“...For when the Ashen Widow calls, you better listen, for her warnings, albeit cryptic, are genuine!” Kael ended his tale, fingers lingering on the strings of his lute as a hush fell over the tavern, broken only by the groan of the chair he stood upon. A small smile tugged at his lips,  though his heart clenched with the weight of the truth- his burden.


    As the last words left his lips, the lanterns flickered, their flames shivering as if in the grip of an unseen breeze. For a heartbeat, the ever-present scent of salt and ash hanging in the air seemed to disappear.


    The tavern stayed quiet, weathered sailors looking up from their card games to glare at the young bard. “Shut up, Kael!” one of them yelled, tossing his mug across the room. “No one wants to hear your make-believe stories.”


    Kael caught the mug, ignoring the mist of ale that sprayed out as he jumped down from the table and slid his lute onto his back. Grabbing the plates and utensils from the table, he seamlessly went back to work. “I’m sorry,” he muttered to himself, glancing at a seemingly empty corner.


    A faint form revealed itself to only Kael, like smoke caught in moonlight, her figure dissolved into air. The dress of tattered gray clung to her, its fabric fluttering as though stirred by a breeze that touched no one else. Her face was pale and serene, yet her hollow eyes, black as the abyss, seemed to pierce Kael’s very soul.


    As Kael continued his round, collecting dishes to clean, a few patrons leaving coins on their plates as payment for the tale, Marenna began to fade.


    The moment Kael arrived at the bar, Alice grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close, wiping his cheek with the rag she used for the counter and mugs. “I thought it was a good tale, honey.”


    “Mom!” he squirmed in her grasp, but didn’t really struggle, letting her clean his cheek with the damp rag. “You don''t have to clean me, I''m already seventeen!”


    “And yet you''re still living with your mother,” she teased him, letting go of his arm. Grabbing the dirty dishes, she nodded towards the corner table with a shadowy figure, “Someone''s been asking for you.”


    “For me? What do they want?” he asked, grabbing a mug from under the counter and filling it with ale from the tap.


    The figure didn''t have a drink sitting on the table, so Kael figured he''d put in the effort to make a good first impression if they really wanted something from him. It cost nothing to be forthcoming!


    Alice put the dishes in the sink and started cleaning. “Your tales, of course. He said that he had some questions about one of them that got more popular,” she explained, humming the tune of his most recent song to herself.


    “Oh, it''s got to be an older one…” he mused aloud, setting aside the lute before moving towards the corner table.


    Kael''s usually friendly smile strained as he approached them, the sound of death filling his ears. This person sounded like imminent death, a breath away from being dead themselves- the reaper''s embrace. He was sick, or very hurt- but his shaggy, dirty appearance made Kael lean towards sickness.


    He slid into the booth opposite of the patron, setting the frothy mug down in front of them. “Hello. You asked for me?”


    “Aye,” the patron replied, but offered no further explanation.


    Kael stared at the man for a moment, mustering the almost comically shady figure sitting across from him. “Well, here I am! How can I help you?”


    “Captain invites you to the ship,” he said, taking a sip from the ale before setting it back down with a grimace. “Show up at dusk with a new tale to tell at the docks. Cap''s already bored of your popular ones.”


    “Oh, I''m not interested in joining the marines-” Kael started, only to get interrupted by the patron.


    “Do I look like a fucking marine to you?” he growled, pushing the mug away as he stood up. “Show up or you''ll regret it. Cap’ isn''t patient.”


    Kael stood up as well, looking up at the burly man with the nicest smile he could muster on his face. “I''ll try to be there, but I might be a bit late. I need to help my mother with closing today.”


    “Here''s a little piece of advice, kid: Show up- on time- or your mother will need to get used to closing alone,” the patron replied, jabbing his finger into Kael''s chest. After a second, he added, “And eat something proper, goddess''s tits! You''re not gonna last a week on the sea like this.”


    Before Kael could reply, the patron hobbled away, cursing under his breath. His wooden peg leg tapping rhythmically on the floorboards.


