Chapter 1: The Start of Regret

Aileen Lobhdain sat in her father's study, waiting with reluctant nervousness. Morning light filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow on her pale, north-born skin. Her deep amber eyes, sharp and reflective, caught the light like liquid gold, while her midnight-black hair cascaded in soft waves past her shoulders, framing delicate yet sultry features.

She was beautiful—a fact that had drawn more than its share of unwanted suitors. But she had refused them all, every single one, for this moment.

She knew this conversation wouldn't be easy. But she was eighteen now. According to Elahran law, her and Cain's choices were their own—and she wouldn't let him stop them, no matter the cost.

The door creaked open behind her. She gripped the arms of her chair, steeling herself.

"What's so important, girl?" Her father's voice, low and disgruntled, cut through any confidence she had mustered like a knife.

He had changed after her mother's disappearance five years ago—hardened, allowed himself to wither. That was something Aileen had never forgiven him for.

She rose from her seat to face him.

Lord Isaac Lobhdain was forty-five years of age. He stood tall—over six feet, broad-shouldered, his presence as commanding as ever. His chiselled features bore the marks of discipline, his strong jaw dusted with faint stubble. A deep scar ran from his right temple to just above his cheekbone, a mark of his past as a paladin. His once midnight-black hair was now streaked with silver at the temples, neatly tied back at the nape of his neck.

"I'm leaving Valamore tomorrow morning," she said, forcing confidence into her voice. "I was assessed by an examiner from the Guild of Mages and passed. The same goes for Cain, he and I wish to leave."

Cain had been a servant of the Lobhdain household, assigned to her side from a young age, they had quickly become best friends. A year older, he had passed his Guild exam before her, keeping it a secret from her father before being dispatched on a mission by him.

His expression darkened. The colour draining from his face.

"You think I don't know that?" His voice, low and sharp, sent a chill through the room. "I knew the moment that bastard mage stepped onto my land."

He took a step toward her, his presence growing heavier.

"Nothing—nothing—happens in this town without my knowledge."

Another step closer. His fury rising.

She held her ground. "Then I assume you've already made the necessary preparations for our departure?" she said, tilting her chin up.

His nostrils flared, his hands tightening into fists.

"Preparations?" he echoed, his voice as cold as steel. "Do you take me for a fool?"

Her fingers curled at her sides. "No, but I do take you for a man who understands the law," she shot back. "We are of age. You have no right to keep us here."

His eyes burned with anger.

"You are my daughter. And you will stay."

"I will not." The words left her mouth before she could stop them, firm and final.

Her father inhaled sharply as he paced around the study, his expression shifting—no longer just anger, but something deeper, something raw.

"You would walk away from everything? Your home? Your family?" His voice was quieter now, the sharp edge blunted by something perilously close to desperation.

She swallowed. "I could never." Her voice softened, but her resolve did not waver.

His jaw tightened. "Then stay."

"No." The word was firm, unwavering, but it scraped against her throat like something jagged.

"Then you would abandon me…just as she did."

She hesitated. Not because she doubted herself, but because, at that moment, she realized what this was really about.

Not control.

Fear.

His fear of losing her. His fear of being left alone. Which meant, in his mind, her mother was already dead.

The realization struck her like a dagger. He had never admitted it—not in words—but in this moment, it was clear.

Her throat tightened. "She isn't dead."

His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Isn't she?"

She flinched.

"I don't know what happened to her," she said carefully, her voice shaking as thoughts of her mother's demise crept in. "but I know she would never abandon us."

His expression hardened. "Then where is she?"

She had no answer.

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking beneath his stubble. For a fleeting second, something else surfaced in his eyes—grief, maybe. But then, like a blade returning to its sheath, his expression steeled, locking away whatever lay beneath.

"If you want to leave, girl, so be it. But if you walk out those gates, consider yourself no longer a Lobhdain."

The words cut deep, sharper than any blade.

For a moment, she could only stare…before something inside her snapped.

She straightened, her shoulders rolling back with an elegance that was almost lazy. But her jaw was clenched so tightly it could've been carved from stone. Her eyes unblinking, locked onto him with a quiet, terrifying stillness. A slow breath passed through her nose—controlled, measured—but the muscle that jumped in her cheek betrayed the storm beneath her skin.

"Fine."

