Rhys shifted uncomfortably on his feet, positioned before an elderly man and a younger woman. To his right stood Mr. Quill, seemingly frozen at the base of the stairwell. Long, wiry hair was secured in a ponytail at the nape of Mr. Quill's neck, and suspenders held up his trousers over a loose-fitting white shirt.

The room's silence felt almost oppressive. A sense of unease gripped Rhys. It felt like he had misspoken. The mention of Sanaya had drained the color from Mr. Quill's face and elicited a shocked expression from the woman. Doubt crept in. Had he entered the wrong house? But the woman's demeanor confirmed he was in the right place.

Seeing her through the window, Rhys had been convinced he'd found Sanaya. However, as he approached, he realized this woman was too young. Sanaya should be in her late thirties by now. Yet, an undeniable resemblance lingered in their features, leaving no doubt that they were related.

The silence became unbearable, prompting Rhys to clear his throat awkwardly. "Um… Perhaps—maybe I have the wrong name. Her maiden name was Sanaya… Sanaya Das."

He waited anxiously for a response. The woman turned her gaze to Mr. Quill, who remained silent. Rhys prodded, "Does that name sound familiar?"

Their silence persisted, and Rhys felt his anxiety intensify under their fixed stares. Heat flushed his cheeks, leaving him at a loss for words. Finally, the woman spoke, bringing a wave of relief that eased some tension from his muscles.

"Sanaya… Das?" Her voice seemed to weigh those words.

"Yes, that's her name," Rhys said, his composure returning.

"She's not here," the woman stated.

That…couldn't be right. "What? That can't be. Where is she?"

"She left nine years ago," the woman explained, studying his expression.

His heart dropped, the fleeting relief vanishing. "Where… Where did she go?"

The woman's gaze held a mysterious depth. A question lingered on her lips, but Mr. Quill chose that moment to snap out of his trance.

As the abrupt silence hung heavy, the man's enraged voice shattered the tense air, causing both Rhys and the woman to startle. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" The sheer force of his outburst thrust Rhys into action, his instincts kicking in. "HOW DARE YOU MENTION HER NAME! GET OUT!"

With swift, determined steps, the man began advancing toward Rhys, coercing him toward the front door. Though Mr. Quill was notably shorter than Rhys and didn't appear physically formidable in the slightest, Rhys sensed an unyielding intensity in his approach. It seemed unlikely that he'd gain any further information from these two individuals. Even if the woman possessed more knowledge about Sanaya, he doubted Mr. Quill would allow she share.

"Father!" The woman's alarmed cry pierced the tension, drawing Rhys's attention. Her eyes were wide with concern.

Mr. Quill halted his advance, pivoting his attention to the woman. Rhys noticed her flinch at his reaction. "SHUT UP CHILD! YOU'VE SAID ENOUGH!" Mr. Quill's anger reverberated.

"Sir—" Rhys began, attempting to intervene, but his words only diverted Mr. Quill's attention away from the woman.

"I SAID GET OUT!" The words thundered from Mr. Quill's lips as he resumed his aggressive approach.

The woman gestured urgently for Rhys to leave, her eyes shifting anxiously between him and Mr. Quill. Catching her unspoken message, Rhys acknowledged her intent. He began a careful retreat from the house. As he stepped beyond the threshold, Mr. Quill slammed the door shut in his face.

With a sigh of relief, Rhys scanned the bustling street, noticing all the curious glances directed his way. The earlier display had certainly caught the attention of the town's residents. Their interest, which had once subtly concealed as he’d walked into town, was now conspicuously evident. Rhys felt the heat of self-consciousness crawl up his neck. Nervous sweat trickled down his back as he tried to ignore the gazes that seemed to scrutinize his every move.

Among the crowd, his gaze locked onto a man in a brown jacket and matching hat, who was studying him from a distance. Their eyes met briefly before both looked away.

In Celestia, the city of his birth and upbringing, anonymity was the norm. With thousands of people bustling about every street, new faces were never noticed. But here in Willowbrook he stood out conspicuously, an outsider in a town that rarely welcomed newcomers. Despite his discomfort, he forced his thoughts back to his purpose. Striding away from the house, he strained his ears, hoping to catch any lingering fragments of conversation from within the Quill residence. Hearing nothing, he quickened his pace, eager to escape the crowded streets.

