The cart rattled steadily along the road, the rhythmic clopping of the horses' hooves filling the otherwise quiet air. Eryon occasionally leaned forward, asking Rowan about combat techniques. His questions were straightforward, often centered on precision and strategy. Rowan answered in his usual, no-nonsense manner, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. After a while, even Eryon grew quiet, and we settled into a comfortable silence.
I adjusted my seat on the cart's wooden bench, feeling the chill of the winter air despite the warming spell I'd cast earlier. "Have you ever been to the Capital, Rowan?" I finally asked, breaking the quiet.
Rowan nodded, his tone steady as always. "Plenty of times. The King is the one who pays me the most. When something dangerous hunts his villages or cities—something stronger than his soldiers can handle—he contacts me. I do the job."
I tilted my head. "You've met him?"
Rowan shook his head. "Not personally. I only know him through the jobs he sends."
Eryon, lounging in the corner of the cart, perked up at the conversation. "Susan," he called over his shoulder, "you were a priest of the kingdom, right? Do you know the King personally?"
Susan, who had been fiddling with her robes, paused and looked up. A smirk flickered across her face. "Oh, I know him well enough."
Eryon leaned forward, intrigued. "What's he like?"
Susan's expression softened, her usual sharpness giving way to something more reflective. "King Alden... he's not like other rulers. He's not a warrior—not with a sword, anyway. His strength lies in his words, his mind. People follow him not because they fear him, but because they believe in him."
Her voice took on a wistful note. "He has this presence—a calm, commanding one. You could be in the midst of utter chaos, and he'd say a single word that makes you believe everything will be okay. His conviction becomes yours."
I tried to imagine the man she described. "Sounds impressive."
Susan nodded slowly. "He is. But once you make a mistake for him, he will not easily forgive it. I'm still trying to get his trust back."
Eryon crossed his arms, his brow furrowing. "A King like that must have enemies everywhere."
"Oh, he does," Susan replied, her tone growing more serious. "That's why he has the Knight—to handle the threats diplomacy can't."
The horses let out a soft whinny as the cart jolted slightly over a rock, but the driver quickly steadied the reins. I stared ahead, lost in thought. King Alden sounded like the kind of leader we desperately needed, especially now. If we were to face the demons—Astoroth himself—having someone like him as an ally might just tip the scales.
I turned toward Susan, the wheels of the cart rattling beneath us. "Tell me about your knight friend," I said. "Will he really help us?"
Susan nodded, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. "Oh, he'll help," she said confidently. "Sir Cedric Valenforth isn't just any knight—he's the knight. The perfect one."
Eryon raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. "Perfect? No such thing exists."
Susan shot him a knowing look. "If you'd met him, you wouldn't say that. Cedric is the only reason Astoroth's forces haven't already overrun the Kingdom. King Alden himself said it once: without Cedric, the Kingdom would've fallen long ago."
Even Rowan glanced over, faintly curious now. "What makes him so... perfect?" he asked, his tone skeptical but not dismissive.
Susan leaned back, crossing her arms. "For starters, he's a tactician. He doesn't just fight—he plans. Every move he makes on the battlefield is calculated, like he's playing a game of chess, and the enemy is always two steps behind. His strategies have won battles that seemed hopeless."
Her voice grew more reverent as she continued. "And his strength... It's almost unnatural. They say he once held the line alone against an entire battalion of Astoroth's creatures. Not a single one got past him."
Eryon whistled low. "Sounds like a legend."
Susan laughed softly. "That's the thing—he's not just a legend. He's real. He's not just strong and brilliant; he's also loyal to a fault. If King Alden commands it, Cedric will do it. And he doesn't just fight because it's his duty. He fights because he believes in what he's protecting—the people, the Kingdom, the future."
I tried to picture this knight she described. "And his personality? What's he like?"
Susan's smile turned wry. "You'd think someone like him would be arrogant, but he's not. He's humble, almost to a fault. He doesn't care about titles or glory—only the mission. He's serious, focused, and relentless. But beneath all that, he's kind. He doesn't just protect people because it's his duty; he genuinely cares."
"Sounds like someone who'd make the rest of us feel inadequate," I muttered.
Susan chuckled. "He does, sometimes. But trust me, when you're standing on the same side as Cedric, you feel invincible."
The cart jostled over another bump in the road, and I gripped the edge tightly, my mind racing. If this knight was everything Susan claimed, then he wasn't just another ally—he was a game-changer. Someone who could tip the scales in our favor against the demons.
I only hoped we could convince him to join us.
The closer we drew to the Capital, the more the atmosphere seemed to change. The soldiers we passed along the way were a clear indication of that. Unlike the ragged, weary troops we'd encountered before, these men and women were sharper—both in appearance and demeanor. Their armor gleamed even under the faintest sunlight, polished to a mirror sheen, and their movements were disciplined and purposeful.
I couldn't help but notice their weapons, too. These weren't hastily forged blades or rusted spears like those I'd seen in the outer villages. These were crafted with care and precision, weapons that could hold their own against the mightiest of foes. Perhaps it was the proximity to the Capital, where resources were abundant and the best instructors were available. Here, even the recruits seemed more confident, their shoulders squared and their steps assured.
