The city gates loomed larger as the cart approached, their iron reinforcements glinting in the afternoon sun. Logan felt the atmosphere shift immediately. The line of waiting caravans and wagons stretched far back, with merchants and travelers murmuring impatiently. Guards in full armor stood at attention, their fur-lined cloaks and gleaming weapons marking them as elite warriors of the Wolf Clan. Above them, massive banners bearing the sigil of the Wolf Clan—a snarling wolf's head in black against a red background—fluttered in the breeze.
Ulrik, sitting tall at the reins, made no attempt to slow down. Instead, he guided the cart straight to the gates, bypassing the waiting line.
Logan tensed, expecting someone to call them out, but no one did. The guards snapped to attention, stepping aside without hesitation. A younger soldier opened the gate, saluting as they passed through.
"They didn't even stop us," Logan whispered to Emery, who was sitting beside him in the back of the cart.
"They know him," she replied softly, glancing at Ulrik.
Ulrik glanced back, his mouth quirking into a small grin. "One of the perks of being a Knight of the Wolf Clan," he said. "No need to wait in line."
As they passed through the gates, the sheer scale of Vargshold hit Logan like a wave. The streets were wide, paved with stone, and bustling with life. Merchants hawked their wares from colorful stalls, their voices blending into a cacophony of sound. Children darted between the crowds, laughing and playing. Above them, the buildings rose in a patchwork of stone and timber, their rooftops slanting sharply to withstand the harsh northern winters.
Wolf Clan banners hung from poles and balconies, a constant reminder of who ruled this land. The people moved with purpose, their expressions sharp and determined. This was no simple village—this was a city built on strength and survival.
Ulrik guided the cart toward the merchant district, where the buildings grew larger and more ornate. The air smelled of spices, freshly baked bread, and the metallic tang of coin. They stopped outside a grand structure—a towering stone building with wide windows and a carved wooden sign that read Thrysson's Auction House.
"Come," Ulrik said, hopping down from the cart. He gestured for Logan and Emery to follow.
The inside of the auction house was just as impressive as its exterior. Rows of polished wooden benches faced a raised platform, where items of all shapes and sizes were displayed under careful guard. The walls were lined with shelves holding everything from gilded trinkets to weapons that seemed to hum with latent power.
A man stood near the platform, speaking animatedly with a group of well-dressed merchants. He was short and stout, with a trimmed beard and shrewd eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. His fingers were adorned with rings, each one gleaming with gemstones.
"Orm Thrysson," Ulrik called out, his voice booming across the room.
The man turned, his sharp gaze softening into a wide grin. "Ulrik Thorskald! By the gods, it's been too long!" He hurried over, clasping Ulrik's forearm in a gesture of camaraderie.
"It has," Ulrik agreed. "But I'm not here for pleasantries. I've brought someone for you to meet."
Orm's eyes shifted to Logan and Emery, assessing them with the practiced ease of a man who dealt in the value of things—and people.
"This," Ulrik said, placing a heavy hand on Logan's shoulder, "is Logan Grant, my new disciple."
Orm raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Logan's youthful face. "Disciple, eh? You must be special if Ulrik's taken you under his wing."
Logan nodded politely, unsure of what to say. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."
"And this," Ulrik continued, gesturing to Emery, "is Emery Carter. She's a Magi with a lot of potential."
Orm's gaze flicked to Emery, his expression softening. "Well, any friend of Ulrik's is a friend of mine. If either of you needs anything while in Vargshold, you come to me. My doors are always open."
Logan noticed that Ulrik had carefully avoided mentioning their most unique traits—the fact that he was a Warlock and that Emery possessed the rare Life affinity. He recalled Ulrik's words from earlier in the journey: "You need to keep your cards close. The more people know what you're capable of, the more danger you invite. Cover your marks, and let them underestimate you."
Even Vidal, curious and restless by nature, had accepted the deception without question. Logan wondered what it was about their affinities that made them so dangerous.
The meeting ended with Orm promising his support, and soon they were back on the cart, making their way deeper into the city.
As they approached the center of Vargshold, the buildings grew even more imposing. At the heart of it all stood a massive structure that could only be the Eldermans manor. It was built entirely of stone, its towering spires and carved facades giving it the appearance of a fortress.
Flanking the manor were two slightly smaller buildings, their architecture just as impressive. One was adorned with banners and emblems, likely a hall for warriors. The other had intricate carvings of runes and symbols along its walls—a place for Magi, no doubt.
Logan stared in awe. This was a city unlike anything he'd ever imagined, and he couldn't shake the feeling that his life was about to change forever.