Mentally, he sifted through everything he’d learned. The woman had called Mr. Quill her father, so Sanaya must have married the man. The similarities between the daughter and Sanaya were too much for the woman to be anyone but Sanaya’s daughter. If Sanaya had moved directly to Willowbrook from Celestia twenty years ago when she’d first disappeared, she would have married Mr. Quill soon after arriving, considering their daughter looked to be about that age. But then why would she leave? If she’d found a stable life, had married, and had a child, why would she want to leave all that?

Rhys groaned. He’d been so close to finding her. Every single document he’d looked at pointed to her being here, in Willowbrook. But alas, she wasn’t, and he needed to find her quickly. She was the key, or rather, she had the key to solving his dilemma, and he was running out of time to find her.

Mulling over the situation, he decided to head back to the Luminary. He might be able to find some new information there, though he doubted it. He’d already looked through everything, but he didn’t have many other options.

Rhys looked up to orient himself, unsure of where he was. His gaze swept across the street he’d walked on to, glistening over the curious, now a bit more secretive stares of the townspeople. These people must not have heard about his ‘kerfuffle’ with Mr. Quill yet, or their stares would be far more forthcoming. He kept walking, turning onto a street with a name he recognized. Behind him, another man turned onto the same street and Rhys glimpsed him from the corner of his eye. It was the same brown-coated man he’d seen in front of the house.

Testing the man to see if he was being followed, Rhys turned onto another street and the man ensued. Rhys hid a tiny grin. He might have failed at finding Sanaya, but he could shake a tail. Knowing he couldn’t lead the man to the Luminary, Rhys let his ears lead him to an especially noisy part of town, hoping for a crowd to get lost in.

At the next turn, Rhys found himself in Willowbrook’s market, though it was unlike any he’d seen before. The market had a square layout and a precisely organized arrangement of stalls and shops. Everything was uniform, devoid of the colorful banners or the lively street performers he was accustomed to seeing in Celestia. As he walked further into the market, he smelt the earthy scents of freshly baked bread and roasted meats. He noticed the stalls are well-stocked with everyday necessities such as fresh produce, simple tools, clothing, and medicinal potions.

Rhys headed to an especially dense part of the small market, weaving in and out of people in a way that ensured the man would lose sight of him. Then, he walked to the side of the market, casually leaning on a wall, and watched as his stalker walked past him. Just as Rhys thought he was in the clear, he spied another man dressed identically, draped in a brown coat and hat. The second man was across the market and didn’t seem to have caught sight of him yet. Trying to blend in with the other shoppers, he put on a show of checking out the goods in the stall. He reached for a finely polished, cooking pan, holding it in his hand and pretending to test its weight. The stalls' vendor, who was in the midst of promoting one of his other products to a man with freckles and a deep tan, probably a farmer, stopped mid-sentence in his discussion when he noticed Rhys. The vendor immediately made his way over to Rhys, earning him a glare from the farmer.

“Hello, young sir. That pan you’re holding costs three gold. It's incredibly long-lasting, great value for the price,” the vendor babbled as his gaze studied Rhys. “Would you like to make an exchange for it?”

Rhys gaped at the man for a moment. He was short and ruddy but had intelligent eyes. Rhys refused his offer but under the vendors' piercing gaze he felt the need to provide an explanation for his denial. He opened his mouth to give the man a reply, but the words jumbled in his mouth. “Uh, no thanks, you see... pans and I, we don't really... get along,” he stammered awkwardly, his cheeks flushing. Had he really just said that?

The vendor looked at him curiously, and Rhys tried not to fidget under his gaze. “You’re not from here, boy, I know that much. Why are you visiting our town?”

Rhys shifted uncomfortably under the directness of the question, “Oh, you know, just... town things. I mean… well, I’m looking for someone.” He gave an uneasy smile, trying to mask his discomfort.

“And who might that be?” the vendor asked, his tone suspicious.

Rhys hesitated, remembering Mr. Quill’s reaction to hearing Sanaya’s name. He didn’t want to cause a scene in the market, there were way too many people around. But under the vendor's beady-eyed stare, he squirmed.

“A woman.” he allowed. “She came to this town years ago… but I believe she has since left.”

The vendor’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and his eyes met with the farmer man’s, who Rhys realized had also overheard what he had said. Instantly regretting saying anything, Rhys gave a small, hesitant smile. “As I said, I don’t believe she is here, so I must be going.”

