Charity was an obligation that lacked official enforcement. Therefore, the act was an informal courtesy. Nobles were expected to assist commoners. Tower Azaz, being both an observatory and the abode of a Noble, knew of this courtesy and fulfilled it. Cyrus spotted a stranger in need. Azaz responded. The stranger fell into their care. The stranger became imprisoned; allowing an unknown traveler free access to Sakrain was foolish. Even the blind could fake innocence and bring harm onto a city. Spies were known threats. Thus, Cyrus found himself interrogating their guest, attempting to uncover the circumstances that resulted in her journey down Parzath’s river.

His attempt was met with iron refusal.

“Sorry, I can’t quite recall,” the guest said, echoing previous answers. She was sitting upright within the bed, arms cradling her green basket.

Cyrus huffed. “You can’t recall?”

“That’s right.”

“Ok. Sure,” responded Cyrus, gaze drifting towards the window. Daybreak had arrived. He shook himself, then continued. “Next question: have you any aversion to dungeons or prison cells?”

The guest froze. “W-what?”

Oh? “Dungeons. Prison cells. You know, for criminals and the sort. Would you have any complaints about spending some, we’ll say, prolonged time within one or the other?”

“Would I…what are you implying?”

“To be blunt? That you’re an unknown threat.”

She frowned. “But…I’m…!” Raising a hand, she waved over her face.

“Fair point. But the city doesn’t care. An unknown is an unknown. I’m sorry, really, that you can’t recall where you came from, or where you were going, or your past or possessions or name.” Cyrus paused. “Well, that isn’t quite right. You seemed to recall your basket just fine. Didn’t you?”

Again, she froze. Her arms tightened around the green object.

“It’s unfortunate,” he continued, “but without any answers, we’ll be forced to assume the worst. You understand our problem, don’t you?”

Silence fell upon the room. Sunlight grew, overpowering the lone lantern. Cyrus shrugged. Azaz would expect an update soon. Better now than latter. Standing, Cyrus stretched his limbs and fought off his creeping fatigue, then moved towards the door.

The guest mumbled something.

“Oh?” said Cyrus. He turned back. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

The guest sighed. “I…I’m in an unknown location. Held hostage by unknown people. Covered in injuries. You understand my hesitation, don’t you? If an unknown is an unknown, then I have good reason to stay silent.”

Cyrus hummed. “Alright then. You’re in Sakrain, southernmost city of Parzath. You’re being looked after by myself and several others, acting under the orders of a local lord named Azaz. You’re our guest. Saving you was pure charity, but, whatever our intentions, Sakrain has strict laws regarding travelers. Keep silent if you wish. I won’t force any answers.”

Silence again. She fidgeted in place.

“Well?”

Lowering her head, she muttered something.

“What?”

“Mina. My name is Mina. Happy now?”

“Just Mina?”

“Just. Why? You weren’t expecting some fancy title or family, were you?”

Cyrus laughed. “Maybe. Stranger things have happened. So, Mina, what—”

“And yours?”

“Pardon?”

“Your name. You’ve yet to tell me,” Mina said, then added, “it’s only fair…”

Oh. No harm, right? “I’m Cyrus. Now—”

“Just Cyrus?”

He stopped. That was wrong. Technically, his loyalties hadn’t been shed. Not overtly. Not yet. His anticipation was reaching fever pitch, the resulting fervor beginning to alter his actions. Soon, his name would stand alone. That future was not the present. He nodded.

Cyrus replied, “I’m Cyrus of Tower Azaz.”

“Azaz?” Mina frowned. “So, Cyrus Azaz? Like the local lord you mentioned? Are you Azaz’s kinsman?”

“No, no!” Cyrus laughed. “Not his kinsman, his servant. I just live within his tower.”

“And Azaz?”

“What about him?”

“His name. If he’s a noble, then what of his full name? He must have an inherited moniker.”

Cyrus hesitated. That was somewhat complicated. Azaz had his noble status earned, rather than inherited. He was first within his line. As a result, he was expected to provide a surname for him and his descendants. He was also expected to provide, well, descendants. Ignoring the latter, Azaz had, eventually, decided upon the former. Azaz’s chosen surname was…

Mina suppressed a laugh. “His name is Azaz Azaz?”

“Creativity isn’t his strongest virtue.”

Cyrus resumed his seat. Having breached Mina’s reservations, he began the interrogation in earnest. Previous questions were repeated. Mina continued withholding full explanations, revealing her remaining suspicions, but slowly, gradually, tidbits of information were weaseled out. A picture began to form.

