The sun dipped slowly behind the horizon, casting the sky in warm hues of orange and gold. The clouds, tinged with shades of red, appeared like the strokes of a masterful painting spread across the heavens.
Below, two distinct groups made their way along a broad cobblestone road leading to a distant city, its massive walls were visible even from afar.
The first group marched with disciplined precision, forming a protective formation around the second group. This latter group, in question on the other hand, was a bedraggled band of seven individuals. Bloodied, bruised, and exhausted, most of them were barely even standing.
Earlier, just as the battle against the rogues was about to escalate into another brutal massacre, a contingent of soldiers from the city had noticed the commotion and rushed to the scene. They intervened in time to prevent further bloodshed and held their ground firmly.
Upon the soldiers' arrival, the remaining members of the raiding party all retreated, their leader setting the example. Only that enraged array bearer stayed behind a second longer, the guy most certainly wanted Alaric dead for what he did. However, even he eventually conceded to reason and withdrew, finally bringing the chaos to an end.
At the head of this battered party walked a tall guardian, his once noble aura completely stripped bare. Yet, even in his weakened state, a certain resilience clung to the way he carried himself, although his steps were heavy and labored. Everyone else was worse off, pale, bandaged, and weary, some of them looked like they'd slump and die any minute.
Alaric on the other hand lay silently in the only cart in the cohort, his body drained and bloodless, yet unnervingly composed. His mind, however, was a storm of fragmented memories and unfamiliar pain. Somewhere behind the blank expression, he felt the persistent throb of a hole he couldn't see, this has been going on ever since he woke up for the very first time, it was drowned out by the heat of the moment earlier, but now? Well it wouldn't be a lie to say the pain was slowly driving him insane, way worse than his messed up body. It was a miracle he'd maintained his stoicism this long.
The only clue he had was the identity of the young man whose body he now inhabited, which to his current knowledge was basically a miserable, lonesome soul from the noble Kingsley household within the Marlowe Empire, a place on the other side of the world from where Alaric had once lived. The boy had sought to escape that miserable house and find solace elsewhere, aiming to join Eldrynn Academy.
The tall guardian by his side was Davian Strong, a loyal servant and warrior sworn to the Kingsley household, leading their party on a journey toward Ryneth.
Alaric didn't dwell on what had led the bandits to attack their group. His mind was too scattered, flooded with fragmented thoughts and memories, some of which he did not wish to recall. He was already in critical condition and needed to rest and recover.
The road they traveled was wide, paved with smooth cobblestones, flanked by neatly trimmed bushes and trees that lent the path an air of elegance. It was a well-maintained thoroughfare, bustling with activity as travelers moved toward the enormous city gates ahead. The closer they got, the more imposing the gates became. Standing at nearly 120 feet high, dwarfing the people below. The gates were fortified, guarded by teams of soldiers both atop the walls and at smaller, manned checkpoints built within the colossal structure.
Even in their weakened state, the armed escort that shielded Alaric's group drew wary glances.
As they arrived before the massive gates, the leader of the city guard cohort turned to face the group, his expression respectful yet softened by a hint of concern.
"This is where we part ways, my lords," he said with a slight bow. "We have our own duties to return to."
He paused, his eyes briefly scanning the group's injuries. "If I may offer a suggestion, the healing center is just inside the gates. It would be wise to seek their care. You've all been through a great deal."
Turning to Alaric and Davian, he offered a courteous nod. "Master Luther, Lord Davian, I wish you a safe passage and a peaceful stay in our city. If there's anything you require, do not hesitate to ask the city's guards."
With a final, respectful bow, he added, "May the rest of your journey be less arduous."
With that, the guard captain straightened, gave one last formal nod, and led his cohort away toward a side passage into the walls, leaving Alaric and his companions to proceed into the city.
Alaric didn't even bother waving the guy off, he was trying to stay conscious as much already.
At the final checkpoint, a bored guard approached their cart, his expression flat, unmoved by the pitiful sight.
"Purpose of visit and entrance fee—ten Ethereal stones per person."
Davian stepped forward, producing a small token with a golden-red, shield-shaped, and flames engraved across its surface. Recognition flared in the guard's eyes. His posture snapped upright and whatever boredom he exhibited vanished into thin air.
"My apologies, dear lords," the guard stammered, bowing low. "I did not recognize you amidst the crowd. Please, forgive this useless soldier. Right this way, my lords."
The shift in his behavior was almost laughable, bordering on desperate. With lavish apologies, he ushered them through without delay.
Within the safety of the walls, the guard personally handled their paperwork and security checks, never missing a chance to flatter and fuss over them. It felt endless, but eventually, they passed through.
It was a bustling atmosphere, with countless people moving about their daily business. The buildings around were tall and large, some in the far distance reaching heights that rivaled even the city walls. The darkness of the night was almost completely extinguished in this lively place, with lights illuminating the shops and stalls surrounding the area.
After inspecting the area briefly, Alaric spoke up, addressing the guard:
"First things first, take us to the healing ward for treatment. We'll also need a change of clothes and to restock our supplies," he said, his voice hoarse and broken like he'd chewed on a cactus and drank boiling water.
The guard nodded, too eager to object, and hurried to lead the way.
They rolled deeper into the city in carts for ease of transport, passing through streets teeming with life. Musicians played, merchants barked their wares, and the scent of roasted meats stirred Alaric's hunger to a near-unbearable degree. But he forced it down. His body could wait.
More pressing was the hole he felt inside his head, not the bleeding hole from before, it felt like something else was still bleeding inside his brain, it was like a phantom wound that throbbed with every heartbeat. It wasn't as blinding as it had been when he first woke up, but was unbearable regardless. The fact that he'd maintained a poker face through it all was nothing short of a miracle.
Minutes later, the cart slowed before a towering, circular building, easily thirty floors tall. Its off-white walls gleamed under the city lights, surrounded by lush gardens of blooming trees and meticulously sculpted bushes shaped like animals and mythical beasts so precise and detailed that they seemed to be the work of a master sculptor rather than a mere gardener. Birds chirped from hidden perches, their songs blending with the soft rush of nearby fountains.
They passed without needing to stop before any gate or guard post. It was as if the place had no need for protection from external threats, or perhaps the security was so tight that no gaps existed.
Finally, the carriages came to a halt in front of the building. The first thing that greeted them was the serene sound of a nearby water fountain. A bit farther off, directly beneath the large doors of the building, stood two figures draped entirely in white, as if awaiting their arrival.