Silas barely felt rested when he woke up the next morning. A dull pain rocked his head and his limbs were stiff from the cold stone floor. Someone had laid a sheet over him—thin, but a gesture of care he hadn’t expected. Before he could sit up and test if his bones still worked, Lennox had unceremoniously dragged him out of his room and into the streets.

Had it been the day before, Silas might have cursed the beautiful Archon - calling him a cruel and mad tyrant, villain perfect for a fairy tale. Such had been his reputation in Nimit. He was an abomination, unfortunate to be a scion of the cursed bloodline - bloodline where power hungry lunatics promised a sacrifice of their first born to a merciless God for unbounded power. 

However, ever since his conversation with Leopold last night, he started perceiving him differently. He didn’t know if Leopold was telling the truth—but he knew this: Lennox had once been someone’s whole world. A son any mother would have died for and he was a cherished brother, still.

Tugging his cloak tighter against the breeze, Silas casted a sideways glance at Lennox’s unreadable expression. The man hadn’t changed clothes. He looked like he hadn’t slept either but he still walked like a predator, prowling the street for his prey. Silas wondered if he remained so elusive even while contemplating his own cruel end and at an age so young.

They turned the lane into another small alley, lined with hawkers who had been laying out their vessels. The sun was still not so high in the sky, Silas noticed, so it was still early morning. The pain pulsed again and he pressed the heel of his hand on his forehead, wincing, “Gods, I think I’m coming down with something…”

Lennox, walking a half-step ahead, threw him a look and flicked his hand away, ‘You are fine! Now walk straight.’

‘I don’t feel fine.’ Silas snapped, his voice came out sharper than intended. He cursed under his breath, looking up to see if Lennox had been offended. The man’s face was unreadable—but there was a glint in his eye that said he wasn’t as annoyed as he probably should’ve been. He had his sunny side-up today.

‘Where are we going?’ Silas asked, little apprehensive of the destination and the purpose behind it.

Lennox’s smirk widened. It was the kind of expression that made Silas want to turn around and bolt in the opposite direction. ‘To the inns you frequent so much.’

‘That was the first inn I went to.’ Silas replied sheepishly. ‘And got smacked for it pretty hard.’ He added with a grudge.

‘Really?’ Lennox raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. ‘Guess Erie found a perfect idiot for him.’ 

Silas frowned, his face heating up with embarrassment and indignation. ‘So not being able to afford inns makes one an idiot, now?’ They turned into a lane bursting with color—velvets, silks, and linens in every shade known to Raia. Silas narrowed his eyes.

“No,” Lennox said, glancing sideways at him with a cool expression. “But taking such a job in a place you’ve never even stepped foot in? Yeah, that kind of earns you the title. How long have you been frequenting Raia?’

Silas now felt utterly foolish answering him.

 “…Never,” he muttered, barely audible, eyes fixed on the cobblestones.

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked over his shoulder.

“How much?” he asked flatly. “What’s the price for throwing your life away?”

Silas flinched. There were so many answers that could shut him up for good, but none of them he really wanted to share. He crossed his arms, glaring ahead as if the answer might appear written on the wall.

‘You wouldn’t understand it,’ he said stiffly. ‘I didn’t do it just for a few copper coins.’

Lennox studied him in silence for a beat. Then he scoffed.

‘Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.’ 

Silas would have taken the snide remark to his heart but the way Lennox held his gaze made him feel funny in the stomach.

‘Those eyes - is the hue so common in your Nimit?’ He asked casually and they were walking again. Silas shook his head.

‘Not any other Nimah I know of has them but then I only know a few.’ He wanted to add that Erie had travelled widely and he still found them as unique as Lennox did. He wisely kept the mention to himself.

Lennox hummed thoughtfully and then after a pause, he asked, ‘Are your parents also runners?’‘I never knew them. I was raised by an old man who took me in from the streets.’

Lennox glanced at him briefly, a hint of suspicion and reluctant sympathy swirling in those ember eyes. Silas recognized the conflicting emotions— he had been a victim of similar circumstances. The lines of mistrust ran so deep between the two worlds, shaped by a history of hostility and violence that had persisted for generations. They were conditioned to view each other as enemies—an inevitability shaped not by individual will but by circumstance. In that wavering moment, Silas wished things were different.