Chapter 2: Shadows in the Broken Moon
Late dusk, Noneas's lower quarter, House of the Broken Moon tavern
The tavern's doorway exhaled smoky warmth. Enai paused beneath the cracked crescent sign, inhaling the tang of spiced wine and damp leather. A single candle flickered against a wall carved with ancient Necon glyphs—today's visitors would see only soot and time, but to her seasoned Lynouan eyes they hinted at former glory and hidden alliances.
She stepped inside, boots echoing on flagstones. At a narrow table by the hearth sat a man in Ronorian blue, his posture rigid as a statue of marble. Across from him, two Amchelian officers rolled dice on a battered chest, laughter too loud for a city on edge.
The Ronorian rose, bowing his head. "Lady Lynoua," he greeted, voice low. "I am Jevon of Ronor. You requested this meeting?"
Enai slid into the seat opposite him. She let her gaze drift over his pale, calculating eyes—a diplomat's eyes—then fixed on his scarred hand, where a beaten iron ring spoke of frontier skirmishes.
"I did," she replied, leaning forward. "My aunt's letter spoke of Ronor's new pact—with Necon and even with Amchel. I came to learn its purpose."
Jevon studied the hearth's dying embers. "A pact born of fear," he said quietly. "Necon fears Amchel's steel legions; Amchel fears Necon's coin-stores; Ronor fears both. We met in shadows to bind our fates—yet each kingdom still hungers."
Enai nodded, fingertips tracing the grain of the wooden table. Outside, a pair of Amchelian boots thudded across the floor—steel meeting stone. She caught a whiff of the captain's wolf-skin cloak: a visceral reminder of the rising kingdom to the south.
"Tell me," she said, voice soft, "what will guarantee Ronor's survival when the first steel blade bites Necon's heart?"
Jevon's hand tightened around a chipped copper goblet. "A secret," he whispered. "Something whispered only here, beneath the Broken Moon. If I spoke it aloud out there"—he gestured toward the rowdy crowd—"I'd be dead in an hour." He paused, eyes flicking to the door. "But for you… you are Lynouan. You understand old forces. You know how history breathes beneath every treaty."
Enai's heart quickened. The mystery she sought lay in his next words—but she let the silence stretch, drawing out his need to speak. Around them, dice rattled, chairs scraped, and the tavern's murmur wrapped them in a cocoon of conspiracy.
Finally, Jevon leaned closer, voice barely more than a breath:
"Listen well, Lady Lynoua. There are ruins beneath Regilium's eastern palace—ancient stones older than Necon itself. Hidden there is a relic of power, once wielded by the founders of Lynoua. If Amchel learns of it… they will seize it, and all the treaties in the world won't save us."
Enai sat back, mind aflame. The candle guttered, casting her shadow on the wall as two silver crescents: one above, one below.
She exhaled. "Then we must move before the wind changes," she said.
And in that hush—broken only by the distant roll of dice and the whisper of her cloak against stone—the first threads of rebellion began to weave through Noneas's smoky air.