Xander's boots crunched against the uneven cobblestone streets as he strolled through the heart of Valeria for the first time since his arrival. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of freshly tilled soil and smoke from distant forges. Around him, life bustled in a way both unfamiliar and oddly antiquated. Vendors hawked wares beneath patched canopies, children darted through narrow alleys, and farmers hauled carts of grain and fruit, their faces worn from years of toil.
He was in a world unlike any he had ever imagined, and yet it felt as though it was stuck in time.
They have the resources, Xander mused, glancing at the laden carts and the thick, fertile fields beyond the village walls, but they lack the drive to do anything more with them.
Valeria was a land blessed by nature. The kingdom's rivers shimmered with veins of rare minerals that glinted under the sun like molten silver. Its forests were dense with towering trees, their trunks strong enough to construct fortresses. The soil was fertile, yielding bountiful harvests year after year. And yet, despite its abundance, Valeria seemed perpetually on the edge of hardship.
For centuries, Valeria's wealth had been both its blessing and its curse. The kingdom was famed for its deposits of caelestium, a rare, luminous mineral that fueled the mystical forges and enhanced abilities granted by Elarion. Entire nations had waged wars to claim even a fraction of it. Raiders and foreign invaders, drawn by tales of Valeria's riches, had assaulted its borders countless times, leaving the people wary and insular.
But wealth was not enough to foster progress. The kingdom clung to traditions that had long since outlived their purpose. The tools in the blacksmiths' hands were the same designs their ancestors had used generations ago. The methods of farming, though effective, squandered the land's true potential. Innovation was not only neglected but frowned upon, viewed as a betrayal of their ancestors' ways.
And so Valeria remained stagnant—a kingdom rich in resources but poor in ambition, content with mediocrity even as threats loomed on all sides.
Xander's gaze wandered to a group of laborers struggling to pull a cart stuck in the mud. Several others stood around, offering little more than shouted advice. No one thought to grab a plank to use as leverage or to redistribute the weight of the load.
This is ridiculous. He sighed, clenching his jaw. They're hardworking, but their methods are so outdated it's painful to watch.
He had spent the past few days observing the people and their routines. Despite their wealth of natural resources, their cities were dimly lit, their roads poorly maintained, and their homes cramped and crumbling. Their standard of living was barely above survival.
Xander's mind raced with ideas. He thought of irrigation systems to improve crop yields, windmills to harness the constant breezes that swept through the plains, and tools that could ease the labor-intensive work of the fields. He envisioned schools where children could learn skills beyond farming and combat—things like engineering, medicine, and trade.
But how do I even begin? he wondered. I'm an outsider here. They'd never listen to someone like me.
His steps slowed as he reached the edge of the village, where the cobblestones gave way to dirt paths lined with wildflowers. Beyond lay the river—a glistening expanse of water so clear he could see the smooth stones at its bottom. It flowed lazily, its surface rippling in the soft breeze.
The river was one of Valeria's most precious resources, yet it too was underutilized. Though its waters could power mills or serve as vital trade routes, the people of Valeria used it only for fishing and drinking. Tales of invaders who had once poisoned the waters had turned the villagers cautious, even fearful, of doing more with it.
It was this cautious mindset that frustrated Xander the most. To him, the kingdom wasn't just stagnant—it was squandering its potential.
He crouched by the riverbank, letting the cool water run over his fingers. The weight of his thoughts pressed heavily on him.
What am I even doing here? he thought bitterly. Was I sent to help these people, or did Ardyn just toss me here to figure things out on my own?
A rustle in the bushes behind him made him glance over his shoulder. Two children peeked out, wide-eyed and curious. They whispered to each other before darting away when Xander made eye contact.
He frowned. An outsider. That's all they see me as.
Yet, even as doubt crept in, a spark of determination lit within him. He couldn't force these people to change, but perhaps he could guide them—plant seeds of innovation that would grow over time. He would need allies, of course. People who understood this world better than he did.
His thoughts shifted to Athena—or rather, Aeternis. Her guidance had been invaluable, but she couldn't be his only lifeline. There had to be others in this kingdom who shared his vision, even if they didn't know it yet.
Xander stood, brushing dirt from his hands. He turned back toward the village, his jaw set. If I'm stuck here, I might as well make the most of it.
As he walked back toward the village, the distant toll of a bell reached his ears, signaling the end of the day's work. Shadows stretched long across the ground, and the air grew cooler. He noticed more villagers emerging from their homes, their faces weary but content.
Xander trudged along the dirt path leading back to the outskirts of the village. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields. A soft breeze rustled the grass, but even its calming touch couldn't ease the weight he felt in his chest.
Was this really the right path?
He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead. But as he neared the village, his steps slowed.
At first, it was a vague sensation—a prickling at the back of his neck. His eyes darted to the figures moving ahead. There were three of them, walking with measured precision, their heads high as if they owned the very ground beneath their feet.
Xander's heart skipped a beat. Something about them was off.
They wore black clothing that seemed deliberately uniform, their armor gleaming faintly even in the dimming light. It wasn't the rough, patchwork kind villagers would piece together for protection—it was sleek, well-crafted, and carried an air of authority. The design was unfamiliar, but it screamed of discipline and power, like the kind of gear worn by soldiers from a far-off land.
Xander stopped in his tracks, his instincts screaming at him to stay out of sight. He stepped behind a tree, peering cautiously from its cover. His pulse quickened, each beat thudding heavily in his chest.
Who are they?
They didn't walk like villagers returning from a long day of work. Their steps were too deliberate, their postures too rigid. Each carried themselves with an unsettling confidence, as if they had already judged everything and everyone around them.
Xander's fingers tightened around the rough bark of the tree as his unease grew. There was no reason to suspect them—they hadn't done anything wrong—but the way they moved, the way their eyes scanned the area like predators surveying prey, set his nerves alight.
He caught a glimpse of their faces as they passed. Hard, expressionless, their gazes sharp and calculating. The leader, a man with a scar running from his cheekbone to his jaw, glanced briefly in Xander's direction, his eyes narrowing slightly. Xander froze, his breath catching in his throat. Did he see me?
The moment stretched into eternity, the tension in Xander's chest coiling tighter and tighter.
But the man turned away, continuing his path toward the village.
Xander exhaled shakily, his lungs burning from the effort of holding his breath. He leaned against the tree, his mind racing.
Why are they here? What do they want?
The unease in his gut refused to subside. Something about them didn't belong here—not in this quiet village, where people worked the fields and minded their own business. These men carried the air of danger, of power that didn't care who it crushed in its wake.
But what could Xander do? He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't even sure what these men wanted. Approaching them would be reckless, maybe even suicidal. Yet, the thought of leaving them unchecked made his skin crawl.
For now, all he could do was watch.
He waited until they were out of sight before stepping back onto the road, his feet moving instinctively toward the village. His mind churned with questions, his heart still racing.
Were they just passing through? Or had they come for something—or someone?
Whatever the answer, Xander knew one thing for certain: their presence wasn't a coincidence.