His lips parted slightly—shock flickering across his face—before he masked it with cold indifference.

She lifted her chin, voice low and sharp. "I hope you are as prepared to lose your only daughter as you clearly were to lose your wife."

The words hit their mark. He sucked in a breath, his eyes widening just slightly.

Aileen turned on her heel and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Her footsteps struck the marble floors like hammer blows as she stormed down the corridor, her breath coming fast and uneven. The air felt thick, pressing against her chest, trapping the words she wished she had never spoken. She clenched her fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms as she fought the trembling in her hands. She would not cry. Not here. Not for him.

She passed the framed memories lining the corridor—the smiling faces of a family that no longer existed. In every picture, her mother's arms wrapped around her, her father standing close, his rare, unguarded smile captured forever in paint and parchment.

A sharp inhale cut through her chest as she picked up her pace, walking faster, then faster, until she was nearly running.

By the time she reached her room, her lungs burned, but she hardly noticed. She shoved the door open and slammed it behind her, the echo ringing through the empty space. For a moment, she stood frozen, hands pressed flat against the heavy wood, her forehead resting against it as she forced herself to breathe.

In. Out. Do not break.

But her body betrayed her. A violent tremor ran through her limbs, her throat tightening around a sob she refused to let escape.

She turned, her gaze sweeping the room—the grand bed, the polished desk, the fireplace where she had often sat with her mother, listening to her many stories. Everything was just as it had always been. And yet, it felt foreign. Cold. Dead.

She should be packing. She should be preparing to leave.

But she could not move.

Her legs buckled, and she barely made it to the bed before she collapsed onto it, curling onto her side.

The silence pressed in, heavy and unrelenting.

Her throat ached, raw with words she would never say. The weight in her chest bore down like an iron hand, crushing the breath from her lungs. She clenched the sheets beneath her fingers, gripping them as if they could hold her together, as if they could stop everything inside her from breaking apart.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to breathe.

A shuddering breath escaped her.

And then another.

Then the first tear fell, warm against her cheek.

Her body trembled as the dam inside her cracked, then shattered. A sob broke free, muffled into the blankets. Then another. And another.

She curled in on herself, hands fisting into the sheets, her shoulders shaking with the force of it. It hurt like something was being torn from her, piece by piece, until nothing remained but the raw, hollow ache of what she had lost.

She had fought. She had stood her ground.

And yet, in the end, she had been cast aside.

Now she was nothing.

Sleep took her, quiet and aching.

At least in her dreams, the house was warm again.

The crisp morning air of Valamore carried the gentle hum of daily life. Townspeople bustled about their routines, weaving through cobbled streets lined with timber-framed houses. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the scent of fresh bread mingled with the distant clatter of merchants setting up their stalls. At the town's heart, standing proud yet solemn against the morning light, loomed the Lobhdain estate, overlooking the valley like a silent guardian.

Two decades ago, the town had been a place of hardship—poor, isolated, barely clinging to survival. But under Lady Lobdhain's governance, it had flourished. She had ushered in trade, constructed irrigation systems, and lifted the people from the depths of poverty. Where once there had been barren streets, now there was life—markets teeming with vendors, children playing in sunlit courtyards, prosperity written in the very faces of its people.

But five years ago, Lady Lobhdain had been summoned by the king of Elahra on a mission.

In her absence, the burden of leadership fell upon her husband. A good man, but one unfit for the weight of command. He upheld her policies, but the fire of progress had dimmed. Without her mother's hand to guide it, Valamore had stagnated. And though the people remained loyal, quiet murmurs of longing for their absent Lady grew with each passing year, a whisper of grief woven into the town's foundation. A weight that, alongside losing his wife, had reshaped the man Aileen once called her father.

Now, standing in the town square, Aileen felt the weight of the previous night pressing down on her.

She was wrapped in a black travel cloak fastened by a silver clasp. Beneath it, a simple yet finely tailored grey gown hugged her form—practical and sturdy, meant for travel rather than luxury. Scuffed leather boots peeked from beneath its hem, the faint marks of her morning walk through town still visible.

Around her neck, resting against her collarbone, lay a delicate silver necklace. A jewel, red as a dying ember, caught the morning light—the last gift her mother had given her before vanishing.

