As Silas stood admiring the city from where he'd stepped off the carriage, the crisp, cold air biting at his skin, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed down the cobblestone road, drawing his attention. He turned to see a procession approaching: two magnificent, pure white horses leading a luxurious black-and-gold carriage, their glossy coats gleaming under the dim light of the snow-covered streets. The horses moved with an elegant precision, their harnesses adorned with gold trimmings that jingled faintly as they trotted down the icy path. Behind them, another identical carriage followed, the black lacquered wood gleaming ominously against the pale backdrop of the city.
Silas instinctively stepped to the side of the road, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as the carriages passed. His gaze lingered on the second carriage, and through the fogged window, he caught a glimpse of a figure seated within. It was an old man, his thick white hair flowing into a beard of equal length and color. A jagged scar ran across his weathered face, cutting through the creases of age like a mark of violence long past. The man's eyes, cold and piercing, met Silas's for a brief, intense moment.
In that split second, Silas felt a rush of something ancient and powerful. The man's gaze radiated an overwhelming force, the kind that made even the bravest warriors hesitate. It was not just the look of a man accustomed to command, but of someone who had seen more death and destruction than anyone should. There was wisdom there, but it was the kind of wisdom born from the edge of a sword and the clash of steel. Silas stiffened imperceptibly, feeling the weight of that gaze before the carriage rumbled on, breaking their locked stare.
Around them, the citizens of the Northern Kingdom scrambled to clear the path, their faces etched with a mix of awe and fear. "Did you hear?" one of them murmured to another nearby, their voices carried by the wind as they watched the carriages roll by.
"Yeah, they say they're planning to subjugate the Dragon Lord of the North this year," the man whispered back, his voice heavy with both excitement and dread.
"Really?!" his companion replied, unable to contain the excitement bubbling in his tone. "If they manage that, we could finally be free of this cursed cold!"
The voices of the two men faded into the background as Silas turned and continued walking, their conversation swirling in his mind. Subjugating the Dragon Lord of the North? He almost scoffed at the absurdity of the thought. The very notion that mere men could tame a creature of such legendary power seemed foolish at best. But then again, legends had to come from somewhere, and Silas wasn't one to dismiss things so easily.
Silas eventually arrived at a cozy-looking inn nestled within the winding streets of the capital. The building was unassuming yet charming, its stone walls thick and solid, keeping the harsh winter at bay. The soft glow of firelight filtered through the small, frosted windows, promising warmth inside. Pushing the heavy wooden door open, Silas stepped into the inviting atmosphere, where the smell of hearth fire and stew lingered in the air.
"Welcome, esteemed guest!" A bright voice greeted him as he entered. A young woman stood behind the front desk, her smile warm and inviting, despite the bitter cold outside. "What can I do for you today?" she asked, her eyes reflecting the flickering firelight from the hearth.
Silas approached her calmly, removing the hood of his dark cloak, revealing his sharp features. His eyes met hers with a steady, unreadable intensity. "I'd like to book a room… for the rest of the year."
The request was so unexpected that the innkeeper blinked in surprise. "The… the rest of the year?" she stammered, her smile faltering as her brows furrowed in confusion. "I'm afraid that would be—"
Before she could finish, Silas raised his hand. A glint of silver light shimmered from the ring on his finger as he produced a large bag, placing it on the desk. The bag dropped with a heavy thud, spilling over with gleaming gold coins that clattered onto the wooden counter.
The woman's eyes widened, the light from the coins reflecting in her gaze. Her previous uncertainty vanished as the weight of the gold settled in. "R-right this way, sir!" she exclaimed, her tone now full of eagerness. She quickly gathered herself, leading him up a creaking wooden staircase with hurried steps.
As they ascended, Silas noticed the other patrons of the inn watching him, their eyes following his every move. Whispers floated through the air, greed and envy etched into their faces. His hand unconsciously drifted towards the hilt of the sword hidden beneath his cloak, though he knew he would have no need for it. Not yet, anyway.
The innkeeper led him to the back of the building, down a long, dimly lit corridor. "This will be your room for the next year," she said with a flourish, stopping in front of the last door on the left. She unlocked it with a brass key and stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. "Please, enjoy your stay!" she added with a wide smile, starting to close the door behind her.
"Wait," Silas said, his voice calm but commanding enough to make her pause. She turned to face him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "I'm new to this city," he continued. "I've heard the stories of the dragons that stalk this land. But where do they come from?"
The woman hesitated for a moment, her expression shifting to one of discomfort. "No one knows exactly where they come from," she finally replied, lowering her voice as though afraid to speak of such things aloud. "But it's suspected that they dwell somewhere far to the north… past the frozen wastes."
Silas nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "Thanks," he murmured, dismissing her with a simple glance. She gave a nervous smile and quickly shut the door, leaving him alone in the cold silence of his new quarters.
The room was sparsely furnished but comfortable, the stone walls thick enough to block out most of the cold. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Without wasting another moment, Silas's voice rang out softly in the still air, "Murklock."
The words had barely left his lips before a blinding teal light appeared on the floor, twisting and writhing like a living thing. The light pulsed, growing in intensity before finally dimming, revealing the figure standing in its place.