The Crimson Legacy (In Progress)

Part 1, Chapter 1: Zephyr

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Central Plaza's streets hum with activity as merchants hawk their wares and adventurers share tales of their exploits. The scent of exotic spices and freshly baked bread fill the air.

Clara moved silently through the crowd, her cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders, the hood drawn low to hide her masked face. The marketplace bustled with life, filled with the clamor of merchants calling out their goods, the chatter of townsfolk haggling over prices, and the distant clang of the blacksmith's hammer ringing out over the din.

But even amidst the noise, Clara felt the weight of eyes upon her.

The posters were everywhere.

Her gaze flickered to one of the walls beside a vendor's stall, where a fresh parchment had been nailed to the wooden beam. The inked drawing was crude, but unmistakable.

A woman cloaked in red, with hair like silver threads, eyes burning like fire. The Mysterious Sorceress. Wanted. Below the image, in bold letters, the reward was listed—enough gold to tempt even the most hesitant of bounty hunters.

Clara paused briefly, her gloved hand brushing against the edge of her mask as she surveyed the poster. She had become accustomed to seeing her face—or rather, the idea of her face—plastered across walls in every town she passed through.

The rumors had spread faster than she could disappear. Yet, despite the gold promised for her capture, no one had come close. Yet..

She turned away from the poster without a second glance, continuing her path through the narrow streets, weaving between market stalls and carts stacked high with goods. Her presence barely drew attention, just another traveler passing through, hidden among the cloak of the ordinary. It was safer that way.

As she passed a cluster of townsfolk gathered near the entrance of a tavern, she overheard a familiar thread of conversation.

"Did you hear about her? The Sorceress with the scarlet eyes?" a man whispered, his voice hushed but eager.

Clara's steps slowed, her ears pricking as she angled herself slightly toward the group. She didn't turn, but their words drifted to her clearly in the crowded street.

"Aye," another voice chimed in, an older woman this time. "They say she can call storms from the skies, with a wave of her hand. Wiped out a whole village in the north, or so I've heard."

Clara's lips pressed into a thin line beneath her mask. That one again. She hadn't even been near the north in months.

"That's nothing," a younger voice cut in. "I heard she can take the shape of a raven. Disappears into the night, like she was never there."

The first man snorted, dismissive but intrigued. "Shape-shifting? Please. If she was that powerful, she'd be ruling half the kingdom by now. Nah, she's just another rogue sorceress. Dangerous, maybe, but nothing more than a shadow with a bit of flair."

Clara's grip tightened momentarily. Shadow with a bit of flair. That was a new one.

Another man, older and grizzled, leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if revealing a great secret. "I heard... she's cursed. They say no one's ever seen her face, because if you do, you're marked for death." 

Clara couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips. The stories grew more fantastical with each passing day. But the truth? 

She was just a lost, and hopeless woman. Seeking for answers from her past. 

Not far from where Clara was quietly navigating through the marketplace's crowd, a man was weaving through the crowded streets of Central Plaza, his heart pounding in his chest. The thick marketplace buzzed with noise and life, but all he could hear was the sound of his own ragged breath and the shouts of the guards gaining on him.

His cloak billowed behind him as he dodged between carts and stalls, his feet barely touching the uneven ground. He knocked over a basket of apples, sending them scattering across the cobblestone street, but he didn't look back to see the vendor curse at him. He couldn't afford to stop. Not now.

A gap opened in the crowd, and Zephyr lunged forward, bulldozing his way through a group of startled townspeople. Their angry protests faded behind him as he pressed on, ducking under a low-hanging awning and cutting through a narrow alleyway. The Tome of Eldrid—it was right there in his hands. Ancient, powerful, a key to the knowledge he had spent years chasing.

He cursed under his breath, pushing his way through another group of people, ignoring their shouts. The guards had been relentless ever since they had caught sight of him slipping into the archives, and they were closing in fast.

Just ahead, the main square opened up again, filled with vendors, travelers, and townsfolk who had no idea the chaos unfolding around them. Zephyr thought for a moment he might lose the guards in the crowd, but as soon as he burst into the open, he felt a heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"Got you, thief!" a guard snarled, his grip like iron, separating his grip from the Tome.

Zephyr twisted, but two more guards quickly surrounded him, their swords drawn, blocking any chance of escape. He cursed inwardly as they yanked him backward, tearing his hood away. The crowd began to gather, curious eyes watching as the guards manhandled him.

"I'm no thief!" Zephyr hissed, his voice sharp and furious as they pushed him to his knees. His gaunt face was pale with anger, his piercing eyes blazing. "I am a seeker of ancient knowledge! You fools don't even know what you've taken."

One of the guards sneered, as he picks up the Tome. "Tell it to the magistrate. We know what you stole. The Tome of Eldrid—an artifact too valuable for the likes of a street rat like you."

Zephyr glared up at him, his chest heaving.

"The Tome doesn't belong to any of you," he rasped, his voice lowering as he fought to control his breath. "You have no idea what it contains. It's not just some dusty relic—it holds power you cannot even begin to comprehend."

The guard's grip tightened on his arm, hauling him to his feet. "Save your breath, sorcerer. You'll rot in the dungeons soon enough."

The insult stung, but Zephyr's mind was already elsewhere. He glanced at the crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of faces. Most looked on in curiosity or contempt, but one figure stood out—a woman with a mask, her hair glinting faintly in the fading light.

His heart skipped a beat. Her.

He hadn't expected to see her here. Their paths had crossed before, though always briefly, like shadows passing through the night.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. His piercing gaze locked onto hers, and he saw the faintest flicker of recognition in her eyes. The guards barked orders at him, shoving him roughly toward a waiting prison cart, but Zephyr barely registered their words. He kept his focus on her, trying to communicate something through the chaos.

There was a connection between them—one's with curiosity and one's with familiarity. 

A familiarity that ran deeper than any of the rumors whispered about her. She was more than just a sorceress hiding from the law—she was part of the same story he was chasing.

But the guards gave him no time. With one last push, they dragged him away, disappearing into the crowd. The square returned to its usual hum of noise, but the brief moment lingered in the air. Something had changed.

And both Zephyr and Clara knew it.