Gabriel lowered the blade and rested it across his knees.

Armour was out of reach. Proper steel even more so. All he had was a dull sword, a worn cloak, and maybe something waiting in the cliffs.

He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of the inn settling for the night.

Morning would decide it.

Sleep pulled at him, but Gabriel ignored it.

He sat on the floor instead, legs crossed, back straight, and slowed his breathing until the ache in his body dulled into something manageable. The familiar warmth stirred in his chest as the crimson fog responded, present but contained.

He let a measured amount slip free.

It gathered around his fingers in thin strands, faint and controlled, never spilling beyond what he allowed. He guided it to the sword, letting it settle along the hilt before easing it across the blade.

The metal answered with a low vibration, subtle enough to feel rather than hear, the edge tightening under the pressure.

No force. No excess.

He drew the fog back in, then repeated the motion. Again and again. Extending. Retracting. Testing the limits of control rather than power.

Each repetition sharpened the response, smoothing the hesitation that still lingered.

An hour passed before he stopped.

It wasn't much, but it was progress.

Gabriel sheathed the sword and stretched out on the bed, exhaustion finally taking hold.

Dawn arrived grey and cold, light cutting through the grime on the window and pulling him back to consciousness. He rose without delay, muscles stiff but steady, and gathered what little he had.

The inn was quiet when he went downstairs. The common room stood empty, save for the innkeeper behind the bar, wiping mugs in steady motions.

"Blacksmith?" Gabriel asked.

The innkeeper jerked his thumb toward the street. "Past the market. Garrick's forge. Best in town if you've got the coin."

Gabriel nodded and stepped outside into the morning chill.

The town was waking. Stalls were being dragged into place, canvas stretched tight over wooden frames. Children ran errands between carts, shouting to one another as merchants barked orders.

Church patrols moved through it all in steady lines, boots striking stone.

He kept his hood low and followed the flow toward the market.

The forge announced itself long before he reached it. Smoke rolled from the chimney, and the sound of iron rang out over the street in steady blows. The building itself was plain and solid, built to last rather than impress.

Heat hit him as soon as he stepped inside.

The blacksmith worked at the anvil without looking up, hammer rising and falling as he shaped a horseshoe. His arms were thick with muscle, skin darkened by soot and heat. Racks of tools lined the walls. Blades, shields, and half-finished armour waited along the edges of the space.

Gabriel stood back until the hammering stopped.

The man wiped his brow and turned, eyes narrowing slightly as he took Gabriel in. "What d'you need?"

"A sword," Gabriel said. "Better than this."

He set the stolen blade on the counter. "And armour. medium. Plate or leather."

The blacksmith picked up the sword, weighing it in one hand without comment.

Garrick lifted the sword and turned it once in his hand. His mouth pulled to one side.

"This?" he said. "Barely fit for firewood."

He gave it a short swing, then set it down with a dull clack. "New blade's eight silver. Armor runs higher. Fifteen for reinforced leather." His eyes flicked to Gabriel's hands, lingering on the faint scars there. "Looks like you'd use it."

Gabriel reached for his pocket and stopped.

Empty.

The inn had taken the last of it. He met the smith's gaze without flinching. "No coin now. But I can earn it."

Garrick snorted. "Everyone can. Coin doesn't show up on promises." He shook his head. "Church takes its cut either way."

Gabriel didn't push. "Heard talk of bounties."

That caught the man's attention.

"Aye," Garrick said after a moment. "Crawfiend. Took livestock north of town. Guard's finally done arguing and put coin on it."

"How much?"

"Ten silver," Garrick replied. "Proof of the kill."

Gabriel waited.

"Nests in the cliffs," the smith added. "Flies. Hits hard. Whatever it drags off doesn't come back." He shrugged.

Gabriel nodded once. "Where's the notice?"

Garrick jerked his chin toward the street. "North gate. Guard post. They'll want the head. Bring that back, and you might afford better steel."

He eyed Gabriel again. "If you're still breathing."

Gabriel turned without another word and stepped back into the street.

The market had filled in while he was inside. Voices overlapped as merchants argued prices, the smell of bread and hot oil drifting between stalls. Iron rang from nearby forges, steady and familiar. He moved through it without slowing, angling north as the town walls rose higher with each street he passed.

The guard post sat against the stonework near the gate, squat and utilitarian, its door standing open. Inside, a sergeant hunched over a ledger while two guards leaned nearby, half-watching the road.

"Bounty," Gabriel said.

The sergeant looked up, eyes running over him in a glance. "Crawfiend," he replied. "Ten silver for proof." He tapped the ledger with his quill. "Cliffs north of town. River gorge. Been hitting farms at dusk."

Gabriel said nothing.

"Bring back the head," the sergeant added. "No head, no coin."

He slid a folded notice across the desk.

Gabriel took it, glanced once at the crude sketch, then folded it away without comment.

"Sign," the sergeant said.

Gabriel marked the page with a simple slash and turned for the door.

By the time he reached the market again, the sun had climbed, though the air stayed sharp. He traded a small trinket for a waterskin and a wedge of hard cheese. Nothing more than what he'd need to stay moving.

At the north gate, he slipped out alongside a group of woodcutters, blending into their number until the road bent away from town.

The terrain turned rough quickly. Hills fractured into stone. The gorge cut deep, water roaring far below as wind threaded through the cliffs. Somewhere above, something cried out, sharp enough to make him pause and listen.

Gabriel moved on.

He climbed steadily, using the stone where the path vanished, fingers finding holds worn thin by time. His body complained, but it held.

By early afternoon, he began to see signs. Gouges in rock where something had landed often. Feathers caught between stones, dark and sharp-edged, not meant to fall harmlessly. The air carried a faint, sour tang that didn't belong to birds.

The nest was close.

Gabriel adjusted his grip on the sword and continued upward, slow and deliberate. If the bounty paid, he would leave this place better equipped than he arrived.

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