The sun dipped low on the horizon, its fading light casting long shadows across the dense forest. Ronan guided his horse to a clearing by a small stream, dismounting with practiced ease.
"We'll camp here for the night," he said, his voice calm but firm.
Lucian nodded, mimicking Ronan as he slid off his horse. The clearing was quiet, save for the gentle murmur of the stream and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.
As Ronan set up a small fire, Lucian gathered wood, his mismatched eyes scanning the surroundings. The forest felt alive, its energy both comforting and unsettling.
Once the fire crackled to life, Ronan handed Lucian a piece of dried meat. "Eat up," he said. "We've got a long day ahead tomorrow."
The peaceful night didn't last long. As Lucian began to drift off by the fire, a faint sound reached his ears, footsteps crunching on leaves, muffled voices speaking in low tones.
"Ronan," Lucian whispered, sitting up.
"I hear them," Ronan replied, already on his feet. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness beyond the firelight.
Suddenly, a group of men emerged from the shadows, their faces masked and weapons drawn.
"Well, well," the leader sneered, a jagged scar running down his cheek. "What have we here? A couple of travelers, ripe for the picking."
Lucian's heart raced, but Ronan remained calm, his expression unreadable.
"I'd think twice about this," Ronan said evenly, his voice carrying a quiet menace.
The bandits laughed, their confidence unshaken. "You're outnumbered, old man," another one jeered. "Hand over your gold, and maybe we'll let you live."
Ronan sighed, shaking his head. "You should've walked away."
In one swift motion, he drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the firelight. Before the bandits could react, Ronan was upon them.
Lucian watched in awe as Ronan moved like a shadow, his strikes precise and unrelenting. He used not just his blade but Arcanum, his circles flaring with power. The air around him shimmered with energy as fire and wind lashed out at the bandits, their screams echoing through the forest.
One by one, they fell, their weapons clattering to the ground. The leader, the last to stand, attempted to flee, but Ronan's blade found its mark, cutting him down in a single stroke.
When the clearing fell silent, Ronan turned to Lucian, his expression calm but serious. "Are you hurt?"
Lucian shook his head, still trying to process what he had seen. "That was… incredible," he said, his voice filled with awe.
Ronan sheathed his sword and knelt by the fire, his movements as composed as ever. "It wasn't for show," he said. "Remember that, Lucian. Power is a tool, but it's also a responsibility."
As they sat by the fire, Ronan began to explain. "What you saw back there, that was Arcanum in its raw form. It's the energy that flows through everything. People like us learn to harness it, storing it in circles within ourselves."
Lucian leaned forward, eager to understand. "How many circles do you have?"
"Seven," Ronan replied. "Each circle strengthens your connection to Arcanum, making you more powerful. Most humans struggle to form more than three or four in their lifetimes. The truly gifted might reach six or seven."
"And the academy?" Lucian asked, his curiosity piqued.
Ronan smiled faintly. "The academy is where the best go to hone their skills. It's not just about learning to fight, it's about understanding Arcanum, its elements, and the world around you. If you're serious about your power, it's the place to be."
"What about angels and demons?" Lucian asked.
Ronan's expression darkened slightly. "They're different. Their Arcanum is stored in their wings, and they have twelve stages, not nine. Two of those stages, light or dark, are beyond what humans can achieve. That's what makes them so dangerous."
Lucian absorbed every word, his mind racing with possibilities. The world was so much bigger than he had imagined.
As the fire burned low, Ronan placed a hand on Lucian's shoulder. "You have potential, boy. But potential means nothing if you don't use it wisely. Remember that."
Lucian nodded, his resolve hardening. He would learn, grow, and one day, he would carve his place in this vast, mysterious world.
The days following the attack passed uneventfully, though my mind often drifted back to Ronan's demonstration of power. I had seen strength before, Father's sharp precision in battle, Mother's unyielding resolve, but Ronan's command of Arcanum felt different. It was like watching a storm bottled in human form.
