The two walked in silence, leaving the beautiful streets that led up to the tower, and heading into the settlements of the city.
Laughter and the clink of tankards spilled from open windows, but the air here was heavier. There was the strong scent of stake bread and unwashed bodies.
Ironically, Quinlan still preferred it over the air in the Dreglands.
As they walked, he placed a hand over his stomach, trying to soften the lancing pain in his ribs that came with every step.
Regardless of the sting, he still managed to keep pace.
Eshmur glanced at him continuously, watching him pull his bedraggled body even though he had no idea where he was being led to.
Quinlan caught one of those glances and snorted, the sound rough with exhaustion. "What're you staring at, old man?"
Eshmur's gaze slid away, unreadable. "Merely ensuring you're still with me."
Quinlan scoffed. "Didn't know you cared."
Eshmur glanced at him again, said nothing, and returned his gaze forward.
"You wouldn't happen to have any healing powers or something?" Quinlan asked through gritted teeth. "Don't you nobles all have some kind of monster inside you that lets you do things like that?"
Eshmur's expressionless gaze was almost broken by amusement. "You know about Beast Nodes?"
"That's what they're called, ey?" Quinlan said, an uninterested expression on his face.
"We do not have monsters inside us," Eshmur corrected. "Just their subdued souls, and by our command, they give us the gifts they once possessed."
He looked at Quinlan, trying to measure his interest in the subject. When the boy offered him nothing, he returned forward.
"Regrettably, my beast possessed no healing powers that I could claim. I'm afraid I can not help you, young one."
Quinlan chuckled, bitter and short. "I really have no use for you at all." He lifted his heavy face and looked at the road ahead. "This place you're dragging me to better be worth it, old man."
Eshmur glanced at him again but said nothing, slightly picking up the pace.
"Ngh—" Quinlan's expressions tightened at the sight of him moving faster. "Slow down, old man." He struggled to keep up, pain flaring in his ribs.
Eshmur ignored him, continuing forward.
"I said slow down!"
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Eshmur led him through twisting alleyways in between the noisier parts of the city.
There were people laughing and eating, dancing and singing.
Some of them stopped at the sight of the two. Understandably.
It was indeed a strange sight to see a noble together with a beggar. Even worse, a Forsaken.
Whispers and sneers followed.
Quinlan caught their glances with quiet disdain in his eyes. It wasn't like he wanted to be amongst them and their judgmental glares, so this meant nothing.
Societal hierarchy was a deep rooted culture in Eryndal. The Forsakens just like Quinlan were basically second class citizens, abandoned and ostracized by society.
The townfolks were the normal citizens of Eryndal, who for the only reason of geographic difference, believed themselves to be a higher class than Forsakens.
And then, the nobles who were the people in power and anyone related to them.
Interestingly, despite the nobles being the one with true societal power, Quinlan had experienced the sting of discrimination most acutely from the townfolks.
He couldn't quite articulate the reason for this, but a cynical voice within him whispered that it stemmed from a shared, uncomfortable truth: deep down, the townfolks knew the flimsy barrier separating them from the Forsaken was an illusion.
And so, they asserted a false superiority by grinding their heels into those already beneath them.
Whatever the case, Quinlan hated both of them— the self-righteous townfolks and the aloof nobles. They were two sides of the same oppressive coin in his eyes.
He looked away from a particularly prejudicial glare a woman in a gaudy shawl, who had just been joyfully dancing a moment ago gave him, and he followed Eshmur into a darker, lower part of the city.
Here, the noise faded and the shadows thickened. The buildings leaned close, their sagging roofs blotting out the sky, and temperature fell fast.
After a few more steps, Quinlan's fraying patience, snapped. "That's enough, old man. Tell me now, where are you taking me to?"
Eshmur only stopped walking, his expression still as conceited as it had always been. "We're here," he answered, his voice infuriatingly serene.
Quinlan frowned. This didn't make any sense. Before him an old, vine-covered wall.
There was nothing remarkable, nothing that explained why the learned man had brought him all the way here. It appeared just to be another ruin, forgotten by time.
"You asked me to follow you," his voice was filled with heartbroken disbelief and rising anger, "just so you can show me this wall?"
Eshmur gave no response to the question, rather he stepped towards the wall. "The Oldback Mirage Turtle," he said, as if that explained anything.
Quinlan watched him with an impatient frown.
"It is a giant shelled reptile, the size of a humble cottage," Eshmur continued. "Having no forms of attack or speed to defend itself, the Mirage Turtle resorts to its unrivaled illusionary powers to protect itself. Hiding in plain sight."
Angry but curious, Quinlan asked, "So that is the monster that you have inside you?"
Eshmur exhaled, not bothering to correct the boy again. "Yes."
He slowly drew his hands from his sleeves and outstretched them towards the wall.
Then, in response, the vine-covered wall began to shimmer before it vanished into green smoke. revealing a round door of what seemed to be a tunnel.
Quinlan's eyes widened, and he took a fidgeting step back. He knew magic existed of course, but living in the Dreglands, he'd been barely able to see any of it.
Eshmur turned around, gauging the boy's reaction. When Quinlan saw him looking, he stood still and pretended to be unbothered by the display.
Then, Eshmur pressed his palm into a small rusted indentation on the door, something clicked.
The iron groaned, shifting as if awakened from centuries of slumber. Dust poured from the cracks as the door slid open, revealing a yawning dark passage leading underground.
Quinlan stiffened. "Where does that lead to?"
"Everywhere," Eshmur responded. "This is the underground tunnels of Argentum City. Few know of it. But only I remember it exists."
Quinlan hesitated, staring into the darkness. "So where are you taking me exactly?"
Eshmur turned fully to face him, his hands slipping inside his sleeves, his aged face calm. "You hesitate?"
Quinlan's eyes quivered with angst, he was starting to rethink his decision. A tunnel like that certainly looked like a hideout for illegal soul taming experiments.
But hadn't he already decided on the risk?
"That is true," Eshmur abruptly said. "Hadn't you already decided on the risk, son of Drayton?"
Quinlan recoiled.