Originally called Valarion after the founding and ruling family, Alastair’s Heart was renamed to such after the royal line died out. The city was given a new name, though some have stated its succeeding ruler might have been trying to erase the old family from history altogether...

A light drizzle pattered onto the cobblestones, mixing with scattered droplets of blood. The crimson marks traced up along the path of a stranger as they closed the clasp onto a large bag on their back. With shaking footsteps, they collapsed out from an alleyway and rested on the slick street for a moment, eyes closed. When they found the strength to move again, their eyes locked onto a sign they could just barely make out in the dim light.

They lifted themselves up to their knees and looked at the sky, letting rain fall onto the wrappings that covered their face. The strands of blonde hair stuck between the cloth hung loosely out. When they finally started moving again, it was directly for the building ahead, which frightened a rat trying to find shelter from the rain. A harsh wind blew between the buildings and made them shiver as the cold bit into them. One foot followed the other and the wind died down for a moment as they headed toward respite from the weather.

Within the building, two people moved about during the rain. The barkeep was tending to some of the cups, wiping them down with a rag in one hand. His only patron for the evening, a man dressed in engraved plate-mail with a cloak covering it, checked the fastenings on the sheath to his blade. He glanced out a closed window. Rain droplets smacked against the warped glass, further obscuring the dark street outside.

A thump hit against the door before it shot open. The girl from the alley collapsed inward, a bundle of soaked cloth. They crawled forward, leading a trail of water in with her, which the armored man was quick to close.

“What happened to you?” the barkeep asked, lifting his gaze to the disturbance.

They tried to mutter a reply, but their voice was too thin. The man nearest to them kneeled down and put an arm around their shoulder.

“Don’t... touch my sheath...” she said, spitting out some blood at the end.

The man curled his lip upward at the statement and sighed. He helped move her to one of the chairs, letting her flop down into the seat. A rumble came from her stomach and he went to the bar, ordering a piece of bread and some drink. When he returned, with the food offered out, she sprang to life. The bread was yanked from his grip and she quickly tore into it, forcing away the wrappings from her face as she did.

Her entire face was lined with shallow wounds, and blood mixed with rainwater over every inch of her complexion. He took the seat next to her and kept watching as she ate like a starved dog before grabbing for the water. In the same time it took to grab it, she glanced at him. Her bright grey eyes shimmered softly in the candlelight. Unlike his own dull brown irises, hers stood out almost as soon as he saw them.

Both of them were locked with the other, watching carefully for the first move. Only when a thick towel was thrown on the table did they snap out of it. The barkeep laughed at their reaction and rubbed the cloth into her hair.

“Did you have a brawl or something, stranger? You look all scratched up, so I can’t imagine wandering the streets was a good idea. Why were you fighting outside at a time like this?”

“...Wasn’t much of a fight. I just got unlucky and had to run before I could do what I was trying to.”

The barkeep smacked her back, and the weakened woman coughed violently as he shook his head slowly. He pointed to the window with a thick finger at the same time.

“Well try not to bring any unwanted attention to my business, will you? I can already bet I’m going to be seeing more of those mercs passing through here. They all stay here for one night and then move out together, leaving the rooms a mess.” He said before he returned to the counter.

She rolled her eyes at the innkeeper before looking back to the other man with a furious glare, her hand reaching under the towel and towards her back. The man lifted a hand and pulled his sword out with the offhand. Before she could leap from the chair, he laid it down on the table and leaned closer to her.

“He won’t know about the eyes, but I do. I’ve got a lot of questions for you, but I doubt you’d be willing to answer them. Care to humor an old man?” He asked, scratching his light black beard with one hand.

The woman took another bite of bread, easing the swallow with some of the drink she’d been given. While polishing off the last of her food, she nodded at him to continue.

“What’s someone like you doing out here starting fights? You’ve got the eyes, and you can’t forge those.”

“You mean you don’t—” she started to ask before choking on her drink. After smacking her chest, she lifted the wrappings back over her face. “I’m Icara.”

“Oh, right, I’m Gwindon.” He offered a hand to shake. She pushed it aside and grabbed the mug once again, taking a few heavy gulps as Gwindon let out a sigh. “Guess that’s another thing to ask. You don’t look like look like it, but you've got the eyes. So who are you, exactly?”

She slowly lowered the mug and looked at him with renewed interest. Though she had covered her face again, her eyes could still barely be made out through a slit in the wrappings. Her glare was more intense than before, almost cutting the air between them. A fierce wind rattled the roof-tiles, followed by a smashing of ceramic outside and a curse from the barkeep.

“I already told you, I am Icara. If that name doesn’t mean anything to you, then telling you what I am won’t matter.”

“Great way to dodge the question. I bought you some food and drink, the least you could do is show some hospitality. Didn’t your parents ever teach you that?”