Mina originated from Zaborc, the country that bordered northern Parzath. She travelled southward in search of rare plants which were needed to brew certain elixirs. She was trained as a healer. While searching, bandits had ambushed her. An escape was made using the river. Having survived the encounter, she decided against pressing her luck. Her current destination was her home in Zaborc.

Cyrus leaned back. He drummed his fingers against his knee. “You were travelling alone?”

“I…there were others. The bandits made quick work of them.”

“I see. And your eyes?”

Mina frowned. “What about them?”

“When and how did you lose them?”

“Does that matter?”

“It does. Katerina—she’s the healer here—believes your eyes were lost long ago. The injury isn’t recent. Which is strange. Escaping bandits after being blinded already seems impossible. But escaping after travelling into uncharted territory? Without sight? For mere plants? Even if others assisted you, the idea sounds insane. I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

Mina withdrew into herself again. She hesitated, chewing her lower lip.

Cyrus watched while parsing through his own thoughts. His doubts were mounting. Mina’s missing eyes created multiple issues within her explanation; more and more, Cyrus picked apart her story. Something was amiss. Was Mina lying? Several details were consistent enough: the lotus bulbs meshed well with her claim of searching for plants. Her crash landing also provided evidence towards an urgent escape. Undoubtedly, she had navigated Parzath’s current. Alone. While blind. Which seemed impossible.

Cyrus hummed to himself. How would the others handle her claims? Let’s see… Katerina, he knew, wouldn’t fret over the specifics. Separating fact from fiction was secondary compared to collecting an interesting story. Meanwhile, Azaz would stress over every detail. Perfect knowledge was the standard Azaz desired—from himself, and from others. Cyrus included. Actually… Cyrus recalled a method Azaz once explained. When faced with unusual situations, speculating wildly was preferable to total surrender. Separate every detail. Tweak them as necessary. Find the solution with the fewest hypotheticals. While crude, the method worked from time to time. Cyrus nodded.

The simplest solution…

Mina navigated Parzath’s current. Alone. While blind.

Alone?

Cyrus blinked. Among the details, wasn’t that the only possible lie? Another person navigating the raft would solve what seemed impossible. It granted an answer. It also raised several questions, namely, why Mina would avoid mentioning this other. And where were they now? Swept downstream by the current?

“Cyrus?” Mina said, now upright and alert. “Is something happening nearby?”

There was. Standing, he set aside his speculations. A commotion rumbled from beyond the window, an assorted mess of music and cheer. The parade. It approached, continuing its spiraling path, moving ever closer to Sakrain’s ziggurat. Marking his remaining time. Reminding him of other tasks. Being this close meant…

He looked at Mina. He needed an excuse. He—

Mina flinched and turned towards door.

Then, someone knocked.

Practically leaping, Cyrus rushed over and opened the door. Waiting there was one of Azaz’s guards. Standing straight, sweating slightly beneath his armor, the man frowned. His expression was tight. Eyes narrow. The guard informed him that someone was waiting at the tower’s entrance, asking for Cyrus. Cyrus thanked the guard, then dismissed him. The man nodded before leaving. Cyrus strolled halfway past the door before recalling Mina.

“I’ll return soon,” said Cyrus, bouncing back several steps. “Something urgent came up. Wait here and—Mina?”

Mina was pale. Shrinking back, she shivered in bed, arms clutching her basket. Her breathing was shallow. Her head, lowered. She seemed oblivious to the world around her.

“Mina?” He stepped closer. “What’s wrong? Should I bring a healer?”

She lifted her head. “No. I’m fine. What’s happening outside?”

“Sakrain’s parade. I…will explain more when I return. Can you manage until then?”

Slowly, Mina nodded.

He struggled to leave. Her condition was clearly not fine and guarding her was his current assignment; going now, while Azaz’s guest suffered, simply couldn’t be justified. But his accomplice was waiting. And his responsibilities—whether to Azaz or Mina—were fleeting. His personal goals demanded throwing them all away.

A moment passed. Despite his concerns, Cyrus exited the room.

***

An argument was ongoing near the tower’s entrance. Approaching it, Cyrus recognized the factions: three of Azaz’s guards were preventing another person from advancing. Spears pointed, the guards threatened the newcomer into compliance.

Which seemed excessive. Almost comedic. The newcomer was one head shorter than the others and dressed in plain robes. Unarmed, also. Their hands fiddled with a paper crane.

Cyrus waved and shouted, “Hamet!”

Everyone turned. Hamet waved back before muttering something to the guards. Briefly, they spoke. Spears were lowered. Hamet scurried ahead, stumbling somewhat when one guard nudged his leg. Ignoring the slight, Hamet hurried into the tower.

Cyrus entered the main hall while Hamet closed the space between them. No one else was present. Here, the guards wouldn’t overhear their words. Hamet soon reached him. They faced one another, faces neutral, with Hamet looking up and Cyrus down. Both nodded.

