I rush back to the quarters to ask for help. Escape is a tad prospect. I might not get another chance but the timing is off. I cannot just leave Galland out in the cold alone now that he's vulnerable. He risked his life for me, I didn't ask him to, but still. Also, my chances of survival and not get my ass handed over to the dark king are pretty slim. I need the scabbards if I ever hope to come out of this ordeal alive and reunite with my family.
Elvira the mage in Galland's squadron takes a careful look at her commander's condition. She wore a bright yellow robe which symbolizes her status as a second-tier mage. It flows gracefully around her, its long, flowing sleeves and hemline moving with a life of their own. Elvira specializes in healing magic a skill rare even among mages as it is a form of creation magic which is harder to master. Afterall, it is much easier to destroy than to create. Healers often use their life energy for their magic to effectively work, which means they get a substantial side effect when they overdo things. True to her status as a second-tier mage, Elvira heals Galland's deep wound with much ease.
Magic is drawn from the starlight. Mages and elves, in particular, channel their powers from these celestial bodies. The Magi Order, a revered institution, categorizes its practitioners into three distinct ranks based on their mastery of the stellar magic. The lowest rank, known as the Asteri, derive their powers from the radiant sun. They are initiates, learning to harness the brilliant solar energy to weave their spells, as such they are powerless at night.
Second in tier are the Astron, who possess the ability to tap into the magic of the stars as they draw strength and control over the elements through constellation magic.
At the pinnacle of this hierarchy are those who can wield the power of Kosmos, the first light itself when the universe was born. This is a feat achieved only by a gatekeeper, the zodiac prince, the master of the twelve elemental spirits. To command Kosmos is to touch the very essence of creation, the gatekeeper's unrivalled power keeps everything in balance. All of that was lost when the past gatekeeper Tarik, the strongest among the gatekeepers in written history was defeated by the dark king himself during the war of the races. And now I, a good for nothing, cowardly, clumsy boy, has been called the zodiac prince overnight, the sworn enemy of darkness, the fate of the world rests upon my skinny little shoulders, good luck with that.
"Tell me what did this to him?" asks Elvira as she seems troubled at how Galland stays unconscious despite his wound being healed.
"Shapeshifters, two of them; the grey one has a scar across his right eye, he defeated the other one who wounded him, a red-eyed black werewolf," I reply.
"Uruk and Bagheer, the dark king's top lieutenants, we are indeed in a very precarious situation. I'm pretty sure Uruk will be back with reinforcements. We must return to the capital at once. Gather the horses, now!" She commands the rest of the regiment which they heed as they would've heed Galland for Elvira is second in command.
"Is Galland gonna be okay?" I ask her.
"Yes, my prince. His body is fighting the curse, if he were a mortal he would've turned into a werewolf when the first light of the moon touches his skin," she explains.
"What is he?" "What is what my prince?" "Galland, what is he?"
"He's a halfling, half elf, half human."
"How is that even possible? The five great races cannot interbreed."
"It's a long story my prince, Galland is not born out of the usual union, he is more like a result of a forbidden experiment. He's the first of his kind and the last I suppose since the mortal who did this most abominable thing is dead and the knowledge died with him."
I look at the unconscious Galland. The rhythm of his breath is steady and calm, his chest rising and falling with a peaceful cadence. His half-elf, half-human feature is unmistakable, a blend of two distant worlds. He seems little despite his tall, statuesque frame, and more human than elf when he is sleeping. Each strand of his braided silver hair, is meticulously woven, falling over his broad shoulders and framing his handsome face. High cheekbones and a strong jawline softened by full yet delicate lips that curve gently in his mouth. His facial features, sculpted with the elegance of elven lineage and the charm of a human. He appears to me as a figure from a dream I cannot recall.
"Ease your worries my prince for Galland is a warrior. This is nothing to him. He just needs some time to recuperate," assures Elvira.
"You seem to know him well." "In ways better than some, you see Galland can be a tough shell to break, I've known him for years but even I cannot really fathom the depth of his character."
"You mean he's an asshole?" "Well, you can put it that way, I guess." We both laugh as we embark on the horses heading towards the capital.
Eldoria, the resplendent capital city of Ganduana, unfurls within a vast, fertile valley, cradled by ancient mountains that extend to the sky. This marvel of a city beats with the lifeblood of its diverse citizens, a mere shadow of the world before the wall was built.
The cityscape of Eldoria is a harmonious blend of architectural wonders. Tall, slender spires of elven design buildings dominate the city, their pale stone structures store the light of the sun in the morning and reflects the light of the stars at night. In contrast, dwarven edifices stand robust and unyielding, hewn from dark granite and adorned with intricate geometric carvings that whisper tales of ancestral valor. Human dwellings and marketplaces, a patchwork of half-timbered houses and grand halls of brick and mortar adds simplicity to the grand tapestry. Interspersed among these are the yellow, white and iridescent towers of the Magi Order, separated by their ranks.
At the heart of Eldoria stands the Great Gate, a monumental structure forged of a meteorite ore and steel, its surface a canvas of intricate carvings and runes. This gate, which has withstood a hundred sieges, is both a welcoming embrace for traders and a formidable barrier to those who would threaten the city.
Day and night, soldiers clad in armor that melds elven elegance, dwarven resilience, and human practicality stand vigil, ready to defend the great city inside the wall.
The streets of Eldoria are a living mosaic of cultures and trades. Elven merchants draped in flowing robes of gossamer and silk, adorned with motifs of nature, weave through the bustling markets. Dwarves, in their practical yet finely embroidered attire, haggle over gems and metalwork.
Humans, their fashion ranging from simple woolen tunics to opulent garments, add a kaleidoscope of colors to the scene.
Mages, recognizable by their golden yellow, and pure-white robes move with an air of quiet power and authority.
Inns and taverns offer hearty meals and comfortable lodgings. The grand square at the heart of the city houses jugglers and storytellers that captivate the masses, and tournaments of skill and strength showcase the prowess of the city's warriors and mages.
Yet, the true beauty of Eldoria does not reflect the harsh reality of the neighboring villages whose tributes make the city flourish in wealth and elegance while the people from the country have barely enough to live. This inequality is infuriating. It makes me miss home even more. But home is nowhere safe these days when even the great city of Eldoria rests in a state of tranquil ignorance, its peaceful citizens blissfully unaware of the looming danger beyond their city gates.