    Kael grabbed the mug and walked back to the bar. After a second of consideration, he dumped the ale into the waste bucket.


    “I''ll need to leave early today, mom,” he said, grabbing a bowl of stew from the counter for another table. “Some captain wants a new tale from me. He doesn''t sound very nice.”


    “Oh, dear, are you sure you want to go?” Alice asked, grabbing a loaf of bread from the oven. “Do you have a tale ready?”


    “No, but I''ll take a walk before and see if I can spin a tale- or I''ll just tell one of the old ones people already forgot,” he said, grabbing two slices of bread. The patron that ordered the stew always liked extra bread.


    After bringing out the stew, he returned to the bar with more dirty dishes.


    Alice took the dishes and set them aside, shooing him away with a slight smirk “Go, go, I can take care of the inn for a day- goddess knows I was taking care of it alone while you were-”


    “Yes, yes, I''ve heard that story hundreds of times!” he quickly interrupted her, his cheeks starting to redden. He quickly grabbed his lute and turned towards the door. “Thank you, I''ll bring you some oranges.”


    “Take care, dear,” Alice said, turning back to the dirty dishes.


    He swung his lute over his back and stepped outside, only to immediately have to dodge a cart tumbling over the broken cobblestone road.


    The Saltrows spread around him in a maze of wooden huts and shanties, cobbled streets and wooden bridges connecting the stacked homes with another and bathing most of the slums in shadows. Dozens of the sailors swarmed around, searching for taverns and brothels to spend their time on land at.


    No city guards were in sight.


    Looking up at the namesake of Blackspire harbour, the jagged tower of rocks looming over the entire town like a watchtower, he offered a silent prayer to the goddess before starting to walk towards it.


    It had been used as the execution ground for the mage guild for years, but they recently became fond of burning their victims alive instead, which left it to be overtaken by the gangs of Blackspire. Bodies had started to pile up around the base of it, leaving hundreds of ghosts to roam.


    He weaved through the crowds with practiced ease, dodging past pirates and thieves to climb up onto the roofs of the city. He had always enjoyed climbing across the Saltrows, looking over the bustling streets with a small smile.


    He had heard so many tales of old, as mundane as anything he could see now, but it always amused him how many parallels one could spot if they searched for it.


    Sitting down on the edge of the highest roof around, Kael dangled his legs above the streets. He needed a good story, a bold one that''d be good enough for whatever ominous captain demanded it.


    He would have ignored the request if the patron hadn''t threatened him, but he didn''t want to risk his mothers safety. They just wanted to hear a tale after all, he could do that.


    Alas, inspiration eluded him.


    He looked back up at the Blackspire.


    The Blackspire loomed like a jagged finger against the darkening sky, its shadow swallowing the slums in creeping twilight. From his perch, Kael watched as the day''s last light painted the towering rock with strokes of crimson and gold, transforming it into a menacing beacon of dread. Stories swirled in his mind, fragments of whispered myths and half-forgotten legends, but none seemed bold enough to appease a captain who commanded fear even from his own messenger.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Kael sighed, leaning back on his hands and staring at the stars that began to glimmer above. "Come on, Kael," he muttered to himself. "Think. What''s the kind of story that even a hardened sea captain wouldn''t forget?"


    His fingers absentmindedly plucked at the strings of his lute, a soft melody rising into the salty air. The tune carried faintly down to the bustling streets below, but Kael hardly noticed. His thoughts were fixated on the Blackspire and the unspoken horrors that surrounded it.


    Perhaps... a ghost story?


    It wasn’t a far stretch. The Blackspire was already infamous for its hauntings, and Kael could weave truth and fiction into something compelling. But would it be enough? His gaze drifted to the docks, where lanterns swayed in the growing breeze, their reflections dancing like restless spirits on the water.


    The wind shifted suddenly, cold and sharp, carrying with it a faint whisper. Kael froze, his fingers halting mid-chord. It was a voice, faint and distant, but unmistakable.


    "Beware the Widow’s grasp, child."


