Cecil slowed the cloud's pace, coming to a halt atop a rugged cliff. He carefully shifted Draven's weight to check on him. The once-mighty warlord was a battered mess—his deep crimson cloak was torn, and his obsidian armor bore long gashes where swords had failed to cut him down completely.
Draven exhaled sharply, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips. "They won't kill them," he stated, his voice hoarse but unwavering. "Especially not Grey… the country's beloved hero. Every kid idolizes him." His gaze darkened. "I still have influence. You can erase me from the history books, but not from the hearts of the people."
The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, and within moments, the council's soldiers surrounded them. Spears were raised, their tips glinting under the pale moonlight.
Draven clenched his fists and met Cecil's gaze. "You can drop me now. I'm no dead weight from here on out."
Cecil arched an eyebrow, hesitant. "You sure about that?"
Draven lifted his left hand instinctively before realizing his mistake. His gauntlet was on his right. Cecil immediately picked up on it and smirked. "You sure you're alright? You might've hit your head harder than I thought."
Draven's face flushed in embarrassment, and he shot Cecil a glare. "Shut up."
Without further hesitation, Draven extended his right hand, and the gauntlet shimmered to life. An arcane chant left his lips, and the night air trembled as a colossal figure emerged before them.
King, the giant, materialized from the swirling void—a behemoth of raw strength, his form carved like a titan from legend. His presence alone sent an immediate wave of unease through the soldiers. One of them barely had time to react before King's massive hand shot forward, grabbing him by the torso and slamming him into the ground. The impact sent a tremor through the earth, leaving the soldier unconscious.
The others exchanged panicked glances, their confidence faltering. They weren't equipped to handle a summoned entity of this caliber. Realizing the odds were no longer in their favor, the remaining soldiers turned and retreated into the darkness.
Draven walked over to the unconscious soldier and knelt beside him. Rifling through his belongings, he pulled out a folded parchment. Unfurling it, his eyes scanned the intricate markings—a map. "Interesting," he mused. With a swift movement, he tied the soldier up and rose to his feet. "Let's move."
Cecil followed without hesitation, the two of them making their way toward civilization. They traveled in silence until they stumbled upon a small coffee shop nestled at the outskirts of a quiet town.
The establishment was dimly lit, the scent of roasted beans thick in the air. Behind the counter stood an older man, broad-shouldered with a grizzled beard and tired eyes. His expression was devoid of emotion—a walking embodiment of indifference. "Sit. Order. Don't waste my time," he muttered, wiping down a chipped ceramic cup.
Draven smirked at the man's bluntness and took a seat. "A fine establishment you have here."
The coffee shop owner barely looked up. "Flattery doesn't get you a discount."
Cecil let out a quiet chuckle before glancing at Draven, who was now studying the map.
"This is it," Draven said, tapping his finger on a marked location. "Darkridge."
"The lawless city?" Cecil asked, raising an eyebrow.
Draven nodded. "At the edge of Oxyzen. A land of vice and opportunity. A perfect place to start over."
Reaching into his gauntlet once more, he summoned Gracy, the bookworm—a woman of striking beauty and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. She adjusted her glasses, her emerald eyes flickering with curiosity as she noticed the map in Draven's hand.
"You found something, didn't you?" she mused, already piecing the puzzle together.
Draven handed her the map. "Study it. We'll be moving soon."
A moment later, a soft golden glow emanated from the gauntlet once more, and a second figure materialized. The wizard, now standing before them, had a lean build, his flowing robes adorned with ancient symbols. His name was Alden, a scholar of lost magics. He adjusted his silver-rimmed monocle and immediately turned to Draven, scanning his injuries.
"You look terrible," Alden remarked dryly.
Draven shot him an unimpressed glare. "Fix me up."
Alden sighed, kneeling beside him as he began channeling a restorative spell. "You do realize I'm a wizard, not a miracle worker?"
Cecil leaned back, amused by their banter, while Gracy quietly dissected the map, already forming a strategy in her mind.
As Alden finished tending to Draven's wounds, Cecil tapped the table. "Alright, but how are we sneaking into a city that doesn't welcome newcomers?"
Draven smirked. "Their independence day is in three days. The entire city will be drowning in festivities. While they're too busy celebrating, we'll be walking right through their gates."
Cecil whistled, impressed. "I like the way you think."
Draven folded the map and leaned back in his chair. "Then let's make sure we're ready."
Draven leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the wooden table of the small coffee shop in Oxyzen. Across from him sat Spoon and Broom—two summoned shards(spirits) bound to his gauntlet, each with a unique purpose and personality.
