Neigh.
The horse gave a low, restless sound as Guren mounted. He did it cleanly, without effort, as though he had done it a thousand times before. Black cloak, black boots, black gloves, nothing about him invited attention. Only the thin strip of cloth tied across his eyes stood out, and even that seemed deliberate in its plainness. It dulled the color of his gaze, leaving nothing for others to remember.
No one looking at him would think of a throne.
Guren preferred it that way.
The road he took was not one marked on any map. It curved where it should not, narrowed where it should open, and passed through places that felt half-forgotten even under daylight. He had seen it first in a dream, clear enough to follow, real enough to test. It was the hidden way he had once used years ago, when he took the Dowager through the palace's underpass without a single guard noticing.
At the time, he had dismissed it as chance.
He no longer did.
Finding it again had taken patience. A bird had helped, though not knowingly. A few fruits, placed carefully, had been enough to guide its habits, and its habits had led him to the path. Small things often revealed what larger efforts could not.
In his world, truth did not come easily.
Most things were arranged. Rehearsed. Made to appear as something they were not.
Only rarely did something remain untouched.
He had searched for proof that these dreams meant anything. Patterns, records, contradictions, anything that could anchor them to reality.
There was nothing.
Yet they continued.
This one was simple.
A shop burned. Nothing left. No people in sight. No voices, no movement, only the aftermath. His mother's voice had been there again, distant yet certain, calling for his subordinates as if the event had already been decided.
He did not know if it would happen.
But he intended to see.
"Faster."
The horse moved at once.
Whether a shop burned or not held little weight. Loss was common. Fire was common. What mattered was the timing. The cause. The difference between what he saw in sleep and what unfolded before him.
Each time he followed one of these visions, yet the pressure in his mind does not ease him. The quiet would only return, if only slightly he just follows even though such things does not come true, well less.
Still, that alone made it worth pursuing.
——
The eastern lanes were already thinning when he arrived.
Old men sat behind narrow stalls, selling what little they could. Children swept the roads beside them, their broom scraping against stone, too large for their small hands but handled with stubborn determination. A few women lingered near doorways, watching, while most of the men were elsewhere, likely working beyond the district.
Guren passed through without slowing.
His gaze lingered only briefly on the children. They laughed as they worked, glancing at one another, measuring effort without words. A quiet competition. More work meant more coin. More coin meant something better, even if only for a day.
It was simple.
Survival, reduced to routine.
Most people lived that way.
Guren did not.
No one measured themselves against him. No one dared.
——
Guren reached the hill that overlooked the eastern side of the territory and paused there, just long enough to observe.
The aisles stretched outward in ordered divisions. Calum to the east. Laksh to the west. The others further beyond. Each with its own rhythm, its own decay.
In his dream, the fire had taken place under a high light. Midday, perhaps. There had been almost no one around. The shop itself had stood unattended.
And the owner—
A woman.
That detail narrowed things.
Few women owned shops within the Empire, fewer still within this district. From recent reports, there were only two in Calum Aisle, each positioned far from the other.
Guren made his choice without hesitation.
He turned east.
Crowds made it easier to watch without being seen.
——
It took him half an hour to find the place.
The shop stood intact.
Through the open widow, he saw her.
Grey hair pulled back. Shoulders slightly bent. Hands steady as she worked thick into winter clothing. From time to time, she would pause, glance up, and smile at those who passed or entered. It was an ordinary scene, the kind easily overlooked.
Alive.
Unaware.
Guren watched for a moment, then moved on.
The tavern across the street offered a better position.
——
"Aiya, little boy. This is no place for you."
The voice came with a laugh. A large man had taken the seat across from him without asking.
Guren ignored him.
The server approached, polite but observant.
"What would you have, young sir?"
"The house special."
A brief pause. A look, quickly hidden.
"And anything else?"
"No."
The server nodded and left.
"Those eyes of yours," the man across from him said with amusement, "they look like they could kill someone."
Guren leaned back slightly.
"Then don't look."
The man laughed, taking it for childish defiance.
—
Time passed.
The light shifted.
Nothing happened.
So it was not exact.
It never was.
"Why are you watching Granny Ma's shop?" the man asked again, following his line of sight.
"I'm inquisitive."
"You mean curious."
Guren said nothing.
Still he waited.
Not long, the sound came suddenly.
Wood splitting. Something collapsing.
"Fire!"
Voices rose, one after another.
Guren's gaze lifted.
Flames had already taken hold of the shop. Too quickly. It spread through the structure as though it had been waiting for a spark.
The old woman stumbled out, clutching what she could.
Too late to save the rest.
In the dream, there had been no one.
Now there were witnesses.
The time had shifted. The outcomes had not.
——
"You knew," the man across him said more quietly this time.
Guren did not look at him.
"I am a child."
That ended it.
Guren watched until the fire began to weaken.
People drifted away as quickly as they had gathered. In the end, only the old woman remained, kneeling before what had once been her shop, holding onto what little she had managed to save.
Guren stood.
There was nothing more to see.
He left a few coins on the table and stepped outside.
The alley beside the tavern was empty at first glance. It did not remain so. A figure emerged from the shadow and dropped to one knee.
"Speak briefly," Guren said.
"Late evening. Fire broke out in a merchant's shop. The owner was already in financial decline. Few residents responded. Some may have worsened at the flames."
"One man attempted to flee. Has been secured."
"The structure's condition caused rapid spread. The fire expected to die down by midnight. No casualties confirmed."
A pause.
"We await your command."
"That is enough. I'll know the full report at the palace. Continue observing."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The figure disappeared as quietly as he had come.
Guren took a small note from within his cloak and wrote without hesitation.
Intentional arson does not prevent the occurrence.
Time and place are not fixed.
He folded it and returned it to its place.
The noise in his mind had lessened again.
Not gone.
But quieter.
For now, that was sufficient.
Guren mounted the horse once more and turned back toward the hidden road, leaving the smoke behind him as though it had never concerned him at all.