The city had begun to crowd at this hour, and the air carried the scent of burning ????? from the small stalls lining the road.

  Karsu walked steadily through the masses until he reached an old, half-painted inn. Above its door hung a faded wooden sign that read:

  [The Ear of Grain Inn]

  He pushed the door open and was received by an old man seated behind a wooden desk, writing in a ledger with a trembling hand. Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward the unfamiliar visitor.

  In a tired, faint voice, he asked:

  “One night, or more?”

  Karsu placed a small pouch of coins upon the table.

  “Three nights. A quiet room, and a small window.”

  The old man studied the pouch for a moment before nodding.

  “Upstairs. Room seven. Thirty-five silver pieces for the nights. That includes supper.”

  Karsu took the key without disputing the price, offering only a brief glance at the slanted wooden stairs.

  “If you need anything,” the old man added as he returned to his writing, “inform the waitress, Silva. She knows how to please the guests…”

  But Karsu did not reply. He ascended with cold steps to the upper floor, leaving silence to slowly reclaim the space behind him.

  ---

  The room he took was small, with a single window overlooking a vast field stretching to the horizon.

  He dropped his bag near the bed, then sat for a moment watching dust drift within the slanted western light.

  The place was not luxurious despite its price, but it offered sufficient isolation—and that was precisely what he desired.

  At last, he lay upon the bed and let his breathing slow in rhythm with the warm breath of the city drifting through the window.

  Gradually, his eyes closed, and he sank into a light sleep devoid of dreams or nightmares… only a void that resembled him.

  ---

  When he opened his eyes again, the horizon had taken on the color of dying fire.

  Soft footsteps approached the door. Instantly, his fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword beside the bed.

  Then came a knock—calm and measured.

  “Sir… it is time for your meal.”

  Karsu rose quietly and opened the door slightly. A girl stood before him, her golden hair bright, her blue eyes gleaming in the sunlight. She carried a tray of bread and cooked meat.

  “Shall I place it on the table for you?” she asked politely.

  “No need,” he replied coldly, taking the tray from her hands.

  He closed the door before she could finish her sentence.

  The girl stood for a moment staring at the shut door, a brief smile forming on her face that concealed her surprise.

  “Strange… he did not even look at me,” she whispered before walking away in silence.

  ---

  Karsu sat at the wooden table, examining the food with methodical indifference.

  He tested its scent, moved the meat with the tip of the wooden spoon, then began eating calmly after ensuring it was free of poison.

  It was not hunger that drove him to eat, but discipline. Even such small details, to him, were part of a system that must not be broken.

  When he finished, he withdrew a black leather notebook from his bag and opened it to a page filled with names written in tight, orderly script.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He sat like a silent shadow amidst a storm of calculations, his pen moving steadily across the paper.

  “Nobles’ manuscripts… attendance requirements…” he murmured softly, as though tracing the path of a crime not yet committed.

  Light divided his face—half in shadow, half in dim glow.

  “The card… the invitation card. It will be my key to entering the castle,” he whispered sharply.

  He closed the notebook with meticulous precision, set the pen in place, then stood by the window, gazing at the darkened field where fireflies flickered.

  In the distance, the wind swept through the trees as though whispering a quiet warning—

  a warning heard only by those accustomed to walking along the edge of danger.

  Karsu exhaled and turned toward the bed pressed against the wall.

  He sat at its center, folding his legs tightly, each foot pressed against the opposite thigh, as though locking iron upon his body.

  Slowly, he closed his eyes and began drawing threads of energy with each long inhale.

  He felt the familiar weight coil beneath his heart, at the pit of his stomach… where his power resided.

  The Jowf.

  Karsu exhaled slowly.

  The air that entered his chest did not leave as it had entered; it was colder, heavier—as though it had passed through buried metal beneath his skin.

  The cold first condensed in his chest, then descended gradually toward the pit of his stomach until it settled there like inverted embers that devoured warmth rather than granting it.

  Each inhale seemed to draw something from the room’s light. Each exhale extinguished a sound within him.

  The pulse he heard was no longer his heart, but another rhythm—slower—knocking from within as if something were awakening from a long slumber.

  His hands stiffened upon his thighs, fingers trembling faintly with the flow of energy.

  There was no glow—only dense silence filled with that ultimate cold that swallowed the sensation of life.

  From the depths of that stillness, the Jowf began to form.

  It was not something seen. It was like a hole opening beneath the heart—a void shaped by pulse rather than matter.

  The deeper it grew, the lighter his body became, as though Karsu’s flesh were being drawn inward by invisible threads.

  He could no longer tell whether he was breathing.

  In that moment, he imagined something in the depths opening its eyes.

  A faint hiss coursed through his veins—then absolute silence.

  The Qaz… that silent prisoner, turned slowly within its cage and looked at him.

  Within the Jowf gathered a translucent gray substance—neither blood nor spirit. It was will made liquid.

  When the void filled with it, he felt a deadly weight pressing upon his stomach, as though something were attempting to pierce his chest from within.

  Cold flowed into his limbs, into his fingers, until the entire world seemed to shrink into a single point breathing between his ribs.

  Then… everything stopped.

  A dense stillness—not sleep, not wakefulness.

  A brief moment that felt eternal.

