After my run-in with the demons, I shake off the lingering adrenaline and keep walking, letting Amer's quiet streets draw me in further. It's late, and the city is slowing down, yet even in its calm, Amer hums with life. There's a pulse here, an ancient rhythm woven into the city's veins that never truly sleeps. I prefer it this way—fewer people, fewer eyes on me.
The older part of Amer has a different vibe, rougher around the edges. The buildings are cracked and worn, their stones heavy with forgotten histories. There's no glamour or shine—just the raw, unfiltered heartbeat of the capital, relentless and steady.
I turn down a narrow side street, where a flickering sign catches my eye. The letters, written in demon script, spell out "Grimstone Tavern." The smell of roasted meat and ale hits me even before I reach the door.
Perfect.
I push the door open and step into a dimly lit room, where heat and smell mix in the air. A low fire burns in the stone hearth, casting shadows across the tavern's worn interior. A handful of tables are scattered around, each occupied by creatures that immediately draw my attention.
To my right, two orcs sit hunched over wooden mugs, grunting in low conversation. Their dark green skin gleams in the firelight, and their faces show the scars of countless battles. Across the room, a group of goblins huddle together, sharp-eyed and twitchy.
In the far corner, a massive troll drinks from a barrel-sized mug, his hulking frame taking up most of the space around him. He moves slowly, but his strength is evident in every gesture. Other creatures fill the tavern too—winged harpies, lizard-like kobolds, and a pair of ogres near the bar, speaking in low, rumbling tones. It's the kind of place where no one asks questions.
I find a quiet corner and pull my hood lower, slipping into the shadows as I take a seat at one of the rough wooden tables. Almost immediately, a goblin server approaches. His sharp eyes scan me quickly, but he doesn't say much.
"What'll it be?" he asks, his voice scratchy and blunt.
"Meat, bread, and whatever drink you've got."
He grins, sharp teeth flashing, and darts off. I lean back, letting my eyes roam the room, watching the easy coexistence of monsters and demons. It's strange how natural it feels here—like everyone knows their place, and no one crosses the line unless they're looking for trouble.
A group of orcs in the far corner plays a dice game. They grunt and slam the table when luck doesn't favor them, but there's no real tension. The goblins continue plotting, their whispers rapid and conspiratorial. And the troll? He just keeps drinking in silence, occasionally scratching at his rough skin.
The goblin returns, slamming down a plate of roasted meat and bread alongside a mug of ale that smells sour but potent. I dig in, savoring the rich flavor of the meat—far better than the bland rations back at the academy.
As I eat, my eyes drift across the room again. Old banners hang on the walls, torn and worn from years of battle. Some look like they belonged to orc clans, others to long-forgotten demon factions. Rusted weapons are mounted on the walls—a greatsword too heavy for anyone but a troll, and a jagged double-headed axe that might've once belonged to a goblin chief. This place has history, soaked into its bones, and it feels... right.
As I finish the last gulp, a flicker of light filters through the cracks in the tavern's wooden shutters. I sit up straighter, frowning slightly.
No way it's morning already!?
Time has slipped away. What felt like just a few stolen moments here has turned into hours, the deep blue of night giving way to the softer hues of dawn.
With a reluctant sigh, I push my empty plate away and stand, pulling my hood back over my head. The soft clink of coins marks my payment for the meal, though no one notices. The tavern has quieted even further in the last hour; the raucous sounds of orcish dice games and goblin scheming have dulled to murmurs. A few patrons remain, their eyes glazed over, lost in their own worlds.
I step through the door and out into the street, greeted by the crisp air of early morning. The chill bites at my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the tavern, but I welcome it. Amer feels different in the quiet of dawn—calm and serene, as if the city's heartbeat has slowed. The lanterns that line the streets flicker low, their orange glow barely visible against the growing light. In the distance, the faint outline of the mountains looms, their peaks bathed in pale, golden rays.
The streets, once bustling with demons, orcs, and goblins, are nearly empty, save for the occasional figure hurrying to start their day. The sound of boots clattering against stone echoes faintly from far-off alleys, but for the most part, it feels like the city is still asleep, waiting for the sun to rise.
I pause for a moment, taking it all in. The vastness of Amer at dawn has its own beauty, one that's easy to miss in the chaos of day. Shadows stretch long across the cobbled streets, and the air feels cleaner, crisper—like the world is holding its breath, waiting to exhale. I hear the distant rustle of wings as some night creature retreats to its roost, and the subtle shift of the wind carries the scent of the river that runs through the heart of the city.
But that sense of peace doesn't last long. I need to get back to Blackstone before the sun fully rises. The last thing I want is to be caught sneaking in. A glance at the sky confirms that the first rays of sunlight are already stretching across the horizon, inching toward the capital.
I pull the hood of my cloak lower and make my way toward a deserted alleyway, my boots tapping lightly against the stones. As I walk, I can't help but notice the contrast between the city at night and during the day. By noon, these streets will be packed again—merchants shouting their wares, children racing through the markets, and the usual mix of demons and monsters going about their business.
When I reach a secluded corner, I pause and glance around, making sure no prying eyes are watching. The last thing I need is a curious onlooker wondering how a kid in a cloak disappears into thin air. Satisfied with the solitude, I roll my shoulders, feeling the familiar tension as I prepare to take flight.
I push off the ground with a practiced motion, and instantly the wind catches beneath me. My body lifts effortlessly into the air, leaving the cold cobblestones far behind. The city unfolds beneath me—a sprawling maze of rooftops and narrow streets, all bathed in the soft hues of early morning. The higher I go, the more the world expands, and soon the entire capital stretches out below me like a living map.
Flying has always been exhilarating, a feeling of boundless freedom, and this time is no different. The wind wraps around me, brisk and invigorating, as I glide over the city's rooftops. The buildings blur beneath me as I pick up speed, heading straight for Blackstone Academy. I could take my time and enjoy the view, but the clock is ticking. The sun is creeping higher, and I know it won't be long before the city is fully awake.
The academy sits perched on the edge of Amer, its towering spires and imposing walls standing starkly against the pale sky. As I approach, the silhouette of Blackstone looms like a fortress—designed to train and hone the next generation.
I slow my approach as I near the academy walls, circling once to check for patrolling guards. The perimeter seems quiet; the watchmen are probably just switching shifts as the day begins. Perfect timing. I descend quickly, angling toward one of the lower towers where my dorm room sits.
With a soft thud, I land lightly on the stone balcony outside my window. My fingers grip the cold iron railing as I step carefully across, trying to keep my footfalls silent. A quick glance inside confirms that my room remains as I left it—dark and undisturbed. I push open the window just enough to slip inside, my feet hitting the stone floor soundlessly.
Just then, a rustling sound draws my attention. I turn to see Rael, stirring from his bed. Just then the ever so loud bell rings signaling the start of a new day