The Essence Flow

Chapter 85: A Place to Fall

He walked—

if that twisted shuffle could even be called that.

Every step was borrowed time. His limbs dragged behind him, not from laziness, but from the weight of too much Essentia forced through channels not yet ready. Muscles trembled, his joints felt hollow, and each breath came with the subtle burn of someone who had pushed far past his limit.

“Damn it,” he hissed, wincing as another wave of pain rolled up his spine. “I tried to use too much Essentia at once…”

A pause.

He clenched his teeth.

“Didn’t think it’d backfire this bad.”

The anger still boiled under his skin—wild, unspent—but his body had betrayed him. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t run, couldn’t even yell loud enough to feel satisfied. All he could do was limp forward, hoping the streets of Lockeheart didn’t swallow him whole.

The city pulsed with life around him—clattering wheels, hawkers shouting half-priced goods, the scent of baked bread and melting iron. But he barely registered it. Just blurred color and distant noise, as if the world had turned down its volume to match the numbness inside.

He muttered under his breath, “I just hope Herb will help me this time around…”

A flicker of memory—

That scruffy old innkeeper, the one who gave him and Elliot shelter months ago without asking questions. The one who pretended not to notice Leon’s name when it slipped out.

Towan turned down a narrow side street, then another, eyes scanning half-remembered signs. Lockeheart wasn’t a maze… but it felt like one when every second brought fresh pain.

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Finally.

The crooked wooden sign. The slightly tilted window. The flowerpot that looked like it had survived a bar fight.

“Finally,” he whispered.

He raised his hand—and knocked. Once. Twice.

Then leaned against the frame like a man returning from war.

And in a way… he was.

“Who the hell’s knockin’ at my backdoor this late—”

The door creaked open mid-grumble, and Herb squinted into the lamplight.

He froze.

“…Towan?”

The irritation in his voice vanished, replaced by a sharp inhale and a furrowed brow. The old innkeeper stepped forward without hesitation, grabbing the boy’s shoulder as he stumbled inside.

“Stars above, what happened to you?”

His voice dropped—low, urgent. “Are you alone?”

Towan nodded, his legs barely holding.

“I… was with Eryndar. We got attacked. I had to run.”

His voice cracked halfway through. The words came out like broken pottery—jagged, incomplete. And his eyes… not just tired. Haunted.

Herb blinked. “Eryndar? As in the Essentia Warrior?”

“Yeah, he—” Towan started, but the words caught in his throat.

“Don’t,” Herb interrupted, already shifting to support more of his weight. “Save it for tomorrow. You’re shaking like a leaf in winter.”

Without another word, Herb scooped Towan’s arm over his shoulder and led him up the creaky wooden stairs. Every step groaned under their combined weight, but Herb didn’t slow down.

The guest room was small, quiet, dimly lit. Clean, but not pristine—lived-in. Safe.

Herb helped him onto the bed, pulled the blanket over without asking, then paused for a long moment.

“…You’re lucky you ended up here, kid.”

Towan didn’t respond. He was already halfway asleep.

Herb sighed and stood, hand resting briefly on the doorframe before stepping out.

“I’ll get you something warm. Then you can tell me everything.”

The door clicked shut.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

Towan slept.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Towan lay still, blanket pulled up to his chin, the scent of wood polish and old paper hanging in the air. The bed beneath him was warm, the pillow soft.

But the silence wasn’t peaceful.

It was waiting.