Aris ambition was growing as his thoughts motivated him he was at the top of the world with his thoughts as the pillar of his pride
Before Aris could delve further into his spiraling thoughts, a sharp knock rattled the door. He looked up, his rage momentarily replaced by confusion. Without waiting for a response, the door swung open, and two maids entered, accompanied by a pair of academy guards.
"Lord Venholm," one of the maids began, her voice formal but edged with disdain, "by order of the academy, all suspended students are to vacate the dormitory immediately. Your belongings have been packed."
"What?" Aris shot to his feet, glaring at them. "You dare barge into my room like this? I am the son of—"
"You are disowned, Lord Venholm," the guard interrupted coldly. "You have no authority here anymore. Gather your things and leave."
Aris opened his mouth to retort but was met with the gazes of the guards. His shoulders sagged, the weight of his newfound reality pressing down on him. With no other choice, he grabbed his belongings—a massive trunk stuffed with clothes, books, and personal items—and dragged it behind him.
The cobblestone streets of the academy grounds stretched endlessly as Aris trudged forward, his trunk clattering noisily behind him. The setting sun cast a fiery glow across the sky, mocking him with its beauty. His arms ached from the effort of hauling the heavy luggage, and beads of sweat trickled down his brow. He finally exited the Achedemy from the main gate and was now walking on the street of the capital.
When he could go no further, he stopped to rest near a dark alley, slumping against a stone wall. His breathing was ragged, and his fine clothes were stained with dirt and sweat.
"Ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, kicking a loose pebble. "How dare they treat me like this? Like some common beggar?"
As the shadows deepened, the alley seemed to grow colder. But Aris, lost in his thoughts of vengeance and self-pity, paid little attention to his surroundings. It wasn't until he felt a sharp tug on his trunk that he realized he wasn't alone.
"Hey! What do you think you're—"
Before he could finish, a hand clamped over his mouth, and he was shoved roughly to the ground. Three figures emerged from the shadows, their faces obscured by hoods. One grabbed his trunk, while another rifled through his pockets, pulling out whatever valuables they could find.
"Stop! I'll—" Aris tried to summon his fire magic, but the exhaustion from the day and the lingering effects of the academy's suppression spells left him powerless. A sharp punch to the stomach silenced him, and the last thing he saw before blacking out was the fading glow of his attackers disappearing into the night.
When Aris came to, the sun had fully set, and the capital city was bathed in the dim glow of scattered lanterns. He staggered to his feet, his body aching and his fine clothes now torn and filthy. His trunk, his money, his belongings—everything was gone.
He wandered aimlessly through the streets, the once-familiar grandeur of the capital now feeling alien and hostile. The laughter and chatter of tavern-goers spilled into the streets, but no one paid him any attention. He was just another figure in the shadows, stripped of his identity, his pride, and his purpose.
As the darkness of night enveloped the city, Aris walked on, his mind racing. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
"This isn't over," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of despair and rage. "I will rise again. I will show them all. This city, this academy, this entire kingdom will regret crossing me."
But for now, he had nothing—no plan, no allies, and no place to call home. Only the cold, unforgiving streets of the capital bore witness to the fall of Aris Venholm, the disgraced noble turned vagabond.
Aris sat on a cold wooden bench in the heart of the capital, the chill of the night cutting through his tattered clothes. He clutched an old, slightly crumpled newspaper he'd scavenged from the street, intending to use it as a makeshift blanket. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
He leaned back, staring at the dimly lit sky above. The stars were faint against the haze of the city's smoke, and for a moment, he let himself feel the full weight of his fall from grace. From the son of a count to a man without a roof over his head—it was a disgrace beyond measure.
Just as he was settling in to endure the bitter cold, a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Young man, are you planning to sleep here tonight?"
Aris flinched, turning sharply toward the source of the voice. A man stood there, dressed in simple but clean robes, his complexion and features unmistakably marking him as an easterner. His dark hair was tied back neatly, and his kind eyes regarded Aris with a mixture of pity and curiosity.
"What's it to you?" Aris snapped, his pride still bristling despite his sorry state.
The man didn't flinch at his hostility. Instead, he offered a small smile and gestured toward the street. "You'll freeze out here. Come with me. I know a place where you can get a warm meal and a roof over your head, at least for tonight."
Aris hesitated, narrowing his eyes. "Why? What do you want from me?"
"Nothing," the man replied calmly. "But no one should sleep in the cold if it can be helped."