Spoon, a lanky man with sharp features and a perpetual look of discontent, wore a tattered gray robe adorned with ink stains. His long, nimble fingers twitched constantly, eager to sketch or forge. His piercing blue eyes flickered with impatience as he hunched over a parchment, working on a new forgery.
Broom, in contrast, was shorter and broader, dressed in a dark, well-kept coat with an assortment of tools tucked into hidden pockets. His curly brown hair was wild, and his face, though kind, carried an air of quiet mischief. He specialized in concealment, capable of morphing appearances with a mere flick of his wrist.
The coffee shop owner with his perpetually expressionless face, stood as instructed, but his stiff posture and unwavering gaze were starting to irritate Spoon.
"Stand straight. Chin up. Now, smile," Spoon instructed.
"I am smiling," the shopkeeper replied in a flat tone.
Spoon's eyes narrowed, his pencil pausing. "No, you're not."
"People say my face stays the same when I smile."
Spoon sighed dramatically and rubbed his temples. "That's because you're not actually smiling."
"But I am."
Draven smirked from his seat, watching the exchange with amusement. Broom, meanwhile, leaned against the counter, observing the shopkeeper's blank expression.
"This one's got the soul of a stone," Broom muttered under his breath.
Undeterred, Spoon resumed his work, mumbling about how difficult it was to capture an identity when the subject had no expression to steal. He finalized the portrait, then worked his magic, crafting a perfect forgery of an identification card.
With a flick of his fingers, Broom activated his ability, morphing Draven's features to match the shopkeeper's. The transformation was seamless, the rugged warlord now a perfect doppelgänger of the coffee shop owner.
The real shopkeeper blinked, staring at his lookalike.
"Well?" Spoon demanded, tapping his foot. "Aren't you shocked?"
The shopkeeper blinked again. "I am shocked."
Spoon groaned. "Oh, come on! Give me something! A gasp? A flinch? A raised eyebrow? Anything!"
"People say my face stays the same even when I'm shocked."
Spoon threw his hands in the air. "You're impossible!"
Draven chuckled, adjusting his clothes to fit the disguise. "Enough of this. We've got work to do. Let's see how well this deception holds up."
Dressed as the coffee shop owner, Draven approached the entrance to Oxyzen's restricted district on the independence day festival, where two armored soldiers stood guard. He handed them the forged identification card, keeping his expression neutral.
One soldier examined the card while the other gave Draven a skeptical once-over. "And what's your business here?"
Draven straightened his posture, exuding confidence. "I'm here to browse the famous carpets of Oxyzen."
The soldier frowned. "Carpets? Oxyzen isn't known for carpets."
Draven let out a small, knowing chuckle. "Exactly. That's why I must see them. A rare commodity is a valuable one."
The guards exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond to such an unusual statement. Before they could press further, Draven produced a gleaming diamond from his sleeve, tilting it between his fingers so it caught the light.
Both guards instinctively locked onto it.
"Ever seen a gem like this?" Draven asked smoothly. "Pure, flawless… worth more than your yearly salary."
Their eyes widened, greed flickering behind their disciplined facades.
Draven tossed the diamond casually into the dense foliage near the entrance to the forest. "Of course, a gem only has value if it's in your hands."
Like hounds released from a leash, both soldiers scrambled after the diamond, momentarily forgetting their duties.
Draven wasted no time. He stepped through the gates, his stride purposeful. As soon as he was past the checkpoint, he ducked into a quiet alley, summoning Broom with a low murmur.
"Release me from this disguise."
With a wave of Broom's hand, the illusion peeled away, revealing Draven's true form. He rolled his shoulders, relieved to be himself again.
The city before him was a stark contrast to the crumbling state of Argon. Magic-powered wagons glided effortlessly through the streets, storefronts displayed enchanted tools, and the very air thrummed with an energy of progress.
Draven exhaled, hands on his hips as he surveyed the marvel before him. "It's insane," he muttered. "Argon has fallen so far behind… back home, a million chiks barely buys you a loaf of bread, but here, they're building wonders."
Spoon and Broom materialized beside him, their expressions a mix of intrigue and wariness.
"Don't get too comfortable," Spoon warned. "We're here for a reason."
Draven nodded, placing a hand over the gauntlet on his arm. "I know. This place could make a man forget his purpose. If that ever happens…"
The spirits within the gauntlet stirred, their voices whispering in unison.
"We will remind you."
Draven smirked. "Good. And if I ignore the reminder?"
"Then we'll slap some sense into you."
He laughed—a deep, satisfied sound. For now, he had found a place to breathe. But his mission remained, and the future was still his to claim.
The chapter ends.