    Kael''s heart thudded in his chest. Slowly, he turned, scanning the rooftops behind him. Empty. Yet the voice lingered, a spectral echo in his mind. He felt a chill run down his spine as the scent of salt and ash enveloped him once more, stronger this time, as if the Ashen Widow herself stood behind him.


    "Great," he muttered, clutching his lute tightly. "Just what I needed. A sign from her."


    He rose to his feet, balancing precariously on the edge of the roof. His gut told him the story would come, but not from idle musings. If the Widow wanted to whisper warnings, perhaps she’d do more if he dared to listen. Maybe she had another story for him.


    Kael took a deep breath, slinging his lute back over his shoulder, and began his descent from the rooftops. The jagged Blackspire seemed to call to him now, a silent challenge he couldn’t ignore. If he was to craft a tale worth telling, he needed to face the truths hidden within the shadows of that cursed place.


    The streets thinned as he approached the base of the Blackspire, the scent of decay thickening with every step. By the time he reached the crumbling wooden fence that once cordoned off the execution grounds, Kael’s pulse pounded in his ears.


    The ground here was soft, uneven, littered with forgotten bones and charred remnants of ancient fires. He hesitated, the air around him unnaturally still as he pulled out his lute.


    One step closer, he thought, and there''s no turning back.


    He took that step, starting to play a soft tune on his lute.


    The world shifted instantly. The oppressive silence was replaced by a cacophony of whispers and faint cries, the voices of the dead clawing at his mind. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision, shapeless and writhing, yet impossible to ignore. The scent of salt and ash grew overpowering as the sounds of the streets behind him disappeared completely.


    There she was, the Ashen Widow standing between piles of corpses. Her dead eyes wandering across the hills, rivers of charred blood pooling below her.


    She raised a hand, beckoning him closer.


    Kael’s legs felt like lead, but he moved toward her, driven by an inexplicable pull. When he was just a few steps away, she spoke, her voice a haunting melody that filled the air.


    "You seek a story, bard," she said, her tone both gentle and stern. "But beware: the tales worth telling often demand a price.”


    “I-”


    “Oi!” Someone brashly interrupted him, causing the shadows in his vision to writhe. “Whatcha doing, kid?”


    He whipped around, his hand drifting to the knife on his belt as he searched for the intruder.


    She was standing tall at the outermost hill of corpses, clad in a thick cloth shirt and black pants. Multiple belts graced her waist, holding pouches, belts, and even a revolver. Her short light brown spiky hair hidden partially beneath a tricorn.


    “I''m just scavenging, but seems like someone''s already been here!” Kael replied, trying to ignore the way the shadows screamed at the interloper.


    She started walking towards him, pointing towards a corpse half buried in one of the hills. “He''s got a pouch on him. Why don''t you search him? You''re just standing in the middle of the clearing, playing your lute.”


    “Do not trust that woman,” the Ashen Widow whispered into Kael''s ear, causing a thin mist to settle over his ear as she faded away. “The dead whisper her name in fear.”


    “Oh, I didn''t see that,” Kael lied, but didn''t move. The shadows were gone now that the last of his music faded, but the uneasy feeling remained. “What are you doing here?”


    She took another step forwards, now towering over him with a hand resting on the sword on her hip. “Oh, I''ve been looking for someone,” she said, causing Kael to take a step back. Her grin only widened as she kept the distance between the two of them. “A little bard that''s known here, tells ghost stories.”


    “Doesn''t ring a bell,” he lied, a flush of red creeping onto his cheeks as he notices her broad shoulders and thick arms littered with scars.


    “Doesn''t it?” she asked, her lips stretching into a predatory grin.


    Kael swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his knife. Something about her presence was overwhelming- not just her physicality but the confidence she exuded, like she already knew he was cornered. The kind of person who enjoyed watching their prey squirm before making the kill.


    “Look,” he began, trying to sound casual despite the tremor in his voice, “if you’re looking for a bard, there are plenty around the Saltrows. You’re wasting your time with me.”


