Kyros spies at the passing crowds through the slits of his full helm, making certain that no one is paying any attention to him before he slides a hand under his chest plate.

With minimal movements, he feels for the pocket that’s sewn to the bottom of his tunic, and then using the movement of transferring his polearm from one hand to the other, slips out the leather-bound notebook from its pouch and palms it in his hand.

Kyros allows himself a cheeky grin, knowing his helm will hide it from any civilians. He’s gotten so good at the sleight now, that maybe it’s time to hang up the spear and be a traveling performer, like the wizards of the Shaazaw Isles used to do. When he was young, Kyros saw the wizards the few times they passed through his village, and he remembers being utterly fascinated by their performances. But now, he’s almost certain that the tricks they pulled - the appearing flowers and vanishing cups - he can do as well, and better.

The young knight chuckles to himself at the thought of traveling Gandolia in a pointy hat and star-speckled robe. If bandits don’t get him during his journeying, his father surely will, from beyond the grave.

With his polearm resting in the nook of his arm, Kyros leans leisurely against the right-side pillar of the stone gate he’s supposed to be guarding. He does not worry he may be seen, because he has already long surmised from the many years of working this particular post, that under the shadows of the twin stone griffons, their wings outspread and overlapping to form the most majestic gate in Kesrock city, one will have to squint very carefully in the right place to see the knight clad in grey armor the same shade as the stone behind him.

Still smiling, he shakes the notebook on its side, and a stump of charcoal falls out from within the spine, onto his waiting hand.

“You’re going to get into trouble, Argonston, one of these days. For sure.”

Kyros turns to look at the knight next to him. A towering, stocky man of almost forty, Sir Jernal has the body of a seasoned warrior, but his intellect never seems to have increased like his muscles and age has.

Kyros shrugs. “I’m not doing anything against the rules.”

“I’m telling you this as a friend, Argonston,” Sir Jernal says with grave seriousness while keeping his eyes straight ahead, as if some crook might sneak past him the instant he looks away, even though only a few arms-length from them, two other knights are standing guard at the other pillar of this same gate. “If Captain Stelias were to come out here," the senior knights continues, "and sees you slacking, she’s going to send you to the Battlefront. For sure." His voice drops to a whisper, but a whisper from Sir Jernal is the proper speaking volume of an ordinary man. "You probably don’t know, Argonston, but there’s been an increase in attacks from the beast-folk lately, and our dungeons are nearly empty of criminals to send.”

“Oh, yeah?” asks Kyros as he flips through his notebook. “And where did you hear all this, pray tell?”

Sir Jernal sniffs. “I overheard some talks outside a Gate Captain’s quarters when I was delivering a message, I won’t say which captain. But the truth is that the Lord Commander has given word that even the smallest mistakes are punishable by exile. For sure.”

“Right, for sure," Kyros says, nodding placidly to Sir Jernal's gossip. He does not want to argue, partly because the man is more than twenty years his senior, but mostly because there is no getting through to that thick, already greying head. Kyros has failed too many times on that front to see reason in doing it again.

When he finds a blank page, Kyros looks up from his book to scan the crowds of people hastily making their way into the city. He sees humans of all shapes and sizes, adventurers and merchants, and heavily dressed pilgrims - likely bound for the north, judging by their gear and determined expressions. Once or twice he spots an occasional elf servant, and even a few dwarf traders, but these non-humans hurry on past before he can get a good look. No one spares either Kyros or his fellow Gate Knights so much as a glance. And why should they? As the lowest ranking of Kesrockian Knights, he, and the three other knights this side of the gate, might as well be carved from stone, and their significance and social value will remain unchanged.

“It’s not like I spend my entire post drawing or anything,” Kyros says, defending himself, then hating how Sir Jernal is making him feel like he needs to. “I’m taking a short break. That’s all. They can’t exile me for taking a short break.”

"It's not me you have to convince," says Sir Jernal. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The charcoal in Kyros’s fingers hovers indecisively above the page. He doesn’t want to draw the people around him today, he decides, with their hard eyes and down-turned mouths. But he’s getting sick of sketching this same old cobblestone bridge, and the paved stone road leading out into flat green lands, dotted with the lightest sprinkling of trees as if put there as an afterthought. His eyes trail further up the stone bridge, past all the generic brown carts pulled by brown oxen lead by brown-cloaked merchants, and the groups of adventurers with their smug looks and tattered gear.

And it is there, through the thinning crowd, that he spots her. A splash of light against the murky mundane.

The girl stands at the edge of the bridge, leaning on the barrier and gazing wistfully into the river below. Just from her profile, Kyros can tell that this girl is an outsider, someone not of Gandolian descent. Unlike the people around her, the girl has a halo of hair so golden, Kyros feels an urge to dip a paintbrush through it, and transform a humble canvas with their sunlight brilliance.