Rhys turned to walk away but was stopped by what the vendor said next. “Boy!” he exclaimed, forcing Rhys to turn back, “The woman you’re looking for. Do you mean Mrs. Sanaya Quill?”

That name seemed to be like an anathema in this town because, once again, the moment the name was uttered, heads turned in his direction. Rhys could all but hear the gazes of passersby pinned on his back. His spine went stiff, and for the nth time that day, his cheeks flushed. With no choice but to answer the man's question, Rhys nodded. “Yes, that’s the woman I’m looking for.”

The vendor cast glances about the market, driving people’s gazes away, and then turned back to Rhys, beckoning him closer. “Why are you looking for this woman?”

The vendors beady eyes drilled into him, and his closeness made Rhys uneasy. Rhys gulped and took a slight step back. “She has something I need,” Rhys replied, hoping this man knew helpful information.

“Sanaya stole something, and then moved here to get away, didn’t she?” The man replied, donning a look of empathy. But his smile was too wide for it to seem genuine. “I knew that woman was trouble the day she stepped into our town.”

Rhys thought fast. He figured if he agreed with the vendor, he might be privy to more information, but it felt wrong to accuse Sanaya of theft when the townspeople already thought so poorly of her. Even if chance were that, yes, she was a thief. But the phrase was ‘innocent until proven guilty,’ right? Instead of answering, he dodged the question, repeating his previous statement, “She has an object I need. And, uh, definitely not stolen, just to clarify.”

“What is this object?” The vendor asked, “Jewelry? Coin?”

Rhys hesitated. He got the distinct feeling the man was digging for something specific. Before he could give an answer, a powerful force crashed into Rhys from the side, sending him stumbling to the ground.

His heart raced as he instinctively rolled away from the impact, his body acting before his mind could fully comprehend the situation. The attacker, the same man dressed in brown Rhys had seen across the market, moved to pounce on Rhys again, a snarl twisting his features.

Rhys’s initial surprise melted into resolve, his mind racing to catch up with the reality of the assault. His hand found the small knife concealed within his clothes, a reassuring touch that anchored him in the chaos. It was small, but Rhys knew how to wield it to his advantage.

The first attacker lunged again, his movements driven by brute force rather than skill. Rhys sidestepped the assault, his body moving almost on its own accord. With a swift, instinctual motion, he drove the blade into the attacker's thigh, causing a strangled cry of pain. Rhys wasted no time, snatching the fallen man's longer knife as he stumbled.

Two other assailants appeared and hesitated, perhaps thrown off by the unexpectedness of Rhys coming out on top of the brawl. Rhys's fingers tightened around the hilt of the stolen blade, his knuckles white. His pulse roared in his ears, the world around him narrowing down to the moment before him, and he let the uneasiness and anxiety he’d been feeling all day get carried away by a roar of adrenaline.

The next clash was a blur of movement and desperation. Both assailants attacked at once and Rhys fought each one simultaneously, a knife in each hand. Rhys's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum urging him forward. He ducked, dodged, and parried, his body moved with an ease born from years of training.

Feeling the rhythm of the fight, Rhys's heart pounded in synchrony. The tides of the battle surged within him, and, as one of his attackers overreached, Rhys seized the opening. A swift kick sent the man sprawling and Rhys turned his full attention to his other assailant.

The third man stepped back, doubt creeping into his expression as he surveyed his two fallen comrades. But the sight of something behind Rhys seemed to spur the man into action.

As the third assailant closed in, Rhys met his gaze with an unyielding determination. Their dance was fierce and chaotic, a symphony of clashing steel and labored breaths. Rhys deflected the man's strikes with deft precision.

A calculated twist of Rhys’s wrist disarmed his opponent but the fight wasn't over. Just when Rhys dared to believe he could emerge victorious, a fourth figure materialized from the crowd. In a blur of motion, the attacker shoved Rhys with brute force, propelling him backward into a fruit stall. Wood splintered, and the vibrant explosion of fruits surrounded him, blinding his senses for a moment.

Pain radiated from various points on his body, but Rhys refused to surrender to the agony. His grip tightened around the one blade he still held. Pushing himself up, he scanned the chaotic aftermath of the brawl. Two of his attackers lay sprawled and defeated, but the two more were closing in. The man he’d disarmed now wielded another weapon, a sinister grin twisting his lips.