The next morning, Rand, Helena, and Mat came down to the main hall of the Queen's Blessing inn for breakfast. The place was livelier than usual — merchants spoke loudly, exchanging information about caravans and recent rumors; travelers devoured their meals in haste, eager to reach their destinations before the sun rose too high.
Master Gill noticed them as soon as they stepped through the door. With his pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth and a cordial expression, he approached with firm steps and sat at their table with the familiarity of someone who already considered himself part of the group. Spirals of fragrant smoke rose lazily from the aromatic tobacco he used, creating a small veil around him.
"There's someone asking about you in town," the innkeeper announced, settling into his chair with a small sigh.
Rand felt a surge of hope bloom in his chest. Maybe it was one of the others... maybe Thom had survived.
"They're asking about you and your friends by name," Gill continued, blowing out another puff of smoke. "At least about you young folks. Seems especially interested in the three boys."
Rand's hope faded quickly, replaced by a wave of anxiety. He glanced at Mat, who kept his head down, his skin pale, as if battling something invisible. For days, he had barely spoken, lost in his own dark thoughts.
Rand leaned across the table, his voice cautious."Who is this person?"
"Don't know his name. I just heard about it. You know how things work around here. Most news reaches me faster than any royal guard," Gill said, taking another puff. "They say he's a beggar... a bit unhinged, from what I've heard. But the strangest part is he almost received the Queen's Grace."
Helena raised an eyebrow, surprised."A beggar receiving the Grace?"
"Yeah. In the old days, the Queen granted her Grace personally, no matter who it was. And even today, no one can be arrested while under her blessing. In theory, no one should be begging in the streets of Caemlyn. But this guy... they say he's got something special. Or at the very least, strange enough to draw attention."
A chill ran down Rand's spine."An... agent of the Shadow?"
Gill chuckled softly."You're really obsessed with that, aren't you, lad? I won't deny they exist, but just because the Whitecloaks are spreading panic doesn't mean we've got an army of them lurking in the alleys. Now there's even talk of 'strange shapes' roaming outside the walls at night. Who knows."
He let out a deep laugh, his body shaking like a bloated wineskin ready to burst. But Rand didn't laugh. The words of Hyam Kinch, the farmer who had helped them, echoed in his mind. And he couldn't forget the Fade they had encountered on the road.
The threat was real. It wasn't just rumor.
"Heading out?" Gill asked, noticing Rand's distant expression.
"Yes. We've got things to take care of." Rand stood, giving a slight nod to Helena, who understood the cue and slipped out quietly through the back door.
Mat remained seated, motionless, as if he hadn't heard anything. His skin was still colorless, his eyes hollow and sunken. Rand gave his friend a worried look. Something was eating away at him from the inside, and Rand feared it was magic... or something worse.
Outside, the city of Caemlyn buzzed with anticipation. The false Dragon was near, and everyone wanted to see him — or at least hear about him. Travelers from distant lands crowded the markets, and the guard patrols had been reinforced.
A few minutes later, Helena returned. She carried a rolled parchment in one hand and a grim expression.
"You were right. It's the same beggar who was looking for us in Whitebridge," she said, handing the scroll to Rand. "The elves infiltrated in the city confirmed it. Apparently, he's alone... for now."
Rand unrolled the parchment and looked at the magical image etched there. It was Padan Fain, but almost unrecognizable — thin, filthy, eyes filled with madness. But Rand had no doubt: it was him.
"Padan Fain..." he murmured. "So he really did follow us here."
"He's not a direct threat yet," Helena said. "But when the others arrive, we need to intercept them before he finds them."
"I've already asked the elves to keep watch. If necessary, they'll bring them to us — even against their will. Safety first."
Rand gave a brief smile. Helena was sharp as a blade.
The following days passed in a blur. Rand, tireless, scoured the city, visiting every name on the list they had compiled — young people with magical potential, forgotten or hidden, many living in orphanages or institutions without even knowing who they truly were.
Moved by stories of suffering and neglect, Rand ordered house-elves to be stationed in these places, disguised as caretakers and tutors. Their function: to protect, monitor, and identify other early magical manifestations.
And then, at last, the big day arrived.
The Continental Hotel was inaugurated.
The ceremony was discreet, without fanfare, just as Rand wanted. But the impact was immediate. The former landowners, now wealthy after generous negotiations, became the enterprise's strongest advocates. News spread rapidly through the markets and noble corridors.
The first guests arrived with excitement. Wealthy merchants, curious nobles, adventurers seeking information about the false Dragon. Soon, the rooms were nearly full. And even so, the hotel — with its colossal structure — felt empty.
Casinos, game rooms, enchanted gardens, and leisure areas exuded luxury. Every room was a presidential suite. The hallways echoed with languages from all corners of the continent. Elves, disguised as humans, worked as translators, personal butlers, and tour guides. The kitchen ran day and night, orchestrated by elves who were masters of magical gastronomy.
At the city gates, an elven reception point offered maps and guidance, highlighting the new establishment's advantages and — of course — the privileged view of the false Dragon's procession. The hotel was located along one of the routes the guards and the royal entourage would pass, and a monumental balcony on the fifth floor offered a perfect stage for those willing to pay for exclusivity.
Five hundred gold coins per head.
The rich and influential paid with smiles on their faces.
While the surface buzzed with activity, the underground worked like a hidden heart. The secret base — now officially named the Ministry of Magic — operated in perfect synchronicity. Goblins ran the technical sectors, veelas held administrative positions, and Vampitos oversaw the training of young mages — they were experts in all types of magic and great historians.
The place featured enchanted meeting rooms, magical archives protected by ancient runes, and a training hall with controlled simulations. A magical school had also been inaugurated — with nearby housing for students. The underground tunnels, connecting various points of the city, were all enchanted: their ceilings displayed perfect illusions of the sky above, whether day or night.
Rand and Helena walked side by side through the underground corridors, admiring the result of months of hard work. They had built something new — not just a refuge, but a nucleus. The seed of a network... or perhaps, one day, a true resistance force.
"This all seemed impossible when we started," Helena said, watching a group of children practicing basic spells.
Rand nodded, eyes firm."It was impossible. Until we made it happen."
Helena smiled."You think we're ready for what's coming?"
Rand paused for a moment, taking a deep breath of the lightly perfumed air — the result of the renewal spell installed by the goblins.
"No. But no one ever is." Then he turned to her, a determined gleam in his eyes. "But now, at least, we have somewhere to stand and fight."