a man who never came to claim it.
Ashern filed it all away.
[System Notification: Passive Intel Gain – Moderate]➤ Noted Targets: Cathedral Clergy Rotation (Ziraka)➤ Rumored Arrival: Third-Tier Inquisitor (unnamed)➤ Possible Church Vault: Beneath Stonewell Quarter
"Knowledge drinks quietly."
It was nearing closing time when she entered.
He didn't see her face at first—just the motion.
She walked in like someone who had already memorized the room.
Not cautious. Not arrogant.
Measured.
A dark red scarf wound loosely around her throat. Hooded cloak, black leather gloves. She moved to the corner booth where no one ever sat, then removed the hood.
She didn't look like the others.
Her hair was ash-grey, tied in a high, intricate braid. Her eyes—not violet like Kael's had once been, not silver like nobles from the North—but golden. Soft at first glance, but burning faintly beneath.
Ashern brought a glass to her table without being asked.
She looked up slowly.
"Do I look thirsty to you?" she asked.
Her voice was low. Dry. Not mocking, just sharp.
"You will be," Ashern said simply.
He placed the glass and walked away.
She didn't drink.
But she watched him.
Not once. Not curiously.Consistently.
Ashern worked the last round of customers without glancing back. He wiped the counter, extinguished the outer lanterns, and started locking the door.
And still, she sat there.
Still watching.
When the last patron stumbled out and the bar was nearly empty, she stood.
Walked to the counter.
And leaned forward.
"You're too clean," she said quietly.
He didn't respond.
"You don't smell like this place," she added. "You don't carry the dust, the sweat, or the fear that sticks to most men in this city."
"Maybe I wash."
"No. You don't belong. And you don't slouch enough to pretend you do."
He met her eyes for the first time.
They didn't flinch.
"Careful," he said. "You're asking questions you may not want answered."
She smiled.
Not flirtatious.
Not kind.
Just… interested.
"I don't ask questions," she said. "I recognize patterns."
Then she turned.
Walked to the door.
Paused with one hand on it.
"They're looking for someone," she added without turning back. "The Church, I mean. Someone with a sharp coat and a sharper sense of justice."
She pulled her hood up again.
"If you see him, tell him not everyone in Ziraka bends the knee. Some of us would rather burn the altar too."
Then she was gone.
Ashern stood in silence for a long time.
[System Prompt – Event Flag Triggered]
"Unknown Variable Detected."Subject: Female (Race human)Threat Level: ???
He didn't know her name.
But he knew he hadn't fooled her.
And that made her dangerous.
Or useful.
Maybe both.