The Road to Greystone

The Mourning Grounds lingered at Jack's back as he walked down the uneven cobblestone path. He stopped, casting a final glance at the grotesque cemetery. The mist clawed at the graves, obscuring the two lifeless bodies left behind—Bob's shattered head and Edrick's decapitated form. Jack felt no guilt. He hadn't survived thirty-one years as a predator by wasting remorse on prey.

But the boy's body—a body he now knew as Amon Grimveil—trembled beneath the weight of the memory. The flash of the knife, the spray of blood, and the guttural cries of loss clung to Jack's consciousness, alien and suffocating. His lips curled in frustration as he spat into the dirt, forcing the fragile instincts down.

"This isn't me," Jack muttered under his breath. Yet, the tremor in his hands betrayed the lie.

The terrain shifted as the oppressive aura of the graveyard gave way to rolling meadows and farmsteads. Golden sunlight spilled through the scattered clouds, dappling the cobblestone road with warm light. Birds sang from distant treetops, and the faint scent of wildflowers mingled with tilled earth.

It all felt unnervingly alive.

A wooden cart rattled past, pulled by a sturdy horse. Its driver, a middle-aged farmer in a straw hat, offered Jack a curious glance.

"Morning there, lad!" the farmer called out, his voice friendly, but edged with weariness. "Lost or just taking the road less traveled?"

For a moment, Jack froze, instinct screaming to attack, to silence the witness. But then he forced a shy smile to his face, letting Amon's youthful energy bleed through just enough to disarm the man's suspicion.

"Just... passing through," Jack muttered, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes darting around as though he was uncertain of his own path.

The farmer's gaze softened, seeing only a lost child, vulnerable in his own way. He nodded and gave a half-chuckle. "Ain't much to see this way, boy. Greystone's ahead. You'll find your way there, sure enough."

Jack's eyes flicked toward the direction the man had pointed, then back to the cart. The dull, rhythmic sound of the horse's hooves on the cobblestone was oddly comforting.

"Thanks," Jack said quietly, letting the façade of Amon's innocent energy hold. The farmer tipped his hat and urged the horse forward, his smile wide, unaware of the danger that lurked just beneath the surface.

The cart rumbled away, and Jack's irritation simmered beneath his calm exterior.

Weak. This body is too weak.

He kept walking, the hunger gnawing at his stomach a sharp reminder of his vulnerability. Jack surveyed his surroundings, his sharp mind analyzing every detail. A farmhouse to his left bustled with activity—two women hanging clothes to dry, a dog barking at chickens scratching in the dirt. To his right, a small field stretched into the distance, its crops swaying in the breeze.

The child's body wanted to stop, to marvel at the idyllic scenery. Jack fought against it, his ruthlessness smothering the impulse. Beauty was a trap—a distraction meant for fools.

Ahead, the path curved, revealing Greystone City in the distance. Its low stone walls hugged the horizon, the open gates inviting travelers and traders alike. A towering clocktower rose above the city, its hands ticking ever forward. From his position, Jack could see carts lined up at the gates, their drivers chatting with lazy guards.

As he neared the city, the scents of baking bread and roasting meats hit him, sharp and tantalizing. Jack's stomach clenched painfully. He would need to eat soon. A starving body was useless.

Jack paused by a stone wall marking the edge of a farm. He leaned against it, catching his breath, though the boy's frailty grated on him. The child's instincts were drawn to the cheerful scene of farmers laughing and working, but Jack's gaze lingered on the pitchforks and scythes resting against a barn. Weapons.

He pushed off the wall and continued toward Greystone.

By the time Jack reached the city gates, the crowd had thickened. Farmers with carts full of produce jostled for space with merchants hawking their wares. Children darted between adults, laughter ringing in the air.

Jack kept his head low, slipping into the rhythm of the crowd. He mimicked Amon's nervous energy, allowing the boy's youthful appearance to shield him from scrutiny. A guard standing at the gate barely glanced at him, more focused on a heated argument between two merchants.

Once inside, Jack slowed, taking in the layout of Greystone. The cobblestone streets were lined with stone and red-brick buildings, their tiled roofs puffing chimney smoke into the crisp morning air. Gas lamps dotted the sidewalks, their iron posts polished to a dull sheen.

Jack's eyes darted to the towering cathedral near the center of the city. Its spire pierced the sky like a dagger, casting a long shadow over the bustling marketplace.

His stomach growled again, louder this time. Jack scanned the market stalls for an opportunity—a distracted merchant, an unguarded basket of food. Hunger gnawed at his focus, but his sharp mind held firm.

"This city holds answers," Jack muttered under his breath, his voice low and steady. "And I'll find them. No matter the cost."

As he blended into the crowd, Jack's calculating eyes missed nothing. Every street, every face, every whispered conversation etched itself into his memory. The boy's name, Amon Grimveil, flickered in his thoughts, a shadow of a life he still didn't understand.

But understanding could wait. Survival came first.