Aileen had loved magic for as long as she could remember. She would sneak out of bed as a child just to watch her mother weave fire into the air in the quiet hours of the night. When she was caught, there had been no scolding. Instead, Lady Lobhdain had spent a small fortune ensuring her daughter had every book on magic she desired.

Fuelled by dreams of joining her mother's side among the Inquisitors—mages who hunted those who threatened the crown and its people—Aileen had spent years studying the fundamentals of magic. But when her mother disappeared, her ambitions only sharpened.

However, she could not have foreseen just how deeply her father's hatred for magic had grown. She was no longer a noble. No longer a Lobhdain.

The way he had spoken to her had been unforgivable, but she hated herself for what she had said in return. The anger had been justified, but mentioning her mother? That had been a low blow.

She clenched her fists. None of it mattered now.

Aileen was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning, she spotted her childhood friends weaving through the crowd—Len Alnwick and Angeline Mendoza, their faces alight with excitement.

Len, ever the mischief-maker, stood six feet tall with a lean build. His sandy brown hair, as unruly as ever, fell into his dark brown eyes no matter how many times he tried to tame it. His tanned complexion—earned from years of delivering bread and working in the fields—held a warmth that stood in stark contrast to Aileen's fair skin.

Dressed in practical travel clothes—a dark tunic and well-worn trousers—He looked ready for adventure. A light brown cloak hung loosely over his shoulders, frayed at the edges but sturdy enough for the road ahead. His boots, scuffed from countless miles, carried the marks of his past mischief.

That familiar grin—the one that had always preceded trouble—was firmly in place, his eyes sparkling with that same reckless enthusiasm that had dragged her into more childhood escapades than she could count. No matter how much time passed, Len would always be Len.

Angeline stood as tall as Aileen, though her build was more muscular, reflecting her tomboy personality. She carried herself with a refined grace that belied the fire smouldering beneath her polished exterior. Her vibrant red hair cascaded down her back in unruly curls, a striking contrast to the warm undertones of her mixed heritage.

Sharp, almost ethereal features lent her an undeniable presence, making her the most striking of the trio. But it was her emerald-green eyes—bright, cunning, and alive with anticipation—that truly set her apart.

Angeline's attire reflected both practicality and quiet elegance—a fitted forest-green tunic that matched her eyes, cinched at the waist, paired with dark trousers for ease of movement. A long, black cloak fastened at her neck with a silver clasp billowed slightly as she walked, giving her an air of quiet confidence.

Her father, an immigrant from the distant kingdom of Valencia, had settled in Valamore and met her mother, a baker whose family had long been intertwined with Len's. Their shared trade had bound them together, their children raised side by side, inseparable from the start.

Where Len brought laughter and recklessness, Angeline brought fire and warmth.

"Aileen! How did it go?" Len's voice rang through the square, his excitement palpable.

She mustered a small smile, but her voice carried the faintest hint of heartache. "As well as expected."

Angeline stepped closer, her usual sharpness softened by concern. "How bad was it?"

Aileen hesitated, inhaling sharply before answering. "I'm no longer a Lobhdain."

Angeline's face paled. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Her voice, low and dangerous, vibrated with anger. "You're his only daughter!"

Len clapped a reassuring hand on Aileen's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ail... but don't worry, he'll come around, eventually. Besides, we all passed the first entry exam to get into the Guild! You will have us and C-"

His words were cut short by a sharp elbow to the ribs. He wheezed dramatically, shooting a glare at Angeline.

She rolled her eyes before turning back to Aileen. "As rare as it is... Len's right. We will be with you the whole way. I'm sure he is fine. He will catch up as soon as he's done with whatever he's doing."

It wasn't unusual. Cain had always been busy, handling tasks for both her father and mother alike. He was quiet, dependable, and wore his duty like a second skin.

Despite her efforts, she'd heard nothing of his whereabouts. Lord Lobhdain denied receiving any reports, but Aileen knew better.

A distant sound interrupted her thoughts—a sharp, rhythmic clack against the cobblestone streets.

At first, it barely registered beneath the hum of the bustling square. But then it came again. Clack. Clack. Clack. Steady. Deliberate. Growing louder.

Her stomach tightened as the sound deepened—a low, thunderous drumbeat of claws against stone.

The ground trembled ever so slightly. Whispers rippled through the gathered crowd.

Angeline narrowed her eyes toward the source. "Are those th—"

"The drakes are here!" Len's voice boomed over hers, filled with barely contained excitement.