As we rode on, the road itself seemed to echo that peace. The cobblestones were smooth, free of cracks or overgrowth, and the surrounding landscape, while barren due to winter's grasp, bore no signs of danger. No claw marks on trees, no lingering growls or howls in the distance. Even the air felt still, as if monsters knew to avoid this stretch of land.
Perhaps the soldiers patrolled regularly, ensuring that nothing disrupted the serenity of these roads. Or maybe it was something else—an unspoken protection from the Capital itself. Whatever the reason, it was a quietness I hadn't experienced in months. For once, I didn't feel the weight of constant vigilance pressing down on me.
The silence gave way to a rising anticipation as the cart crested a final hill, revealing the Capital in all its grandeur.
The gates were the first to capture my attention, standing like sentinels of purity and strength. Carved from pristine white marble, they were framed by golden embellishments that shimmered with the light of the midday sun. Tales of the kingdom's triumphs and glories were etched into the marble—a knight slaying a dragon, a city rising from ruin, and the crowned lion of the royal crest standing tall and proud.
Beyond the gates, the city unfolded like a masterpiece. The streets were paved with polished stone, and the buildings that lined them were made of the same white marble as the gates. Their golden roofs seemed to drink in the sunlight, reflecting it back in radiant brilliance. Everywhere I looked, there was an air of perfection—streets without a speck of dirt, markets buzzing with life but organized, and citizens moving with an almost palpable sense of purpose.
As the cart rolled further in, my gaze was inevitably drawn to the palace perched high above the city. It wasn't just a building; it was a beacon, a declaration of the kingdom's strength and resilience. Its spires reached for the heavens, their golden tips shining like stars even in daylight. Flags bearing the royal crest fluttered proudly from every terrace, and cascading stone steps led up to the grandest set of doors I'd ever seen.
"This," Susan said, breaking my awed silence, "is Crownhelm. The city of kings."
I didn't say anything. Words didn't seem adequate to capture what I felt. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world seemed untouched by chaos—a sanctuary, perfect and untouchable. But deep down, I wondered if it was merely an illusion.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Rowan asked, his deep voice breaking the awe-filled silence.
"Yes," I admitted, my gaze still glued to the sprawling beauty of the Capital. "This is my first time seeing a city like this. It's… overwhelming."
Rowan grunted softly in agreement. "My kind built this city," he said, almost absently, as if the grandeur of it wasn't something extraordinary but merely a fact. "Dwarves laid the foundation. Every stone, every spire, every intricate carving on those gates—that's our craftsmanship."
"Magnificent," I murmured, a new layer of appreciation settling over me as I scanned the city again. It wasn't just beautiful—it was enduring, a testament to the strength and precision of its creators.
The streets buzzed with life, yet the movement felt orderly, purposeful. Unlike Caerwyn, where chaos and diversity intermingled in every corner, the Capital seemed to carry an air of dignified harmony. The people here weren't just surviving—they were thriving.
Merchants called out from their stalls, hawking goods that looked almost too perfect to be real—gleaming jewels, bolts of fabric in colors so vibrant they seemed otherworldly, and fruits that shone like polished glass. Crowds gathered around street performers who juggled flaming torches or played enchanting tunes on strange instruments, their laughter mingling with the music to create a lively, welcoming atmosphere.
The people themselves were as varied as the goods and performances. Humans, elves, dwarves, and orcs walked side by side, their differences blending seamlessly into the fabric of the city. I even spotted a few halflings weaving expertly through the crowds, their small frames carrying satchels almost as large as they were.
"Caerwyn is a melting pot," I said, thinking aloud, "but this... this is different."
"It's not just a city," Rowan replied. "It's a symbol. A beacon for the kingdom. A place where all can come together and see what unity can achieve."
As we passed through the main square, my attention was drawn to a towering statue at its center—a knight clad in gleaming armor, his sword raised high. The craftsmanship was breathtaking, every detail captured with precision, from the flow of his cape to the determination in his eyes. At his feet, smaller statues of dwarves, elves, and humans stood in solidarity, their hands raised toward the heavens as if holding up the knight.
"Sir Cedric?" I guessed, nodding toward the statue.
"Cedric?" Susan chuckled, shaking her head. "That's King Alden himself, in his youth. A different time, and a different world."
As the cart continued to roll forward, I found myself scanning every face, every corner, every detail of this incredible city.
Finally, the cart came to a halt before the palace gates. My breath hitched as I took in the sheer size of it up close. If the city had seemed grand, the palace was on another level entirely. Its towering white walls stretched high enough to scrape the heavens, the golden trim gleaming even in the softer light of the late afternoon. Soldiers clad in pristine silver armor stood at the gates, their gazes sharp as they assessed us.
"Halt," one of them barked, stepping forward. But as his eyes landed on Rowan, his posture shifted slightly—less hostile, more curious. Then his gaze moved to Susan. Recognition flickered in his expression, and after a brief exchange of nods, the soldier waved us through.