  The Jowf was fully charged—and the creature sleeping in its depths returned to its slumber, obedient, yet alive.

  Karsu slowly opened his eyes. Faint vapor rose from his skin like residue of energy cooled beyond measure.

  The air in the room had changed—it was unnaturally cold, as though something had stolen its warmth.

  At that moment—the door knocked.

  Tok~Tok.

  It knocked again.

  Tok~Tok.

  He did not answer immediately. It was not easy to return from that stillness. He needed two seconds to recall what it meant to be present here—in this body, in this room.

  Then he said in a weary calm:

  “Enter.”

  The door opened slowly, and the scent of hot food flowed in, followed by uneasy human breath.

  Silva stood there with a large tray. Yet she halted at the threshold without knowing why.

  The air inside the room felt strange—not merely cold, but lifeless, as though warmth had never existed there.

  Her fingers trembled around the metal handle. A faint prickling sensation crept beneath her skin, as though something unseen brushed her from within.

  “Sir… your meal,” she said hesitantly.

  Karsu did not raise his head at first. He sat as he had left himself—perfectly still, his gaze extinguished yet deep as the bottom of a well drowned in shadow.

  When he finally lifted his eyes, hers met something she did not understand.

  There was no malice in it, no kindness—only absolute estrangement.

  To look at him was to realize how fragile you were, how this place did not acknowledge the warmth of flesh.

  Silva placed the tray upon the table, but the dishes emitted a faint gray vapor rather than the usual white steam, as though the air itself refused to embrace warmth.

  “Shall I open the window? It feels somewhat suffocating,” she asked with a strained smile.

  “It is open,” he replied without looking at her.

  His words were cold, unaddressed—yet sufficient to silence her.

  She stepped back, unaware she had been holding her breath since entering.

  When she closed the door behind her, the air outside seemed to move again, as though she had emerged from beneath water.

  Inside, Karsu remained seated, staring at the food without touching it.

  The Jowf still pulsed slowly beneath his heart.

  A faint pulse—like a constant reminder that what dwelled within him was a living being that ate and survived.

  At last, Karsu reached for the bowl of soup and slowly brought it to his lips.

  He examined the meal without appetite: two pieces of coarse bread, a bowl of broth that had lost its heat, and a few pale potatoes.

  Food enough for wanderers—not for the ravenous void stirring beneath his chest.

  The Jowf still churned within him like a creature freshly awakened from deep sleep.

  He had charged it moments ago, and the charge had devoured him from within, tightening his stomach like an iron ring that allowed nothing further.

  Yet he ate—bite after bite—slowly, like one performing a ritual devoid of pleasure or purpose.

  All he desired was balance between body and void—to grant the Qaz enough fuel to quiet itself.

  But the hunger did not vanish.

  It did not die nor become satisfied—it merely dimmed, like embers beneath ash.

  He turned his gaze toward the window. The sky was black, the stars gleaming like shards of broken glass.

  “Night has fully fallen… charging the Jowf took longer than expected,” he murmured coldly.

  He sat in silence for a moment, as though reviewing precise calculations within his mind.

  “This morning, I used the Rock Disintegration technique… a technique reserved for Fourth-Level Qaz Lords or higher. Even among them, only a few can wield it. As for those below—Third-Level Qaz Lords and under—they should not even dare attempt it, let alone activate it.”

  Karsu raised his hand to his chest, as though weighing a strange pulse beneath his skin.

  “That explains Stone Qaz’s hunger… though it is a patient Qaz. I must feed it soon.”

  He exhaled.

  “If I do not find Moon Soil, I will be forced to feed it Energy Stones.”

  He stood once more at the window, watching distant lights sway in the evening haze.

  Slowly, he gathered his coat upon his shoulders, his gaze drifting toward the lower street where a tavern sign trembled.

  There, food was sold, and rumors were bought…

  And perhaps there he would find something to quiet his Jowf for longer.

  He reached into his pocket and counted softly to himself:

  “Three Energy Stones, two gold coins, and nine silvers…”

  Then, with faint sarcasm:

  “Was the problem the inn I chose? Or that inspector’s wallet? Perhaps had I delayed a little… he would have gathered more.”

  As Karsu descended the inn’s stairs in silence,

  on the opposite side of the city another man studied a map, tracing a mysterious disappearance that had occurred that morning.

  ---

  [Adventurers’ City – Investigation Office]

  Far from the noise of taverns and lower alleys where Karsu walked, the central watchtower lay in a different kind of silence.

  Not the silence of rest—but of a machine that never ceased.

  The air inside was suffocating, saturated with the scent of dried ink, dust, and cold sweat.

  Within one of its offices overlooking the central square, the latest reports arrived at the command center.

  Papers piled upon a heavy desk before a man of tightly drawn physique. Nothing in his features was remarkable—save his eyes.

  They were piercing, sharp amber, like those of a natural hunter.

  His short blond hair clung damply to his forehead, and his low voice carried the weight of years.

  He flipped through the first document and murmured:

  “Hmmm… well, it does not appear to be a case of desertion from conscription…”

  He paused. His eyes moved between the lines.

  His expression froze.

  Silence settled.

  Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward the gray horizon beyond the window and spoke in a low voice, as though addressing himself:

  “I suppose I will have to investigate personally.”