He didn't speak much as we traveled, but I found comfort in the steady rhythm of his horse's steps and the quiet assurance of his presence. When he did talk, his words carried weight, and I made it a point to remember every lesson.
As we neared the capital, the landscape began to change. The rolling hills gave way to flatter terrain, with well-trodden paths and scattered villages that seemed to grow more frequent the closer we got. My excitement grew with each passing mile, the promise of something new and grand looming ahead.
Then, just as the sun began its descent, I saw them: the walls of Solereth, the capital city.
At first, they seemed like a distant mountain range, their towering height blending with the horizon. But as we drew closer, the details came into focus. The walls were made of gleaming white stone, their surfaces smooth and unmarred despite what I imagined were centuries of wear.
From my place on the horse, I could see intricate carvings etched into the stone, scenes of battles, triumphs, and legends I had only read about in old texts. Heroes stood immortalized in relief, their faces fierce and determined as they raised swords, shields, and staves against shadowy foes.
Banners of deep crimson and gold fluttered from the parapets, their colors vivid against the pale backdrop of the walls. Guards patrolled the ramparts, their armor catching the fading sunlight, making them look like moving stars.
I couldn't take my eyes off the gates. They were massive, wrought from dark iron and reinforced with golden filigree that traced patterns of flames and wings. Even from a distance, I could feel the power emanating from them, as if the walls themselves were alive, breathing in time with the city they protected.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Ronan's voice broke through my thoughts.
I nodded, unable to tear my gaze away. "It's… massive. And beautiful."
He chuckled. "Solereth's walls are a testament to human ingenuity. They've withstood countless sieges and still stand as strong as the day they were built."
I couldn't help but wonder what lay beyond those gates. Would the city be as grand as the walls promised? Would it feel as alive as the stories said?
As we neared the gates, the noise of the city reached us, distant at first, like the hum of a hive, but growing louder with every step. Voices mingled with the sounds of wheels on stone, the clatter of hooves, and the occasional shout of a vendor peddling their wares.
I straightened in my saddle, trying to take it all in. For so long, my world had been the quiet village and the endless forests. This was something else entirely, a different world waiting to be discovered.
Ronan glanced at me, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Keep your wits about you, boy. Solereth might look grand, but it's not without its dangers."
I nodded, gripping the reins tighter.
The closer we came to the gates, the more imposing they seemed. Their sheer size made me feel small, as if I were an ant crawling toward the entrance of a giant's fortress. Ronan rode beside me, his posture relaxed, though I could sense a readiness in the way his hand occasionally brushed the hilt of his sword.
As we reached the line of travelers waiting to enter, one of the guards stepped forward, his spear angled slightly downward but still ready for use. He wore a polished cuirass bearing the sigil of Solereth, a blazing sun, etched in fine detail. His eyes were sharp, assessing us as if determining our worth.
"State your names and purpose," the guard said, his tone clipped but not unkind.
"I am Ronan Everhart," Ronan replied calmly, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to being listened to. "This is my ward, Lucian. We're here on personal business."
The guard's eyes narrowed slightly. He studied Ronan for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on the scar running down the left side of Ronan's face, a thin, pale line that added to his weathered appearance.
"You're an odd pair," the guard remarked. "The boy looks fresh out of the village, but you…" He gestured toward Ronan. "You look like you've seen one too many battles."
Ronan smirked, his gray eyes glinting with amusement. "Perhaps I have. Does that pose a problem?"
The guard shook his head but continued to take in Ronan's appearance: his broad shoulders, the faint streaks of silver in his dark hair, and the way his well-worn leather armor hugged his frame, revealing a build honed by years of combat. Even the way he carried his sword, strapped diagonally across his back, suggested a fighter who relied on skill rather than brute strength.
"No problem," the guard said after a moment. "Just don't cause trouble inside. Solereth doesn't tolerate it, no matter how experienced you might be."