"No horses allowed beyond this point," another soldier said curtly, holding up a hand.
Rowan grunted but dismounted without complaint, and the rest of us followed suit. Walking it was, then.
As we entered, the palace loomed above us, a structure so impossibly detailed and perfect that it almost didn't seem real. The white stone walls shimmered faintly, as if enchanted, while golden spires jutted toward the sky like rays of sunlight frozen in time. Intricate carvings covered every visible surface—scenes of battles, triumphs, and moments of unity between the kingdom's many races.
The air inside the gates was cool and carried the faint scent of fresh blooms. Rows of neatly trimmed hedges lined the pathways, each one dotted with flowers in a spectrum of colors so vibrant they almost hurt to look at. Soldiers patrolled the grounds in silence, their movements as disciplined as clockwork.
I noticed a fountain in the center of the courtyard, its waters sparkling like liquid crystal. A statue stood atop it—a robed figure holding a scroll in one hand and a sword in the other. I guessed it was King Alden, though this representation was older and more regal compared to the youthful statue in the city square.
Everything about this place screamed perfection, down to the smallest details. Even the cobblestones underfoot were polished to a shine, each one fitting seamlessly into the next.
And yet, despite its beauty, I couldn't shake a sense of unease. It was too pristine, too untouched by the chaos of the outside world. This wasn't a place where real battles were fought or where the scars of war could be found. It was a sanctuary—a reminder of what the world could be if the darkness we faced were truly vanquished.
Susan's voice broke my reverie. "Magnificent, isn't it?" she said, her tone tinged with sarcasm. "The King doesn't spare any expense when it comes to appearances."
I gave her a small nod, though my eyes lingered on the golden doors ahead. Each step closer made my stomach tighten. This wasn't just a palace; it was the center of power, the heart of a kingdom that stood as the last bastion against Astoroth's forces.
Rowan's voice rumbled beside me. "Keep your wits about you, Thalia. It's beautiful, sure, but beauty can be deceiving."
I didn't need the reminder. Beneath all this perfection, I could feel the weight of what lay ahead. This wasn't just a meeting—it was the next step in a battle for the survival of everything we held dear.
The moment we entered the grand hall, I barely noticed the intricate details of its gilded ceilings, arched columns, and shimmering chandeliers. My attention was immediately drawn to the platform at the far end, where two figures were in the middle of an intense discussion.
One of them was a man in heavy armor that gleamed even under the subdued light of the hall. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a quiet but undeniable authority. His hair, once dark, was now streaked with silver at the temples, matching the faint lines on his face that spoke of experience rather than weariness. There was a certain sharpness to his gaze—calm and focused, yet carrying the weight of someone who had spent his life at war. I caught myself staring at the faint grey streaks in his hair and wondered absently, Do I have grey hair now? It's been ages since I checked. The massive sword strapped to his back only added to the aura of steadfast strength surrounding him. This had to be Sir Cedric.
The other man was seated on a throne that, while simple in design, commanded respect by its very presence. He was old, much older than I expected—easily in his seventies, though there was nothing frail about him. His hair was entirely white, cropped close, and his beard was neatly trimmed. Deep wrinkles framed his mouth and eyes, but those eyes still burned with a fierce intelligence and unwavering resolve. Dressed in a royal blue robe lined with golden embroidery, he looked more like a wise sage than a king, yet his every word seemed to carry the weight of absolute authority. This had to be King Alden.
Their conversation was heated, but not loud—both men commanded too much respect to shout, even in disagreement.
"I understand your concerns, Sir Cedric," King Alden was saying, his voice steady despite the tension between them. "But I cannot give what I do not have. The soldiers I've sent are the best of what remains."
Cedric straightened, his expression grim. "With respect, my King, they won't be enough. I can hold the line, yes. I've done so before, and I'll do it again. But even I have my limits. If the line breaks, this entire kingdom will fall."
The King's expression softened, but his resolve did not. "And yet, we have no choice but to rely on what we have. Reinforcements are impossible, Cedric. You know that as well as I."
The King gestured toward the corner of the hall, and my gaze followed.
There, lounging in a chair as if she hadn't a care in the world, was a woman. I'll begrudgingly admit she was striking, with flowing red hair that caught the light like molten fire and cascaded down her back in perfect waves. Her bright blue eyes, crystalline and piercing, stood out against her pale, flawless skin. She had that kind of beauty that felt almost unfair, the kind that made you wonder if the gods had taken extra care when creating her—or maybe just decided to show off.
But what really struck me—no, irritated me—was her expression. Bored, detached, like she was above everything and everyone in this hall. She twirled her hand lazily, conjuring a soft halo of golden light that drifted around her like some divine aura. It wasn't impressive, really. I could do the same if I wanted, but she made it seem like she was gracing us with her mere presence.
If she weren't such an insufferable prick of a person, maybe I could respect the image she was going for. Instead, I had to bite my tongue to keep from rolling my eyes. Yes, we get it—you're perfect. Congratulations.
"The best reinforcement I can give you is her," the King said, his hand still points at her.
"Sihir," the King continued.
To be continued...