    Her laugh was sharp, like the crack of a whip. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve got the right one. You fit the description: scrawny kid, big mouth, always carrying that lute around like it’s your firstborn. You’ve been busy spinning tales about ghosts and widows, haven’t you?”


    Kael opened his mouth to deny it, but her gaze pinned him in place. He could feel the weight of her scrutiny, sharp as a blade but as dangerous as the revolver on her hip.


    “Name’s Captain Veyla,” she continued, roughly grabbing him by the jaw and turning his face to look at him properly, “my second mate talked with you earlier, but it''s pretty obvious you''re the one I need.”


    “N-need?” he asked, his cheeks now coloured fully by his blush.


    Her grin widened, but her grip on his jaw didn''t falter. “You''re cute, but that''s not what I meant,” she explained, “you get your ghost stories by talking with them, don''t you?”


    “Why would you think that?” he asked as his feet left the ground, her breath not even straining as she lifted him.


    “Cut the crap, your stories are too personal and detailed,” she replied, lifting him so they were at the same eye level. “I had my suspicions, but then you told a story only I was supposed to know. I guess ‘dead men tell no tales’ is a lie when you''re around.”


    “You have no proof,” he said, struggling to find the right words. He was getting backed into a corner, his only possible escape being the unprovable nature of her claim.


    She sighed, but set him back down. “I''m not gonna deliver you to the mages. Relax,” she ordered, “I need someone who can talk to the dead for a big job. You''ll get paid of course.”


    “How much?”


    Captain Veyla smirked, crossing her arms as she leaned down to meet Kael''s gaze again. "Enough to make you forget this rickety tavern and your mommy''s chores forever," she said, her tone dripping with confidence. "Gold, jewels, favors- you name it, and if the job succeeds, it’s yours. If you survive, of course."


    He froze up for a moment. If he got paid enough, maybe he could buy the tavern and help Alice hire others- maybe actually escape the Saltrows.


    Kael straightened his tunic, brushing off imaginary dust in an attempt to compose himself. "That’s vague. What’s the job? And what do you mean, ''if I survive''?"


    Her expression darkened, the playful edge to her grin fading. "Let’s just say there’s a certain treasure buried with a very talkative corpse. Problem is, that treasure’s cursed, and the dead don’t part with their secrets easily." She tilted her head, her sharp gaze narrowing. "You''re the key, birdie. You get the story, we get the treasure, and you walk away richer than you’ve ever dreamed."


    Kael hesitated, the weight of her words pressing down on him. His instincts screamed at him to walk away, but he couldn’t ignore the spark of curiosity- and the unspoken as well as spoken threat in her voice. He glanced over his shoulder at the Blackspire, its shadow looming as though it were listening to their every word.


    "And if I refuse?" he asked, his voice quieter now.


    Captain Veyla’s grin returned, sharper and colder this time. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Refusal isn’t on the table, birdie. Not after my crew and I have already wasted time finding you. The Widow herself couldn''t save you if you backed out now."


    Kael’s pulse quickened. The Widow’s whispered warning echoed faintly in his mind, but he couldn’t deny the pull of the opportunity- or the fear of what would happen if he refused. He sighed, gripping the strap of his lute tightly. "Fine. I’ll do it. But I want half upfront."


    Veyla barked out a laugh, the sound carrying over the desolate execution grounds. "You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But no deal, birdie. Payment comes after the job’s done. That’s the way of the sea."


    Kael scowled but nodded reluctantly. "When do we leave?"


    Veyla clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, nearly making him stumble. "Dawn tomorrow. Be at the docks, or I’ll personally drag your skinny ass aboard." She straightened, her grin fading into a more serious expression. "And one more thing: tell no one about this. Not your mother, not your ghosts, no one. Understood?"


    "Understood," Kael muttered, swallowing hard.


    With that, Captain Veyla turned and strode away, her boots crunching over the charred remnants of the Blackspire’s cursed grounds. Kael watched her go, his mind racing. Whatever he had just agreed to, it was too late to back out now.


    “Why did she have to be so hot?!” he groaned into his hands.