The day dimmed slowly as though the light itself hesitated to abandon the town.
Baston stood by the window of his room, watching the last strands of the sunlight stretch across the street below. The shadows lengthened unnaturally, clinging to the corners and rooftops in a way that made people feel uncertain. After several hours of quiet observation, he finally withdrew from the window.
For now, his investigation would end.
It was not because he was satisfied but because continuing without direction would only dull his instincts.
He sat on the edge of the bed, still and contemplative, when a knock came at the door. It was soft and it happened for a few times.
"Come in..."
The door opened and the innkeeper stepped inside, carrying a tray that immediately filled the room with a rich and savory aroma.
The meal was extravagant.
A thick-cut steak which was still glistening with juices, the chicken skewers brushed with a dark glaze, and the slices of grilled ham arranged with deliberate care.
Beside them were the vegetables that he did not recognize which were pale green leaves, slightly charred, and simmering in a sauce that hissed faintly as if it were still alive with heat.
It resembled the cabbage but the scent was unfamiliar. His gaze lingered on it longer than the rest.
"Here's your dinner, young master…" the innkeeper said with a polite smile, "I made sure to prepare more since you've already paid in advance."
Baston nodded, "Thank you…"
Her smile remained but there was a flicker behind her eyes. It quickly faded and almost unreadable.
"Also…" she added, placing a bottle beside the tray, "This is a small bonus…"
The glass caught the dim light and the amber liquid swirled within. He took a look and it was an ale.
For a brief moment, he said nothing before he looked up, "This was meant for Zimus, wasn't it?"
The innkeeper's expression stiffened even though just slightly.
"It was…" she admitted then she waved her hand dismissively, "But never mind him since he already caused a trouble before so consider it as the compensation."
The word of trouble lingered strangely.
Baston studied her face but the warmth had already returned to her expression which was smooth and practiced.
"I see…" he said calmly, "Then I'll accept it. Thank you…"
She inclined her head and left without another word. The door closed and the silence returned to his room
He did not move immediately.
Instead, his eyes shifted from the food to the ale and finally to the door. Something about the exchange felt intentional.
His gaze lingered on the door a moment longer than necessary.
There was no sound from the other side, no lingering footsteps, and no pause that would suggest hesitation.
If the ale had something particular inside, perhaps he might fall into a trap. However, it seemed there was nothing wrong with the food and drink.
His fingers tapped lightly against the table, once and twice before stopping.
The innkeeper's reaction had been usual. Even though she was close with Zimus, it didn't mean she would do everything for him. After all, the old man was unlike Levan.
Rather than playing with deceit, he would likely come forward cleanly.
"Compensation, huh?" he murmured under his breath.
The reasoning was sound before but he wondered if there was another meaning for doing all of this.
His eyes shifted to the ale again.
If it had truly been meant for Zimus, then giving it away so easily did not align with the innkeeper's earlier behavior. She had shown irritation but not enough to discard something of value without hesitation.
He leaned back slightly, narrowing his eyes. The value of the ale was not in the drink itself.
A quiet thought surfaced which was uncertain and incomplete yet he did not pursue it.
Instead, he picked up the bottle and turned it slightly, watching how the liquid moved within.
It was smooth and uninterrupted. Nothing visibly wrong but still, he set it back down without opening it.
After a moment, he exhaled softly and turned his attention back to the meal.
The scent was undeniably tempting. Hunger that was once a constant companion in his past, had now become something else entirely which was unreliable and almost indulgent.
He picked up his utensils and began to eat.
The flavors were rich. It was carefully balanced and far beyond what one would expect from a modest inn. It was indeed too refined and too deliberate.
Even the unfamiliar vegetable which were soft, slightly bitter, and coated in a sauce that carried a faint sweetness felt awesome as if it was chosen for a purpose he could not yet name.
He slowed down his eating. If he kept engulfing everything, he would have difficulty when arranging his weight again.
When he finished, the warmth of the bed welcomed him easily. Yet even as his body relaxed, his mind did not fully follow.
In the end, the sleep came and he drifted into the darkness.
*****
Before the dawn fully broke, Baston was already awake.
The world outside was quiet, suspended in that fragile moment before the life resumed. Without hesitation, he began his preparations.
Several threads of invisible control extended from him which was subtle and precise. His puppets dispersed into the air, shifting their forms as they moved to become the feathers and the wings.
The puppets turned into the birds. They were small, ordinary, and unnoticed. They soon scattered across the town.
Some circled above the brothel while the others perched along the rooftops, watching the intersections and alleyways. A few remained at a distance, observing himself from the angles that no human could maintain.
It was just a precaution anyway.
It was not because he feared Zimus but because he did not understand him. The yesterday's confrontation had not been accidental.
He had provoked him deliberately. He measured his reactions and he tested the edges of his behavior. And yet, there had been no retaliation.
There were no hidden movement, no whispered orders, and no signs of quiet hostility. It was as if the conflict had simply dissolved.
The morning passed then the noon came.
The sun rose high, pressing the heat into the streets until even the air seemed to waver. Still, there was nothing around.
A bird circled once above the street and its wings were cutting through the heated air before settling on the edge of a tiled roof. Through it, he observed everything that he needed to see.
The doors remained open, the conversations lingered in many places as usual, and the people moved along the familiar paths with the same pattern like always.
Everything was normal even though the thugs controlled the town.
His puppets shifted its positions, overlapping the fields of vision to eliminate few blind spots. However, he still found nothing in the end.
There were no hidden signals, no suspicious act, and no vicious crime that should happen. Even though so, he did not withdraw them because the absence itself had become the anomaly.
If Zimus truly held influence in this town, then someone should have reacted to yesterday's conflict even passively.
