Old Magic

Chapter 6: Old Magic

The tavern door creaked as Lucian stepped inside, the worn floorboards groaning under his weight. Two years had passed since he left Greywater behind, and in that time, the boy who had fled the village in fear had become something else entirely.

Lucian now traveled under the guise of a mercenary, moving from one place to the next, always keeping one step ahead of those who hunted him. The name of Greywater had long since faded from the lips of the villagers he met along the way, but his journey had taken him far from that isolated settlement on the western edge of Veridan. Now, he was deep into the heart of the kingdom, passing through towns that had never heard his name, in search of old magic that could change his fate.

He had learned quickly that survival demanded more than just determination. In the last two years, he had faced dangers he could never have imagined—bandits, wild beasts, and men driven mad by greed for power. Each challenge had hardened him further, and now, as he ventured toward the eastern highlands of Veridan, one thing was clear: the Ruins of Ildenor were the key to his freedom.

The air inside the tavern was thick with the scent of stale ale and smoke, and the low murmur of voices filled the dimly lit room. The fire in the hearth crackled weakly, casting flickering shadows over the huddled patrons, most of whom were too deep in their cups to notice the new arrival.

Lucian pulled the hood of his cloak lower over his face as he moved toward a small, empty table in the corner. His eyes flicked across the room, scanning the patrons for anyone who looked out of place—anyone who might have the information he needed.

He had heard rumors in the villages he passed through on his way east—rumors of a place hidden in the mountains, where the old magic still lingered. A place where relics from the time of the Old Kingdoms lay buried, waiting to be claimed by those brave—or foolish—enough to seek them out. The Ruins of Ildenor. But finding the ruins was only the first step. If Lucian was going to break the chains of fate that bound him, he needed more than just rumors. He needed guidance.

The tavern was full of travelers. Mercenaries, traders, and vagabonds huddled together, sharing drinks and stories. Lucian knew from experience that this was the kind of place where secrets were traded as easily as coin. If the stories of Ildenor were true, someone here would know more—something concrete.

A serving girl approached his table, her face smudged with soot, and her eyes tired from the long day's work. She gave him a polite nod, though it was clear she was more interested in the coin than conversation.

"What'll it be, stranger?" she asked, her voice raspy from shouting orders over the noise of the tavern.

"Ale," Lucian muttered, placing a small coin on the table. "And information."

The girl's gaze lingered on the coin for a moment before she leaned closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. "What kind of information?"

Lucian's eyes narrowed beneath his hood. "I'm looking for something old—something hidden in the mountains. The kind of place most people don't come back from."

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. "If it's the old magic you're after, you're not the first. There's a trader, Weylan, been passing through these parts for years. Some say he's seen the ruins with his own eyes."

Lucian's pulse quickened. "Where can I find him?"

"He was here just last week," she replied, straightening up. "Said he was heading east. You might catch him if you head toward the crossroads before dawn."

Lucian nodded, tucking his cloak tighter around him. He knew the crossroads she mentioned. It wasn't far, perhaps a few hours' ride if he left immediately. He rose from the table, dropping another coin as a tip before slipping out into the night air.

The village he was in was little more than a waypoint along the eastern trade route. It was far removed from the rolling plains of Greywater, closer to the rugged mountains that marked the borders of Veridan's eastern territories. Here, the landscape was wild and untamed, the hills steep and jagged, the forests dense and full of unseen dangers.

Lucian mounted his horse, urging it forward as he made his way toward the crossroads. The road ahead was dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon. The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the faint sounds of distant animals stirring in the night. Lucian's heart beat steadily in his chest, his mind focused on the path ahead.

It had been two years since he left his old life behind, and in that time, Lucian had learned one hard truth: the world was far crueler than he had ever imagined. But he had also grown stronger, more resourceful. He no longer flinched at the sight of blood or hesitated when faced with danger. The boy who had once trembled at the thought of fate now walked the path of power, determined to break free from the chains that bound him.

As he reached the crossroads, Lucian spotted a group of men huddled near a cart, their cloaks pulled tight against the cold. One of them, a tall man with a grizzled beard, stood apart from the others, speaking in low tones as he examined a map.

Lucian dismounted, walking toward them with deliberate steps. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade, but he kept his expression neutral.

"You looking for something?" the bearded man asked as Lucian approached.

"I hear you've seen the Ruins of Ildenor," Lucian said without preamble.

The man's eyes flicked up, a hint of surprise flashing across his face before his features hardened into suspicion. "And what's it to you?"

"I need to find them," Lucian replied, his voice calm but firm. "You can show me how."

The man—Weylan, the trader—studied him for a long moment before nodding toward the cart. "This isn't something to discuss out here."

Lucian followed Weylan to the cart, where they sat in the dim light of a lantern. Weylan's men lingered nearby, their eyes watching Lucian with suspicion, but they made no move to interfere.

"You're not the first to come looking for the ruins," Weylan said quietly. "But you might be the first one crazy enough to think you can survive them."

Lucian's gaze didn't waver. "I have no choice."

Weylan sighed, pulling out a weathered map from his cloak. "The ruins are hidden deep in the mountains. If you're serious about going there, you'll need this. It'll take you close, but once you reach the inner chambers, you're on your own."

Lucian took the map, his fingers tightening around the worn parchment. This was it—the key to finding the old magic that would finally give him the power he needed. He stood, tucking the map into his cloak. "Thank you."

Weylan gave him a grim smile. "Don't thank me yet. The magic of Ildenor doesn't come without a price."

Lucian nodded, mounting his horse once more as he turned toward the path leading east. He would find the Ruins of Ildenor. He would find the power he needed to break free of his fate. And nothing—not the magic, the dangers, or the men who hunted him—would stop him.