Arrival

Darian glanced down at his reflection in a puddle and grimaced. There were things he liked about himself, but his face wasn't one of them. His reddish-gray skin stood out among humans, his bottom canines jutted out just enough to be visible even when his mouth was closed, and the two horns on his head—once easily hidden by his hair—had grown too long to conceal.

Of course, he was judging himself by human standards. Among ogres, he was probably nothing out of the ordinary. But here, in a human city, he knew exactly how people saw him—different. And different was rarely a good thing.

With a sigh, he splashed the puddle with his boot, distorting his reflection. It didn't matter. He wasn't here to fit in; he was here to make something of himself.

Darian pulled his mask over the lower half of his face, tugged his hood forward, and continued down the trail toward Valdris.

"Shit… maybe I shouldn't have stormed out—at least not without a way to protect myself. I should've grabbed a spear or something."

His eyes flicked to the treeline as a pair of large, baboon-like creatures emerged from the underbrush, their glowing eyes locked onto him. Darian sighed, instinctively shifting into a fighting stance. Running wouldn't get him anywhere—he wasn't fast enough to outrun them. Fighting back, though… maybe he could convince them he wasn't worth the trouble.

With a sharp breath, he pulled down his mask, baring his long canines in a wordless warning. Then, focusing his energy, he clenched his fists, and flames roared to life around them. The creatures hesitated, shuffling back slightly at the sudden burst of fire.

"My old man didn't leave me with much," Darian muttered, rolling his shoulders, "but this ends most fights before they start."

The heat from his hands licked at his skin, but he barely felt it. Years in the forge had given him a natural resistance to fire.

The monsters saw the fire enveloping his hands and retreated into the forest without a fight. Darien let out a sigh of relief and kept walking. 

Darien trudged along the path, his boots heavy with mud and his body aching from the long journey. The fire he had summoned to drive away the monsters still flickered faintly around his hands, a comforting warmth against the cool breeze of the evening. But as the days wore on, even the fire seemed to grow dimmer, a reminder of how far he still had to go.

The forest began to thin, the trees becoming less dense and more spaced out as the landscape shifted. In the distance, the outline of the city walls came into view—a towering, imposing structure that seemed to pulse with life. The sight of it made Darien's heart race. It was both a relief and a daunting reality. The city was his destination, but entering it meant facing the unknown—new dangers, new faces, and, most pressing of all, the reason he had set out on this journey in the first place.

His pace quickened, the weight of exhaustion slipping away as the thought of reaching the gates drew closer. The road leading to the city was well-traveled, lined with carts and travelers—some heading in, some leaving. Merchants hawked their wares, children ran through the fields playing games, and distant sounds of clanging metal from nearby workshops echoed in the air.

As Darien neared the city gate, he felt the familiar rush of uncertainty—would he be allowed in? Would they accept him, or would he be turned away? His hands, still burning with a soft glow, were hidden in the folds of his cloak, the flames something he had learned to control but never fully trusted to be seen.

The guards at the gate eyed him warily as he approached, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. One of them, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, spoke gruffly, "State your business."

Darien paused for a moment, considering his words. "I'm here to seek refuge, and... to offer my skills. I've traveled a long way."

The guard studied him, as though weighing his words, before nodding. "There's been a lot of travelers lately, some with ill intent. Keep your hands where I can see 'em."

Darien complied, pushing back the cloak's hood to show his face, and his hands—no longer glowing but still warm beneath the cloth. The guard seemed satisfied enough, stepping aside.

"Welcome to the city," the other guard muttered, his voice laced with caution but also a hint of curiosity. "Hope you find what you're looking for."

Darien nodded, stepping through the gate and into the bustling city streets. The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat filled the air, mingling with the sharper scent of iron and the distant hum of construction. He couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement, despite the uncertainty that still lingered within him.

He had made it. But now, he had to figure out what came next.

As he walked deeper into the city, he noticed the sharp contrast between the wealth of the central square and the crumbling, dilapidated buildings on the outskirts. The heart of the city was a place of splendor and power, where the nobility and influential merchants held sway, while the edges were plagued with poverty and decay. It was clear that not everyone in the city shared in its prosperity.

Darien couldn't help but wonder where his place would be in all of this. Would he be just another face in the crowd, another nameless wanderer? Or could he find something more here—something that would give purpose to all the hardship and struggles that had led him to this point?

For now, all he could do was take it one step at a time. But as he walked, the weight of the city's enormity settled over him, and he realized that the true journey had only just begun.