The next morning, Althar awoke with a sense of heaviness that hadn't been there the day before. His room, sparse and functional, was located at the edge of the city, in a quiet inn where travelers and mercenaries gathered. The smell of stale bread and brewing coffee filtered through the small window, mingling with the cold morning air. Yet, despite the familiar sounds of the city waking up around him, Althar felt... distant. Detached, as though the world outside had faded even further from his reach.
I have no place here, he thought. The realization was not new, but today, it carried more weight. His purpose in this world had yet to reveal itself, and that uncertainty gnawed at him in a way he could not explain. It wasn't fear—he didn't feel fear—but it was a discomfort that felt like a crack in his otherwise solid foundation.
He had spent years in his past life as a king, a ruler of vast lands, commanding armies and forging alliances with the cold precision of a strategist. But now, in this new world of magic and strange forces, he had no clear role. He had no kingdom to rule, no empire to control. There were only shadows of a past life that seemed more like fragments of a dream. And though he had already dismissed his encounter with Elira and her cryptic words, her presence still lingered like an echo.
You will feel it.
Althar stood up from the bed, his mind refusing to quiet. There had been a flicker of something—something more than the control he had always relied on. Something raw. Something... human. And it had come from the simplest of moments: his interaction with the woman in the street. He had been so certain that his actions were born out of nothing but reason and calculation, but now, he couldn't help but wonder if there had been more to it.
I acted on impulse, he realized, the thought lingering in his mind like a shadow he couldn't escape. For the first time in a long while, Althar wasn't sure why he had intervened. He had seen countless others suffering or in peril in his past life, and he had never felt the need to interfere. But this time, something had shifted.
The woman's face flashed in his mind, her gratitude, her trembling voice. The way she had looked at him—there was something in that gaze, something he couldn't quite define.
He pushed the thought away, as he had done many times before. But this time, the nagging sensation wouldn't let go.
The streets of the city were busier than ever by the time Althar decided to leave the inn. The market square was bustling with activity, merchants peddling everything from fruits and spices to intricately woven fabrics and strange, glowing crystals. The scent of roasting meats and fresh produce filled the air, and people milled about, exchanging goods, gossip, and laughter. It was a world alive with energy, a stark contrast to the cold detachment he felt inside.
As he walked through the crowd, a feeling—a sensation he hadn't felt before—began to settle in his chest. The pressure of it was subtle, almost imperceptible at first, like a faint hum of a distant storm. It was as though something was trying to break through, something that had been buried too long.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a group of children playing near the market. Their laughter rang out, bright and carefree, a stark contrast to the seriousness with which Althar viewed the world. He watched them for a moment, the way they chased each other, their voices filled with joy.
The sight made him pause.
There was a time, long ago, when he had known such carefree moments—before his rise to power, before the weight of the crown had crushed him under its pressure. Before the endless battles for control, the betrayals, the losses. In those fleeting memories, there had been a time of innocence, of laughter, of warmth.
But that was in the past. A past he had buried deep. A past that had no place in this world.
Yet, the memory lingered. And with it, something else. A deep sense of yearning. A longing.
He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. You are not that person anymore. You have no need for these feelings. They are a distraction.
Still, despite his internal commands, the sensation of longing remained. It twisted in his chest, a strange tug that made it difficult to breathe. What was this? Why had he never felt this before? Was it weakness?
Althar wandered deeper into the city, his mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts. He was no longer sure of himself, not as certain as he had once been. What if Elira had been right? What if emotions—those very things he had always rejected—were the key to something more? He hated the thought, the idea that he could somehow be controlled by these intangible forces.
As he walked, lost in his own turmoil, he found himself near a small tavern. The sign outside was worn, but the warmth and laughter spilling out from the inside called to him. He hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of alcohol and cooking meat. Men and women sat at tables, engaged in lively conversation or raucous laughter. Althar's eyes quickly scanned the room, noting the faces of the people inside. A few familiar ones—a merchant he had seen in the market earlier, a pair of mercenaries from the city gates—sat in the corner, deep in conversation.
But what caught his attention was the figure at the bar.
It was her.
The woman. The one from the market.
She sat alone, her head bowed slightly as she sipped from a mug. There was a quiet grace to her, something that drew Althar's gaze without him fully understanding why. His body moved almost on its own accord, as though his feet were guided by something other than reason.
When she noticed him approaching, her eyes lifted to meet his. The faintest flicker of recognition passed between them.
"You," she said softly, her voice carrying an undercurrent of surprise. "You're the one from yesterday."
Althar nodded once, his expression unreadable. "I am."
She smiled, though it was tinged with something else—curiosity, perhaps. "I didn't expect to see you again. Though, I suppose, it's not every day someone steps in to help a stranger like that."
Althar said nothing for a moment, his mind wrestling with thoughts he wasn't ready to face. But there was something in her eyes—something that stirred the seed of doubt deeper within him.
What is it that I am feeling?
"Do you always follow others so easily?" she asked, her voice teasing but not mocking. "Or is it just me that has you... intrigued?"
Althar felt the subtle stir of something—a flicker of warmth he couldn't suppress. He ignored it, though it settled in his chest with a weight he couldn't explain.
"I don't know," he replied, his voice a little softer than usual. "Perhaps I am just... observing."
Althar didn't know what to make of it. He had never been so... unsure of himself. And that feeling—the one that had been growing ever since he had met her—continued to eat away at him, gnawing at the edges of his control.
Was this what it meant to feel?
Or was this, perhaps, the beginning of something far more dangerous?
The seed of doubt had been planted. And it was not so easily uprooted.