The creatures were magnificent. Their scales, gleaming like polished metal in the sunlight, shimmered as they moved. Dark green and bronze armour-like plating covered their bodies, their muscular forms rippling with barely restrained power. Sharp ridges ran along their spines, their sinuous necks extending gracefully, each crowned with a pair of short, jagged horns.

But it was their eyes—glowing amber orbs, keen and ever-watchful—that truly commanded attention.

The Guild's carriage followed close behind, a marvel of craftsmanship. Dark polished wood gleamed beneath the sunlight, its gilded edges catching the light as it rolled to a stop. On its sides, the emblem of the Guild of Mages was boldly displayed—a pair of entwined drakes.

One, an emerald-green beast, shimmered like cut jade, while the other gleamed cobalt-blue, dark as the ocean's depths. Their talons clutched a circular sigil, its surface etched with intricate runes—a silent testament to the legacy and power of the institution that awaited them.

Aileen exhaled slowly, turning once more toward the direction of her old home, wandering if he was watching her leave.

"Shall we?" Len interrupted her thoughts, grinning as he swung the carriage door open with an exaggerated flourish.

Aileen hesitated, steeling herself. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The journey from Valamore to Auron-the capital city of the Empire of Elahra and home to the Guild of Mages- was to take two months. The Guild had meticulously arranged rest points along the way, ensuring the drakes were well-fed and watered, while the potential apprentices could rest in guild-sponsored inns along the way.

These stops allowed them not only allowed to stretch their legs but also to sight-see and explore the many vibrant towns they passed through. Each new town brought its own charm and wonder, and the long journey, which might have been exhausting, turned into a series of discoveries, with Aileen finding herself growing more excited with each stop.

The trio had finally made it to the town of Zenith, the final stop before they reached Auron. The town itself was situated atop a large hill, its modest structures overlooking a sprawling countryside of farmland. The town was a newly established settlement, still small and growing. The heart of the town was the marketplace, a simple square with a handful of stalls offering local produce, handmade goods, and a few travellers' supplies. Surrounding the market were a few houses, their thatched roofs barely visible from the winding road that led into town.

At the far end stood the town's inn, the largest building in the town, which doubled as a tavern for the few traders and travellers passing through. The inn's wooden sign swayed gently in the breeze, proudly displaying the emblem of the Guild of Mages.

The Drakes pulled up to the barn at the inn, their heavy footfalls echoing against the wooden walls. As was customary, someone awaited them, ready to tend to the beasts and provide guidance for the potential apprentices. This time, the trio was not greeted by a guild official but by a scruffy looking, tanned brown-haired boy of about sixteen. His hair was tousled as if he'd just rolled out of bed, and his clothes were a bit too big, hanging loosely on his lanky frame.

He introduced himself with an air of arrogance, his chin lifted as if he were the master of the inn. "Welcome to Zenith, name's Roy." he said, his tone half-hearted and uninterested. After the brief introduction, he quickly rattled off instructions on how to check in, barely making eye contact as he gestured toward the inn. His brisk manner left little room for questions, as though he had no interest in pleasantries.

"Thanks, I guess?" Len said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he motioned for Aileen and Angeline to follow him toward the exit of the barn.

"Oh, before I forget..." the boy called after them, a smug edge in his tone that made Aileen bristle. "The Guild doesn't want you wandering around. You're to stay in your rooms until you leave."

"That's utter bullshit!" Angeline snapped, pacing back toward the boy, her eyes flashing with anger. "How do we know you're not just making this up?" Her voice was sharp with outrage, as though the boy's words were a deliberate attempt to make their stay as unpleasant as possible.

"Not my problem if you don't believe me, gorgeous," Roy replied with a casual shrug, completely unfazed by her fury. His mocking grin only deepened her frustration. "But if you must know, the Guild mentioned something about...bandits using the town as a meetup point? But sure, feel free to think I'm lying. Believe me, I'd actually prefer if you wandered about. I'd enjoy the sight of that a lot more."

Angeline's face went pale, her raging fury quickly giving way to an icy, detached look. Just as she began to raise a fist, Len swiftly grabbed her from behind, lifting her off the ground as she thrashed in protest whilst heading towards the exit. Aileen hurried after them, keeping close. "Let me go, Len! That bastard deserves a good thrashing!" Angeline shouted, her voice sharp with frustration. Aileen had lost count of how many times she'd witnessed this exact scenario—Len always stepping in as the level-headed peacemaker whenever conflict arose. It didn't help that they could hear the boy laughing as they left the barn.