Icara hesitated in her chewing, looking down at the table and through it. Her eyes were unfocused for a moment until another gust of wind roused her attention and brought back the furious glare.

“They did, but it isn’t worth anything to someone like me. Not as if those rules apply anywhere else outside of noble houses.”

“Rules? Hospitality isn’t a rule, it’s just common sense,” Gwindon told her, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ah, forget it. The barman makes a point though, do we have to worry about some guards busting the door down? I can only guess you stole from someone important with a load that big,” he finished, gesturing to the thing on her back.

“It’s something I took from slavers a few years ago when I escaped. Don’t call me a thief either, you barely know me!”

Gwindon shook his head slowly before smacking the back of the woman’s head. She coughed on the bread in her mouth and turned to him. Her hand rubbed the mark while she growled like a stray dog.

“Don’t joke about something like that. Karkh’ala are at least twice your size, girl. If you talk like that, one of them might actually cart you off. Those eyes won’t keep you safe out in Korrem, you know, they’ll—”

“Make you dig worms out of the dirt, ankles bound with rope cords, for the entire day?” she interrupted, gaze locked on the table. “I’m not that lucky. The Karkh’ala flavor those same worms with blood. Human blood is rusty but better than a Toriyo’s, and royal blood is the best there is.”

She shook like the wind still rolled over her, but her eyes were dry. When she finally lifted her head to the man, he had to pull back. It was a dry sorrow that bled from her look, the kind carried from a life’s worth of pain being given in a moment. He didn’t pull back from fear, but from the shock of deja vu.

“You don’t have to tell me what would happen, it happened already.”

Gwindon narrowed his eyes, focusing within the halos in her eyes. Another slam of the shutters drew his attention and broke the stare. He looked back down at the table after it and rubbed his forehead, sliding over the mug he had for himself towards her.

“Fine, you’ve got some tragedy in your past. I’m sorry,” he said, leaning back in the seat. “But I hate seeing kids like you escaping one type of nightmare and chasing after another. You’re going to end up dead thinking you’re one step away from peace. The best thing to do is to just...” he drifted off and rested his head in one hand.

“Forget the past and move on?”

“No. Your past, especially the worst of it, is something that stays with you forever. Trying to run away from that is idiotic. Some people just spend their whole lives chasing after something in their past and die. I’d hate to see a young woman cling to their tragedies and drown.”

“It’s not your fault, nor your business, if people throw their lives away. The best thing to do is just ignore me. Just because I’m not as old as you, doesn’t mean I’m any less aware of what I’m doing with my life.”

She put the last piece of bread in her mouth and chewed angrily, folding her arms across her chest and turning away from him. The equipment on her back awkwardly forced itself into her body and against the chair. The rain outside filled the silence, and a single drop forced its way through the ceiling towards the inn-keep. He set about drying the spot with another curse and left a bucket for more to fall into. As he moved away, Gwindon leaned forward again and put both hands on the table, pushing himself upright.

“You know, a statement like that should usually be followed with a defiant stride back outside or into a room. For someone with your angst, I’m surprised you kept your composure.”

“I’m not completely devoid of such things, obviously,” she said as her eyes locked onto the table again. “Of course my legs feel like they’re made of soggy leather, but that’s besides the point.”

Gwindon went to take his cup, but she quickly put a hand over it and pulled it towards her.

“I... might be here a while. Could use something to drink.”

“Are you expecting to just get this for free? Someone as stubborn as you should try to get by without handouts.”

“Then it’s not for free, I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

“Don’t steal money to pay your debts.”

“I wasn’t going to—!”

The words caught in her throat. Her fingers slowly retracted and she rested her head against the wood as he pulled it towards himself. The wind whipped against the window for a few rhythms before settling down again. Gwindon closed his eyes and sighed, pushing the mug back towards her. She turned onto her side and looked up at him in confusion as he held up on finger.

“Just owe me a favor. Deal?”

“...Deal.” Icara replied, taking the mug and sipping it lightly. “Just don’t expect me to accept any request you make.”

“You can’t just retroactively—” he started to complain before shaking his head and moving towards one of the rooms on the right side of the inn. “Sleep well.”

The door shut and a thud sounded as he locked it with a bar of wood. Icara took another drink from the cup before looking deep into it. From the gentle light shining above and behind her, she saw a faint outline of her reflection in the drink. Clumps of hair stuck out from the wrappings on her head, but they’d dried into awkward positions. As she saw the light in her eyes, she lowered some of the bandages to try and hide them.

She closed her eyes and rest back down on the table, staring towards the window to her right. The rain pattering against it was somehow comforting now, a constant even has she slowed her breathing. Her eyes closed slowly as she decided a nap wouldn’t hurt.