Corwin Grey's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Corwin reaches the square just as the shouting starts. A cluster of people stands near the center, voices rising. Someone is holding up a board with names scratched into it. Corwin moves closer and recognizes half the names—they're from the list. A man with a leather coin purse steps forward, collecting payment from each person whose name gets crossed off. Protection from the fog, he calls it. A silver charm for a week's wages. Corwin pulls out the folded paper from their pocket, the silver clip catching the light. They unfold it carefully and count. Eighteen names left. Nine are already on that board. The man is working faster than they are, turning desperation into profit while Corwin gives their work away. They fold the paper again and tuck it back inside their coat. The choice is simple: they can keep following their route, reaching people one at a time, or they can stop this. Corwin steps into the circle and pulls out their remaining charms. They hold them up where everyone can see. Free, they say. No cost. The crowd shifts toward them, and the man's face goes dark. But the names on Corwin's list are already moving—reaching out, taking the silver, walking away from the board. The man shouts after them, but his voice fades behind the sound of people calling Corwin's name. They don't know how to receive gratitude, but they know how to keep working. They distribute every charm they brought and add twelve new names to their paper. When they walk away, the board is still standing, but no one is paying anymore. The man follows Corwin to the edge of the square, near the old temple with vines crawling up its stone walls. He grabs their shoulder and spins them around. You're making this harder, he says. The fog takes everyone eventually. I'm just helping them feel safe before it does. Corwin looks at his hand on their coat, then at his face. Your charms don't work, they say. Mine do. He lets go and steps back, but his expression doesn't change. You can't forge fast enough to save them all, he says. Corwin knows he's right. They're already behind, and the list keeps growing. But they also know what happens when people pay for false hope—they stop looking for real protection. They turn away from the man and head back toward their forge. The list in their pocket feels heavier now, weighted with twelve more names and the certainty that someone else is racing them to every door. They'll need to work faster. They'll need to work smarter. And they'll need to figure out how to stop the fog itself before the man's words become true.