Ronan inclined his head slightly, a hint of a smile still on his lips. "Noted."
The guard stepped aside, gesturing for us to pass. As we rode through the gates, I couldn't help but glance back, catching the guard's lingering gaze.
"What was that about?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.
Ronan shrugged, his expression unreadable. "He's just doing his job. In a place like this, a stranger with a sword is always a potential threat."
I didn't press further, though the exchange stuck with me. Whatever past Ronan carried, it was clear it followed him wherever he went.
As we passed through the gates, the sights and sounds of Solereth overwhelmed me. For a moment, I couldn't decide where to look, everything demanded my attention.
The streets were wide and paved with smooth cobblestones that gleamed faintly under the sunlight. Tall, narrow buildings lined either side, their facades painted in rich hues of red, gold, and deep blue. Some had intricately carved balconies overflowing with flowers, while others boasted banners that fluttered lazily in the breeze.
Vendors crowded the sides of the streets, their stalls bursting with goods. There were barrels of gleaming fruit, bolts of shimmering fabric, and even cages holding small, brightly colored creatures that chirped and squawked. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spiced meats, fresh bread, and the occasional whiff of something less pleasant.
People bustled everywhere, merchants shouting to advertise their wares, children darting between legs, and armored knights cutting imposing figures as they patrolled. I caught snippets of conversations, fragments of laughter, and the occasional argument.
Above it all, towering spires reached toward the sky. Some were crowned with statues of winged figures, their features serene and regal. Others had immense clocks or bells, their mechanisms ticking softly, a constant reminder of time's passage in this bustling city.
I tried to take it all in, but there was so much. My village felt like a distant dream compared to this. Solereth wasn't just a city, it was alive, pulsating with energy.
The people fascinated me the most. I saw faces of every shade, hair in every hue, and clothes ranging from humble tunics to flowing robes embroidered with gold. Each person seemed to carry their own story, and I wanted to know them all.
Ronan led us through the crowd with practiced ease, his presence parting the throng like a ship through water. I stayed close, though my head swiveled constantly, trying to absorb every detail.
We passed a towering fountain in the shape of a dragon, water cascading from its mouth. Children splashed in its pool while their parents looked on, some laughing, others scolding.
Further down, we crossed a bridge spanning a slow-moving river. Boats drifted beneath us, their occupants calling out to one another. I leaned over the edge, watching the reflections of the buildings ripple in the water.
Eventually, Ronan pulled his horse to a stop in front of a modest building tucked between two larger ones. Its wooden sign bore a simple emblem of a quill and a coin.
"Stay here," he said, dismounting. "This won't take long."
I nodded, hopping off my horse and leaning against the post. As Ronan disappeared inside, I watched the city pass by. A man selling roasted chestnuts caught my eye, the warm aroma making my stomach growl. Nearby, a bard strummed a lively tune, drawing a small crowd that clapped along.
True to his word, Ronan returned quickly, his expression neutral. He mounted his horse without a word and motioned for me to follow.
As we continued through the bustling streets, Ronan's words echoed in my mind. There was a place in Solereth, he had said, where people could find excitement, a place where missions were posted, and those with the will and skill could make a name for themselves.
"It's not about who you are," Ronan explained, noticing my curiosity. "It's about what you can do. The Adventurer's Guild doesn't care about your past, your name, or where you come from. It's about getting the job done. If you've got the strength, the wit, or the magic to complete a mission, then they'll welcome you."
I wasn't sure what to think about that. "So, anyone can join?"
"Anyone who can prove themselves," Ronan replied with a smirk. "You'll see when we get there. The city's full of all kinds of people looking for work. Some might just be looking for coin. Others, for adventure. It's a place for those who aren't afraid to risk everything."
That idea stirred something inside me, a desire to know if I could really make it in a world like that. What would it be like to face challenges, not just as the ward of someone else, but as someone capable in my own right?