“Who… is that?” he finds himself asking no one in particular.

“I’ve not seen a Gandolian with such golden hair, for sure,” Sir Jernal takes it upon himself to answer, proving he’s been looking at the girl as well. “I’ve heard of some beast-folk having that kind of hair, for sure, but she doesn’t look like one. At least not from here, I don’t see any strange features.” He scratches at the beard that's sticking out from under his half helm, all tuffs of grey and black. “The gear looks Gandolian, for sure, but that’s exactly what a spy from Jinyu would do, wouldn’t they? Dress up like one of our adventurers.”

“Mh-hm,” Kyros replies, his attention too occupied on the girl to really hear what Sir Jernal is saying.

There is a longing in the girl's expression, in the way she’s gazing out at the rippling water, and it makes Kyros think of himself. He knows that feeling all too well, of missing someone. The girl may be staring at her own reflection, but her heart is undoubtedly seeing someone else.

That's it.

Kyros’s hand glides across the paper, tracing with graceful lines the curves of her hips, her legs, her back. Tilting the charcoal on its side, he carves powerful dark lines where her swords are, as the wind reveals them from beneath her cloak. Then, very carefully using the charcoal’s tip, Kyros captures the girl’s golden hair, the stray strands fluttering across her cheek, and the hand that absentmindedly reaches up to tuck a lock behind her ear.

He notices that when the light shines off her nails, the color is a faint pink.

Sir Jernal's scratchy voice shatters through his concentration.

“I’m going to do a check on that person. There’s something fishy going on with her, for sure.”

“Who, what?” Kyros asks, pulling himself back with difficulty.

“She’s been standing there for well over an hour,” Sir Jernal growls through the tangle of hair fingering out from his nostrils. “That’s fishy behavior if you ask me. And fishy behavior needs to be reported. For sure.”

“Fishy behavior?" Kyros echoes, not understanding. "What if she's just looking at the fish in the river? Maybe she’s hungry and just wants to catch one for lunch.”

“Or, she might be a Jinyu spy, or worse.” Sir Jernal grips his polearm with a sudden sense of duty. “She might be a Blood Devil.”

“Uh... with respect, Sir Knight, are you hearing yourself talk?” Kyros resists the urge to shake his head at the man. "Blood Devils can't be out under the sunlight."

"They can, if they're wearing a cloak. Like that one. I heard talks about it."

Kyros sighs, and turns back to his drawing, determined to finish it before the girl leaves, or Sir Jernal does something. With steady hands, he tries to make out the shape of her lips, and a sense of strangeness overcomes Kyros then. It’s true. She’s almost too beautiful. The lines of her face are too perfect, and the air of indifference she gives out... He turns to Sir Jernal. “What about her makes you think she’s going to pose any threat?” he asks. "Half-blooded elves can have such beauty as well. Have you ever seen one before?”

Sir Jernal huffs. “She's no elf, half or not. She’s armed, for one.”

“They look like ordinary Mage-blades, judging by the hilts and scabbard,” Kyros observes. “They can cut flesh, but won’t do more than a scratch against Gandolian steel. You don’t see them too often nowadays, true, but that isn’t grounds for suspicion.”

“She’s alone,” Sir Jernal goes on. “A young woman like that, traveling by herself? She’s hiding something under that cloak. Maybe a tail, maybe some wings, I don't know, but I'm for sure certain about this.” He taps a finger to his chest plate. "Call it a Knight's intuition."

“Maybe she’s waiting for someone,” Kyros counters, “or maybe she was with someone, but lost them on their way here.”

Sir Jernal falls quiet at that, but his composure stays taut.

Kyros finishes up his drawing. It is difficult for him to see the girl’s eyes clearly from so far away, but he can tell at least that they are blue, and bright with the reflections of the river, and something else that seems to come from inside her.

“Go get Captain Stelias.”

“You’re serious?” Kyros whips around to look at Sir Jernal, but the man has already left his post and is marching down the bridge towards the girl. “Hey, hold on a second!” Kyros calls, but the man is not listening. Kyros is aware of the other two knights looking his way, and he waves to show everything is okay, before stuffing his charcoal and notebook away.

"Sir Jernal!"

“That’s an order, Argonston!” Sir Jernal calls without looking back, his voice carrying over the heads of the civilians. “The Captain will want to know about this, for sure.”

Kyros stops. Moaning in frustration, he turns back around. "An order, huh," he mutters, signaling to the other two knights that he is leaving his post. He heads through the gate he is supposed to be guarding, but not before sneaking in one last look at the golden-haired girl leaning against the barrier, and wondering what had made her look so sad.