Chapter 8: The Cavaran
The bronze pocket watch ticked steadily in Noah’s gloved hand, its cover snapping shut with a soft clink. He stood just outside the guild hall, the morning breeze brushing past his dark coat. The sky was painted in the soft golds and pale blues of early spring. Despite the hour, the city of Asterwall was already alive—merchants setting up stalls, kids chasing each other around fountains, and guards beginning their shift changes at the gates.
’Seven fifty-three,’ he muttered. ’They leave at eight.’
Kagetsume rested at his side, sheathed neatly against his waist, its familiar weight grounding him. He took one last breath of crisp air before stepping through the guild’s large wooden doors.
Inside, the receptionist glanced up with a knowing smirk.
"Ready, sword boy?"
Noah said nothing. He simply handed her the parchment she’d given him the day before—his acceptance notice for the escort job.
"Right this way," she said, motioning toward a side exit that led to the staging yard. "The noble’s getting cranky already."
As he stepped outside, Noah’s gaze settled on the caravan: three covered wagons, one pompously decorated, and a few others still being loaded by workers. Near the front, his new team was already gathered.
’Here we go.’
Noah walked with steady steps, his black boots echoing softly against the stone tiles of the courtyard. At his side, Kagetsume rested at his waist, the weight familiar, comforting. Every movement was deliberate, his breathing controlled.
A few meters ahead, four figures stood in a loose semi-circle near the waiting carriages, engaged in low conversation.