The morning was quieter than I expected.
Not silent—just… uncommitted.
The inn hall was only half awake when I arrived.
Tables still being wiped.
Steam rising from early meals.
Voices low, unhurried.
I chose a corner seat without thinking.
Close enough to observe.
Far enough not to interfere.
That was when I saw the bard.
A traveler.
Already mid-performance.
No stage, truly.
Only a raised edge near the dining hall.
A space people simply agreed to look toward.
His voice carried easily.
Not loud.
Just practiced.
The melody was simple.
Familiar in the way repetition becomes comfort.
People listened while eating.
Some stopped.
Some did not.
And when it ended—
it ended cleanly.
A pause.
Then movement.
Coins.
Small.
Casual.
Offered without ceremony.
Not payment.
Acknowledgment.
I watched longer than I intended.
Then I remembered what Ryn had said.
“Sell what you see.”
Not your effort.
Your eyes.
Your voice.
I found the innkeeper afterward.
The request came out more uncertain than I expected.
But it was not refused.
“Tonight,” they said.
As if timing was already understood.
There was no preparation beyond that.
Only waiting.
But waiting, I realized, is heavier than it sounds.
I returned to Ryn before evening.
Not to report.
To ask.
What to say.
She looked at me for a moment longer than usual.
Then shrugged slightly.
“Tell what you saw.”
I did not move.
That answer stayed suspended.
Unfinished.
“I don’t want to,” I said.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it was too close.
My journal is still… mine.
Not yet something to be given away.
Ryn did not argue.
She rarely does when something is already decided internally.
Then she added, almost absently:
“Then tell something they already fear.”
I did not ask what she meant.
I think I already knew.
I returned to my room shortly after.
And waited again.
Night arrived without announcement.
The hall below filled slowly.
Not crowded.
But present.
Faces I recognized.
And many I did not.
The Caravan Master was there.
Near the side.
Watching without expression.
Ryn sat beside him.
Calm.
Unmoving.
I took a breath before stepping forward.
Longer than necessary.
Then I spoke.
“Why was six afraid of seven?”
A pause.
Then someone answered from the room, laughing lightly:
“Because seven eight nine.”
The sound of it spread quickly.
Easy.
Familiar.
I smiled.
Then stopped.
And the air changed with that stillness.
My voice lowered.
Not louder.
Different.
In halls of stone where whispers creep
where shadows crawl and secret sleep there sat council 10 in line
each bound by oath each marked by sign
one, the founder, pale and grim held knowledge locked within his limb his hand was black with rot and blight, he claim he touch the edge of night
two, would tally, count and keep yet lost her sight to things too deep, she saw the sum that shouldn't be and numbers whispered "set us free"
three, the builder carved the halls with hands that bled along the walls, the doors he made would not unmake, the past he paved would weave and wake
four, would judge and weigh the sin but found no justice deep within, his scales would tip of their own will and nameless voices call him still
five, the scribe with ink of red, who only wrote what must be read and though his hand grew weak with age his quill still moved "we turn the page"
but six, the youngest, born in dread was told to fear what lay ahead
for seven's seat was cracked and bare, the shape that sat no longer there
a place unfilled yet not unclaimed
a number spoken yet unnamed
for seven ate and still it eats
the hunger vast a void beneath
when first it came no soul could flee for numbers break, but never three, they whispered warnings "let it be"
yet seven laughed "you count on me"
now six sits silent, cold with fright and will not speak of what took flight
for numbers end, but hunger stays
and seven waits in endless days
The room did not interrupt me.
It did not move.
It simply… stopped.
Somewhere in the middle, I noticed even breathing had changed.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
When I finished, there was a silence that felt complete.
Not empty.
Held.
I looked up.
No one spoke immediately.
Then the sound returned slowly.
Not applause.
Not reaction.
Something less certain.
Still, coins were placed on the table.
More than I expected.
A drink was also set beside me.
From the innkeeper.
Without explanation.
I did not refuse it.
Ryn was the first I looked at.
She smiled slightly.
Not wide.
But real enough to notice.
The Caravan Master stood shortly after.
He did not clap.
He did not speak.
He only shook his head once.
A small motion.
Almost disbelief.
Then left the hall.
Still smiling.
I am not sure what I changed in that room.
Only that something shifted without breaking.
And I do not yet know if that is more dangerous
or more valuable.
Tonight, I learned that words can travel further than their speaker.
Even when they are not meant to.
Komentar
Posting Komentar