“And I’ll tell of it,” Belfast promised. She ran a hand over the map; the ink settled like a sigh. She threaded the crystal beneath her scarf. “It’ll make good material at the bar.”
Belfast’s answer was a slow steady motion: hand to hip, fingers finding the key the vendor had given her. “This one can have my shadow,” she said. “I prefer the light.” adventuring with belfast in another world v01 hot
The steward’s face, for a moment, betrayed a flicker of respect. “Then you’ll have burdens,” she warned. “And small mercies.” “And I’ll tell of it,” Belfast promised
The presence—call it a guide, or a gatekeeper who’d missed its paycheck—stepped forward. It was beautiful in a way that made senses ache: thin shoulders, ribs like fine architecture, hair that cascaded silver and measured the stars as it fell. It bowed its head slightly. “They call me Thal,” it said. “You carry a hot route. The world notices.” “It’ll make good material at the bar
It was then she felt it: a presence folding into the night air like a hand slipping into a glove. Belfast did not spin; her training insisted she observe first. A shadow bowed at the periphery, and the shadow had eyes that reflected no light but memory. “You’re not from the maps,” it said, not unkindly. The voice had an accent made of wind through glass.