Then, they extended arms in parallel and struck forearm against forearm. A brotherly gesture of sorts.

Hamet’s expression broke first. He laughed and tossed the paper crane, his newly freed hand rubbing where Cyrus had struck. Cyrus caught the crane and gave a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, sorry!” Cyrus said, raising his hands. “Forgot myself for a moment! Should have held back. Are you alright?”

“No worries!” Hamet replied, voice raised a pitch. “I expected nothing less from the lion slayer himself!”

“Oh? You heard about that?”

“Who hasn’t! Saving the parade brought you plenty of attention…p-perhaps too much, but that’s okay. I’ll trust you not to overstretch.” Hamet sniffed, stirring his whiskers. “Let’s forget all that. How’s Katerina and the others? Has Azaz been treating you well?”

“Well as ever!”

Small talk headed their conversation. They stood within the corner housing Azaz’s piano. Their distance from nearby passageways, along with the parade’s continuous uproar, granted them both privacy and confidence.

Well, the confidence was mostly granted to Cyrus. Between Hamet’s shifting eyes and fidgeting whiskers, the Beast revealed his lingering suspicions. Cyrus often wondered how heavily his friend’s instincts were influenced by his inheritance. Beasts were known for their quirks. Hamet included, despite his defects being subtle. His lone oddity were his whiskers—which Hamet swore were derived from hamsters or mice. Not rats. Hamet also swore he once possesses a tail, but the extremity had long since been chopped off. Probably around the same time Hamet had been branded.

“Tomorrow’s the night,” Hamet said. He was inspecting an ornate sword, mounted on the wall. “I’ve completed my preparations. Shamsher has too. And you?”

“I know what I’m bringing. It isn’t much, but—”

“Is it valuable? Planning on snatching something small and—”

“No,” Cyrus said, crossing his arms. “I’m bringing some essentials. Nothing else.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. I’m not robbing Azaz.”

Hamet turned and stared. His face twitched, recovered, then dropped the pretense. He smirked. “Are you sure? Azaz is loaded! Would he even notice? You don’t want to take a treasure or two and…”

Again? Hamet just wouldn’t believe him. It was understandable: Tower Azaz overflowed with wealth. The main hall and adjacent spaces were particularly decorated. Azaz enjoyed flaunting his fortune, enjoyed captivating visitors and guests alike. Residents of the tower, like Cyrus, grew accustomed to the treasures, their impressions dulled with familiarity. Hamet possessed no such buffer. His accomplice didn’t trust Cyrus to leave without stealing himself a souvenir.

Cyrus lifted the paper crane. “Relax. I won’t give Sakrain any excuses to mobilize. I know better than to tempt a Noble.”

“Good,” Hamet replied.

They dropped the topic. Honestly, Cyrus understood Hamet’s paranoia. Nobles were fickle. Their laws treated losing something replaceable, like a servant, differently from losing something unique. Cyrus leaving would infuriate Azaz. Cyrus stealing Azaz’s treasures would infuriate Sakrain’s nobility. Thieves were punished harshly. And mangled bodies were effective at dissuading the general population.

Although, regardless of consequences, Cyrus disliked the essential idea. He recalled the bazaar, recalled the wobbling scales. He recalled legends involving scales that measured good and evil within the soul. Azaz, faults aside, had given him good. Cyrus wouldn’t repay him with evil.

Hamet cleared his throat. “Shamsher and I are escaping together. We’re leaving immediately after sunset. Can you manage that?”

“Can’t. I’m not risking anything until Azaz falls asleep, which might take some time. Oh, and I have guard duty.”

“Guard duty?”

“Yeah. Azaz is housing someone from beyond the walls. Can’t let them loose without going through proper procedure, you know? Er…technically I’m supposed to be guarding them right now, so…”

“Alright.” Hamet nodded. “I’ll leave then. Still have that crane?”

Cyrus lifted the figure.

“Good. That paper is special. It can guide you. Follow the path through the walls like I explained. If you’re unsure about the next step, tear some paper and test the ground…from a distance, obviously. Cover your tracks afterwards. I’d prefer you follow Sham and me, but—”

“Can’t be helped.”

“Right. Well, that’s it then. If we meet again, it’ll be beyond Sakrain. Good luck.”

Cyrus nodded.

Hamet turned to leave.

“Hold on,” Cyrus said, now inspecting the crane. “You mentioned that this paper is special. In what way?”

The paper bird was white, nearly, being tinged with green. And the texture was vaguely…coarse?

Hamet made an odd face. “Ask me later. Outside the walls.”

“Sure. Outside the walls then,” Cyrus agreed.