The days following the ambush were subdued. The easy camaraderie was replaced by watchfulness and the grim reality of their profession. Evan rode mostly in silence, replaying the fight in his mind. The fear, the instinctive use of his Zither power, the reflexive application of Bamboo Sect evasion... it felt like a door had opened, revealing a world both terrifying and empowering. He practiced focusing his mental energy, trying to recapture the resonance of that single command, but without the adrenaline-fueled clarity, it felt elusive.
Martino kept a closer eye on Evan, his curiosity warring with caution. He questioned Evan subtly about Arcadia, about his 'training,' but Evan, guided by Quentin's warnings and his own growing wariness, revealed little. He spoke only of the Emerald Canopy in vague terms, of his teacher named Quentin, of his journey to the Institute.
On the ninth day, the terrain flattened. Fields reappeared, larger and more cultivated. Villages dotted the landscape more frequently. The air held a distinct chill now, a reminder they were moving north. Late in the afternoon, Garth pointed ahead. "Polis!"
The city walls of Polis rose in the distance – taller, thicker, and more imposing than Roll City's defenses. Towers punctuated the battlements, banners snapping in the wind. Guards in polished armor stood watch at the gates. Traffic flowed steadily in and out – merchants with laden wagons, travelers on foot or mounted, patrols of soldiers.
Martino led them to a bustling inn near one of the city's secondary gates – 'The Burly Boar'. It catered to mercenaries and traders, its sign depicting a fierce-looking hog. "We stay here tonight," Martino announced. "Garth, see to the prisoners. Hand them over to the City Guard outpost – bounty claims. Settle the lizards. Evan, with me."
Martino secured rooms and a large table in the inn's noisy common room. He ordered ale and a substantial meal – roasted meat, thick stew, coarse bread. As they ate, Martino pushed a small pouch of coins across the table towards Evan.
"Your share," Martino stated bluntly. "From the bounty on those bandits. Not much, but enough for a few days' food and a place to sleep while you figure out your next move."
Evan stared at the pouch, surprised. "I... I didn't fight them for bounty."
"You fought," Martino corrected him, taking a long swig of ale. "You held your ground. You disrupted their attack. That earned you a share. Mercenary code." He leaned forward slightly. "Now, listen. Polis is a hub. Trade routes branch out from here. The main road continues northwest, eventually leading into Milanese territory. It's still a long way – several weeks' hard travel. Passage on a merchant caravan heading that way is possible, but it costs coin. More than what's in that pouch."
He met Evan's gaze directly. "The Thorn Iron Band takes a contract south tomorrow. Back towards Roll City. Not your path." He paused, his expression unreadable. "You have choices, Evan Young. Use the coin wisely. Find work here. Maybe as a scribe? Your bearing suggests learning. Or... use what you showed in Redfang Pass. Guard work pays better. Riskier, but it pays." He paused again, his eyes sharp. "The mask... keep it handy. And remember what I saw. A Lute Magus with warrior training? That's a dangerous combination. Keep it hidden until you need it. The world respects strength, but fears the unknown."
Evan picked up the pouch. It felt heavy with possibility and uncertainty. "Thank you, Captain Martino. For the passage. For the coin. For the advice."
Martino nodded, a flicker of something resembling respect in his eyes. "Good luck, Evan Young. Find your path." He pushed his plate away and stood. "I have reports to file. We leave at dawn. Don't linger."
Evan sat alone at the crowded table, the noise of the inn a distant hum. He held the small pouch of coins – his lifeline. He touched the soft mask tucked inside his robe – his shield. He thought of the five Sovereigns, lost but not forgotten. He thought of Quentin's expectations, Yale Leaf's pride, Zander's promise. He thought of the raw power he'd tapped into during the ambush – the power of his Zither heart, the agility of his Bamboo roots. Martino was right. He had choices. He had a path, however daunting. The journey to the Milan Institute, to his destiny as Sovereign of Strings, was far from over. It had only just begun. He would find a way north. He would find Zander. He would reclaim his heritage. And he would learn to wield the full power that lay within him. The resolve solidified within him, cold and bright as polished steel. He finished his meal slowly, savoring the simple flavors, planning his next move in the bustling heart of Polis.