The evening was cooler than he expected it to be. He pulled his blue faded robes closer but the threadbare, worn out thing hardly helped. He should have brought his cloak, he thought as he rubbed his hands together to find some semblance of warmth. He looked up toward the sun and dishearteningly realized that it was about to set. It would be dark soon and he had to return before the night fell. 

Quickening his pace, he wove through the narrow, cluttered lanes. Merchants were hurriedly packing their wares, and laborers were pushing past each other with little regard, their carts clattering over the uneven stones. He sidestepped a wheelbarrow laden with firewood and ducked beneath a low-hanging thatched roof of another roadside stall, keeping his head down. 

Silas would have to agree that this was not how he had pictured his first visit to Raia, much less to its towering Citadel. 

As per the gossips in the Runner's Academy, Raia was an opulent city of their dreams, filled with magical flying beasts, castles and tall spires, mouth watering delicacies around corners and of course the Royalty. Those charming douchebags - whose main business was to hunt them - the Nimahs. A community to which Silas belonged. One, that they had sworn to annihilate at the beginning of time itself. 

Nimahs would have long gone extinct, had they not found Nimit - their dearest homeland. Though it was safe, tucked away from the greedy gaze of Raia's royalty, it sometimes did get boring. Especially for the village folk like Silas.

Silas’s mind wandered back to the back-breaking labor at the farm and the sole company of horses he had at the barn. He had spent sixteen years of his life reeling under the banality of his pitiful existence.

One day, he called it. 

Like every other youth of his age - he applied for a chance at the Runner's Academy in the capital. Though barely months had passed since that day, his life had changed in far reaching ways . 

Runners were individuals who ran between Raia and Nimit, ferrying supplies between worlds that existed in different dimensions. Raians were not even aware of their existence and Nimahs had every intention of keeping up the illusion, until they were strong enough to face them. 

Nimahs had opened outposts in Raia that kept close vigil on their political and general affairs under the guise of usual businesses. Runners like Silas were the lifeline that kept these outposts functional. 

Silas bounced with joy the day he got to know that he had been accepted into the prestigious Runner Academy in Kurseona. This admission was his one way ticket to leave the farm behind. An opportunity to explore life for the pure joy of just living it.

Until then, he hadn’t even stepped out of his village. 

Without another thought, he had packed up his few meager belongings and boarded a trader’s wagon toward his ultimate destination.

He remembered the day and a small smile graced his features. He was flying among the clouds, unaware of the harsh realities that would ground him as soon as he would reach the doors of the Academy.

The fall of expectations was steep and even hurt a little but still here he was.

Finally in Raia. 

Not legally though. A small guilty voice inside him reminded him which he shushed immediately.

Doors do not open for boys like Silas on their own - an orphan with nothing to his name. He had to kick them open. Some trades sounded fun and others downright suspicious. 

Like the one he made that day.

He had woken up to the news of one of the runners falling sick. He was expected to fill in his shoes and had to pick up an item from the Queen’s Top Inn situated at Raia’s citadel and deliver it to the Elder’s Building at their Academy, all the while being discreet and vigilant, which simply meant no stopovers. He could only leave after noon and return before night fell. 

All as a small favor to the runner. He was even promised his runner’s allowance for the trip.

Warning bells had gone off inside his brain. The deal was too good to be true. A journey straight into the heart of Raia’s citadel which would not have been allotted to him for yet another year. If at all.

But his treacherous heart listened to no musings of his brain. Before he knew, he had grabbed the key from his hand and thanked the runner profusely for the opportunity. He might have too ornately described the feelings of his heart. He desperately needed filters for his mouth.

Before noon, he had packed a satchel and left for Raia - ensuring his own safeguards in place.

Queen’s Top Inn

How he wished, the inn had been situated in some of the good parts of the Citadel, not in this business alley of small traders. At least, the famous Illari Square. 

He wanted to eat there once, before he died.

He pictured the scene as it should have been: laughter from the food stalls, the warm smell of spiced bread in the air, a proud beast beneath him and admiring glances from passersby. 

But reality tasted colder. Bitter, even. The coins they pressed into his hand felt pitifully few, a meagre allowance that barely acknowledged the miles he would cover. 

He looked further down the business street for the Inn sign. It was supposed to be nearby. He skirted around a cart full of grain sacks, his hands wrapping around himself to keep away the cold. 

A faint prickle crawled up the back of his neck—like the ghost of a gaze brushing his spine. He quickened his steps, not daring to look over his shoulder. 

Just nerves, he told himself or may be the lingering guilt. He picked up the pace, desperately hoping to find the inn and as if summoned by his thoughts, the sign finally appeared. 

He sighed with relief. The purpose of the journey was at least half accomplished. Oh how little he knew!