Aris scowled, clutching the newspaper tighter. "I don't need your charity."
The man tilted his head slightly, as if weighing Aris's words. "Very well. If pride keeps you here, then I won't stop you. But consider this: even the proudest tree bends in the wind when it must, or it breaks."
Something about his calm demeanor grated on Aris, but the truth in his words stung more. His body was already shivering, his stomach empty. He couldn't survive like this. With a begrudging sigh, he stood and gestured dismissively.
"Fine. Lead the way."
The man nodded and began walking. Aris followed, his posture stiff and his expression guarded. He kept his distance, his mistrust evident in every step.
The easterner glanced back occasionally but didn't press Aris to speak. After several minutes of silence, he finally introduced himself.
"My name is Kaien," he said, his voice warm and steady. "I'm a merchant, recently arrived in the capital."
Aris grunted in response, but when Kaien said nothing more, he sighed and relented. "Aris. Aris Venholm."
Kaien nodded, showing no reaction to the name. It was a small relief to Aris—at least this man wasn't another one of the gossipers mocking his fall.
The two continued walking in silence, the sounds of the bustling capital fading as they ventured into quieter streets. Despite himself, Aris found his hostility beginning to wane. Kaien's unshakable calm and lack of judgment left little for him to push back against.
As they approached their destination, a small, warm glow appeared ahead—a modest tea shop, still open despite the late hour. Kaien gestured toward it.
"Come inside. You'll be safe here."
Aris hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his stomach rumbling at the smell of freshly brewed tea and roasted meat. It wasn't much, but for the first time in days, he felt the faintest flicker of hope—or at least relief.
The tea shop had been warm and comforting, but what lingered most in Aris's mind wasn't the food or the shelter—it was Kaien's words.
As Aris prepared to leave the tea shop, Kaien had placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and said, "You don't owe me anything, Aris. Just remember, after every bad night, there is always a sunrise. If you ever find someone in need, pass on the kindness."
The simplicity of the statement struck Aris more than he cared to admit. It wasn't grandiose or filled with expectations; it was just… kind.
Kaien offered Aris the option of accompanying him to his cabin on the outskirts of the city. After a brief hesitation, Aris agreed. With no plan or place to go, he saw no other choice, and something about Kaien's calm presence made him feel… safe, a feeling he had long forgotten.
The road out of the city was quiet, the distant hum of the capital fading into the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of crickets. The two men walked side by side, their pace leisurely as they ventured further from the bustling streets.
At first, Aris said little, his defenses still high. But Kaien had a way of drawing out conversation without forcing it. His questions were simple—curious, but not prying.
"What brought you to the capital?" Kaien asked casually, his tone devoid of judgment.
"Academy business," Aris replied curtly, unwilling to delve into the details.
Kaien nodded as if that was all he needed to know. "The capital is a busy place, but it can be lonely too. It's easy to lose yourself in all the noise."
Aris scoffed. "Lonely? You say that as if it's unusual. Loneliness is just… life."
Kaien glanced at him, his gaze thoughtful. "Loneliness is a part of life, yes, but it doesn't have to be all of it. Sometimes, we shut the doors ourselves, thinking it will protect us, only to find we've locked ourselves away."
The words hit harder than Aris expected. He clenched his fists, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar sensation. He had spent so much of his life building walls, asserting his dominance, and shutting out anyone who didn't align with his ambitions. And now? Now he had nothing.
The conversation continued sporadically, with Kaien weaving bits of wisdom into the dialogue. His words weren't forceful; they were gentle, reflective, and deeply human.
By the time they reached the outskirts, the sky was beginning to lighten with the faintest hints of dawn. Kaien's cabin came into view—a modest wooden structure surrounded by trees, with a small garden blooming in the front. It was humble, nothing like the grand estates Aris had grown up in, but it exuded warmth and peace.
As they approached, Aris felt something stir deep within him—a strange, unfamiliar emotion that made his chest ache. He blinked quickly, feeling the prick of tears in his eyes. He turned his head slightly, trying to hide it, but Kaien noticed.
The older man didn't comment, simply offering a faint smile as he opened the door to his home. "Come in. You look like you could use some rest."
Aris stepped inside, his eyes scanning the simple but cozy interior. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn't feel the crushing weight of judgment or expectation. Instead, he felt… something else.
Peace.
It wasn't much, but for Aris, it was a start.