^Kael's first day^
The morning air was cool as Kael stepped out of her room, stretching her arms above her head. The city of Veyholm was already bustling outside, the streets alive with the sound of merchants setting up their stalls, children laughing, and distant blacksmiths hammering metal into shape.
But before anything else—breakfast.
She made her way downstairs, the scent of fresh bread and roasted meat filling the tavern. A few mercenaries sat at the wooden tables, some nursing drinks despite the early hour. She took a seat near the corner, ordering a simple meal of eggs, cheese, and warm bread.
The day ahead was full, but she welcomed it.
Once finished, she returned to her room for a brief training session. She rolled her shoulders, drew her new daggers, and practiced quick strikes against the air. The weapons felt perfectly balanced, an extension of her own movements.
She smirked.
"Not bad, Riven."
After washing up, she dressed in her usual outfits since the new ones are for the trip.
Satisfied, she stepped out onto the streets.
Veyholm had always been a city of contrast—rich estates lining one district, crowded markets and taverns filling another.
Kael moved through the streets, observing everything. She passed by a weaponsmith's forge, where an apprentice was sharpening blades under the watchful eye of his master. The marketplace was vibrant, filled with the scent of spiced meats, fresh herbs, and inked parchment for sale.
She stopped at a stall selling books, her fingers brushing over the worn covers.
The merchant, an older woman with sharp eyes, gave her an appraising look. "You seem like the type to prefer steel over paper."
Kael smirked. "Doesn't mean I can't read."
She picked up a map of Varendel, scanning the delicate inkwork outlining the elven continent.
The woman tilted her head. "Planning a trip?"
Kael gave a noncommittal shrug. "Just curious."
After paying for the map, she continued wandering, taking in the architecture, the people, the city she had once belonged to but now felt like an outsider in.
By nightfall, she arrived at the Grand Library of Veyholm.
The towering structure stood like a relic of the past, its marble pillars and high-arched windows a symbol of knowledge and history. Inside, the scent of parchment and aged books filled the vast halls.
Kael spent hours combing through texts, learning about Varendel's rulers, its customs, and its dominant race—the elves.
She memorized details about King Eldrin Saelar, the elven ruler who had sheltered her brother all these years.
By the time she left the library, her mind was as full as her notebook.
Back at the inn, she found Jorrik waiting.
He crossed his arms. "So, how exactly am I supposed to act like you?"
Kael smirked. "Simple. Look serious. Scowl a lot. Be unpredictable."
Jorrik groaned. "Great. That sounds exhausting."
She spent the next hour correcting his stance, teaching him how to move like her.
By the end of it, Jorrik looked utterly miserable.
Kael grinned. "You'll be fine."
He muttered something about "regretting all his life choices" before leaving.
That night, Kael lay awake for a long time, thinking about what she would say to her brother.
Eventually, she drifted off—and for the first time in years, she felt ready.
^Riven's first Day – The Palace's Golden Cage^
Riven hated mornings at the palace.
Everything was too polished, too controlled, too suffocating.
He sat at the grand dining table, picking at a plate of honeyed fruit and fresh bread while his father sat at the head of the table, sipping his tea.
To his left, his stepmother, Queen Evelyn, watched him carefully, her expression unreadable.
Across from him, his half-brother, Edric, sat with a smirk that Riven already wanted to wipe off his face.
"It's rare to see you in the palace, dear prince," Evelyn said smoothly, stirring her tea. "I was beginning to wonder if you had abandoned us entirely."
Riven smiled lazily. "Tempting, but no."
Edric chuckled. "You're rather confident for someone with no real place here."
Riven's eyes flicked toward him, smirk still in place. "Oh, I have a place, dear brother. It's just not the one you'd like me to have."
Edric's smirk tightened. "Enjoy your breakfast, Riven."
Riven grinned. "Oh, I always do."
The rest of the meal passed in tense silence.
By the afternoon, Riven found refuge at the training grounds.
The open courtyard was filled with the clash of steel, the grunts of knights sparring under the hot sun.
Riven relished it—the simplicity of combat, the freedom in movement.
He engaged in a few light duels, exchanging blows with the knights, offering sarcastic advice, laughing when he dodged attacks by inches.
Then—Edric arrived.
The younger prince strode onto the field, his golden-brown hair catching the sunlight.
The moment he stepped forward, the conversation among the knights died.
Edric smiled, but there was poison in it.
"Enjoying yourself, brother?"
Riven sighed. "And here I thought I'd have a peaceful afternoon."
Edric stepped closer. "I was just watching you train. You seem… sloppy."
The knights tensed.
Riven smirked. "Is that so? And here I thought I was just being merciful."
A few knights chuckled.
Edric's smile faltered.
"Let's test that, then," he said coolly. "A duel. Unless you're afraid."
Riven tilted his head, considering.
Then, slowly—he grinned.
"Oh, Edric. I was hoping you'd say that."
The knights murmured, stepping back to clear the field.
Riven rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck. "Try not to cry when you lose, little brother."
Edric's eyes flashed. "We'll see who's losing."
Riven chuckled, twirling his swords once before settling into a ready stance.
The duel had begun.