There should be a glance and whisper. There should be something but there was nothing now as if the town had collectively decided that the small incident was not worth remembering.
Baston's expression darkened slightly, "Perhaps, it was just not worth acknowledging..."
There was no one followed him and no one watched him with unusual intent. It seemed Zimus had truly let it go.
He frowned slightly, "I may have overestimated him…"
But even as the thought formed, it did not settle comfortably because the absence of reaction was not always the innocence.
Sometimes, it was something else entirely.
*****
In the meantime, Zimus walked freely through the town. His steps were unhurried and his posture was relaxed.
If yesterday had troubled him, no trace remained at present. He greeted people as he passed casually without any formality.
"Hey, Zimus!" an old man called out, "What are you doing out here? Not staying at your place?"
Zimus snorted, "It's too cramped and too noisy. I can't work in that mess."
The old man laughed, "Of course, it's noisy! You run a brothel, not a temple!"
"That's exactly why I'm out here," Zimus replied, "It's peace and quiet."
"Bah… Don't pretend you're some righteous man. You just don't trust yourself around those women."
Zimus shot him a glare, "Watch your mouth, old fool. You're the one with a wandering mind. Should I tell your wife?"
The old man stiffened, "Don't you dare…"
"Then, keep your nonsense to yourself…"
They parted, still muttering under their breath.
From above, Baston observed through his puppets.
The exchange was crude yet natural, too natural that it never showed himself as a thug but rather as a friendly neighbor.
There was no hesitation and no calculation in his tone. That, in itself, was strange because men like him who operated in the shadows rarely allowed themselves to appear so unguarded.
*****
The next interaction came soon after. It was a couple, middle-aged and modestly dressed.
The woman carried the weight of pregnancy and her gesture were careful but firm.
Zimus stopped in front of them and his eyes were narrowing slightly, "How many children?"
The husband blinked, "Three… This will be the third."
Zimus nodded slowly, "You better stop right now."
The words fell bluntly. It harshly went into a couple to stop giving a birth. After all, too many children would become an expense in the future.
The woman soon frowned, "That's none of your concern."
"Too many mouths to feed will become a burden," Zimus replied, "You'll understand later."
Her expression hardened, "We don't need your advice."
Zimus shrugged, "Suit yourselves but don't come begging when it becomes too much to handle."
The tension rose quickly and the husband tried to mediate but the damage was done. They left with unease lingering between them.
The old man watched them go then simply continued walking. There was no regret and no second thought in his gesture.
Baston's gaze sharpened. There was a pattern on how he treated the others.
Zimus spoke harshly but not aimlessly. Every word carried weight and intent, yet he made no effort to soften it. There was no attempt to ensure it was accepted.
It was as if being understood did not matter to him.
Baston shifted his focus, directing one of his puppets to descend lower and closer. It was close enough to observe not just the words but the reactions.
A passing merchant greeted Zimus with a nod and Zimus responded casually.
It was nothing unusual but the merchant's smile lingered a moment too long after Zimus had already turned away.
Another passerby avoided eye contact entirely, despite standing within the greeting distance. It was not fear but it was not comfort either.
Baston's eyes narrowed. The earlier impression that the town trusted Zimus completely began to fracture.
This was not a simple acceptance since it was something more complicated. It was more of balance. People tolerated him and listened to him but it was not without reservation.
"So that's it…" Baston thought quietly.
Zimus was not loved but he was necessary.
*****
Several hours passed and more interactions happened with similar results. But then, came the incident with the child.
The boy cried loudly, tugging at his mother's sleeve, demanding a toy that she clearly could not afford. The sound cut through the street, making some pedestrians to see what happened.
Zimus stopped, looking at the mess. Before anyone could react, he stepped forward and grabbed the child's arm.
"I'll take you away…" he said flatly.
The boy froze then he screamed harder. The mother panicked, pulling her son back but the old man did not move aside.
The people noticed and they looked at the direction but they did not intervene. That alone spoke volumes.
"I'll sell you far away," Zimus continued calmly and his gaze was fixed on the child, "Somewhere where you won't see your mother again."
The boy's crying turned frantic. Eventually, he began to realize the bleak future if he let the bad guy took him.
"Enough!" the mother shouted, clutching her son.
Zimus leaned slightly closer, "You better learn to behave, boy… Since she brought you into this world, don't make it harder for her."
The words were simple but something in his tone was cold and final. The child fell silent. His fear silently etched those words into his heart.
The mother fled immediately and her eyes were filled with distrust. No one stopped her and no one questioned Zimus.
They simply watched and then, they returned to their own lives as if nothing unusual had happened.
*****
From above, the bird remained still.
Baston's thoughts did not settle easily this time because what he had witnessed did not align cleanly.
Zimus was not kind. He was not gentle and he did not care how he was perceived. And yet, the town accepted and trusted him. Even when he crossed the lines that the others would not.
"Such troublesome old thug…"
The statement lingered longer in his mind because a man like Zimus was getting hard to get rid from the town.
An anomaly like this slowly became a headache.
*****
By the time Baston returned to the inn, the sun had begun to fall once more.
His steps were slower and he entered his room and sat down while gazing at the distant sky.
"I can't kill him..."
The conclusion came naturally. However, it did not resolve anything because the quest remained.
Zimus was no longer simple. He unknowingly became a contradiction between him and the town.
A man whose the actions repelled and protected in equal measure. A man who spoke like a villain yet shaped the outcomes like something else entirely.
Baston leaned back, closing his eyes.
For the first time since arriving in this town, the uncertainty settled deeply into his thoughts.
It was not about what he saw but about what he had yet to understand. And somewhere beneath that uncertainty, a quiet realization began to take form.
This was no longer an investigation of a man but more of a role.
And Zimus might not be the one who chose it.