A stabbing pain in his head, an echo of strange voices, of images that were too real to be a dream. Corin's eyes snapped open.
He was lying on cold stone, his breath ragged. The ruins loomed around him, ancient and silent, but something had changed.
His fingers clenched in the dirt. He expected pain from the gaping wounds of his escape. But there was nothing. No blood. No wound. Just scarred skin and a black feather.
'How...?'
He drew in a sharp breath and froze.
The world smelled different. More intense. The scent of moss, of damp stone, of... life. He heard the scratching of insects on the bark of a tree, the soft fluttering of wings.
'Wings?'
Slowly, he raised his head.
Above, on a broken archway, they were sitting.
Ravens.
Black as the night. Their eyes rested on him as if they were waiting for something.
His breathing became shallow.
'What has happened?'
Unsure of what had happened and what he had seen, he stumbled to his feet. He still had enough time to think about it later. His body on the other hand felt... different. Too light. Too strong. Every step was instinctive, his movements more precise, as if Corin had awoken from a long sleep only to find himself in someone else's skin.
'I have to go back. Enough time should have passed for me to use the tunnel again.'
A damp chill struck Corin as he entered the old tunnel system. The light faded behind him, swallowed up by the darkness. Normally, he would have hesitated. The tunnels were a trap for anyone who didn't know them, too many dead ends, too many abandoned corridors that probably led nowhere. How else would he have lost his pursuers?
But this time...
He blinked.
The darkness was there. But it wasn't absolute.
He saw.
Not in colors, not in light, but in contours, in movements. As if his mind was forming shadows where there shouldn't be any.
He paused, his fingers running over the walls. Cold stone, moss, cracks that ran through the rock like veins. He smelled the musty odor of old water and heard the distant dripping somewhere in the depths.
'Why...?'
His pulse quickened, but not out of fear.
It felt... right.
Like he'd always seen that way.
He moved faster, his steps sure. The injury that had paralyzed him hours ago? Not even a tug. His breathing was steady, even as he increased his pace.
Then... a movement.
Corin stopped abruptly.
A raven was sitting a few steps in front of him, in the darkness of the tunnel. He hadn't heard it, hadn't seen it, and yet Corin knew it was there.
The yellow eyes reflected his own face.
It was not the first raven he had seen since he had left the ruins.
And he was sure it wouldn't be the last.
One of the tunnel exits led into a deserted alley near Ash Alley. Corin pulled his hood down over his face and stepped out onto the main street.
Morning had already broken, and the town was beginning to come to life. Merchants shouted out their wares, workers dragged crates over the bumpy pavement, children ran laughing between the stalls.
He sucked in the air and shivered.
Too many smells. Too many sounds.
This was... not normal.
He heard the scratching of a quill on parchment several steps away. The coins an old man turned in his pocket. The crackling of burning wood somewhere further back.
But there was something else that had changed. It was as if people weren't noticing him. No, that wasn't quite right. It was more as if his presence was muted, more difficult to recognize. Not directly. But... different.
As if there was something about him that they didn't notice, without understanding what.
He pushed the feeling aside.
Corin walked through the narrow alleyways of Ash Alley. The morning had not yet fully reached the city, but for someone like him, it made no difference, the darkness was apparently no longer an obstacle.
The slums were waking up more and more. Merchants unloaded crates of goods, arguing voices mingled with the clanging of metal and the first shouts in the marketplace. But Corin didn't really hear them.
His head was full of thoughts:
Ezekiel had arranged this mission. What did he know about the ambush?
Did anyone know that he had been sent to the Rust Trench? Or was it a coincidence?
Who had known about him?
Ezekiel had always been more than just a middleman to him. The old bastard had taken him in when no one else would. Had taken him aside when he was still a wild street orpha. He'd taught him to negotiate, to observe, to survive.
Though he could be sure Ezekiel hadn't sold him out, he knew better than to get sentimental. The slums never had room for what might have been.
He still carried the package with him. The temptation to open it was greater than ever. However, there was still the possibility of delivering the commission under certain circumstances. The commission would be hard to pass up.
He walked on, past sleeping figures in doorways, past whispers in dark corners.
His destination was clear: Ezekiel.