"Everything we do here gets back to the Guild." Len said calmly as he set her down outside the barn. Angeline whipped around, glaring at him with such intensity that Len recoiled, as though her stare had struck him physically.

"As much as I would love to join you in beating him, Len's right." Aileen said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He isn't worth the trouble it would get us with the guild."

"Whatever," Angeline muttered, shrugging off Aileen's hand and storming toward the inn without looking back at either of them.

"I'll probably hear about that for weeks..." Len muttered, his voice tinged with melancholy.

Aileen offered him a soft smile. "You should tell her how you feel, it might... help her understand."

Len's eyes widened in shock, as though she had just unearthed his deepest secret. "What do you mean?"

Aileen chuckled lightly. "Len, everyone in town knows. Aileen said, amusement dancing in her tone. "Your parents even have a bet on how old you'll be when you finally tell her."

Len shot her an accusative glance, eyebrows raised. "You're one to talk, Ail..." he said, before quickly dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. Without another word, he followed Angeline into the inn, leaving a puzzled Aileen behind.

Aileen found herself in a quaint, yet cozy room, the soft glow of a single candle casting gentle shadows on the wooden walls. The air was cool, and after the long day of travel and tension, she craved warmth. She moved over to the small basin in the corner and began to run a bath, the sound of water filling the room offering a momentary distraction from her swirling thoughts.

After they had entered the inn, Angeline had been quick to sort out their check-in, her mood still brittle from the encounter in the barn. She had not waited for them and had disappeared into her room without a word.

Len had been quick to introduce them both to the elderly woman at the reception desk –a ploy, Aileen had been sure he made to not let an awkward silence fill in between them. a kind, silver-haired innkeeper with tanned skin who had greeted them with a warm smile.

"You are all so polite." the old woman had said. "You're the first apprentices we've had from the Guild to ever stay with us."

Len's usual grin reappeared as he chatted with her. "Well, I'm glad to live up to your expectations!" He'd laughed before suddenly perking up. "Actually, do you mind if I use your oven later? My family runs a bakery, and I promised Aileen I'd bake something special for our trip."

The woman chuckled, her wrinkled face lighting up. "A baker, are you? Well, I won't say no to a helping hand in the kitchen. I'd be happy to let you use the oven, but only if you save me a slice."

Aileen had smiled at the exchange, feeling comforted by Len's ever-present ability to turn a situation around. But after their conversation outside, she could not help but feel a tinge of guilt. She knew Len had been hiding his feelings for Angeline for years, and his reluctance to talk about it was only growing heavier on him. Maybe it wasn't fair to push him, but it was becoming clearer by the day that something had to give between them.

She sighed, sinking deeper into the warm water, her eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight dancing across the walls. The day's tension had drained her, but her thoughts refused to settle.

What would Cain have done? Would he have stepped in and sided with Angeline against the boy? Or would he have calmed everyone down like Len? She missed his steady presence, his quiet guidance... things always seemed clearer when Cain was around.

Aileen reluctantly rose from the bath, wrapping herself in a towel as she padded softly across the room. That's when she smelled it—the intoxicating aroma of sweet dough mixed with almonds and honey. She smiled faintly to herself. "Using your trump card, huh, Len?" She muttered, quickly getting dressed.

Making her way downstairs, she could hear the faint sound of music growing louder as she approached the main hall. As she stepped in, she was greeted by a lively scene. The inn's patio was filled with townsfolk and travellers alike, gathered around makeshift stalls and tables, enjoying the evening festivities. Lanterns hung from the wooden beams, casting a warm glow over the crowd, while a small group of musicians played cheerful tunes.

At the far end of the courtyard, Aileen spotted Len standing beside the old innkeeper. He was proudly serving freshly baked almond cakes to eager guests, who were happily handing over one silver coin in exchange for the treats. The smell of sweet dough and roasted almonds wafted through the air, mingling with the lively atmosphere.

Len caught sight of Aileen and waved, grinning widely as he handed another cake to a delighted customer. "One silver each!" he called out to the next in line, who quickly fumbled for a coin. The old woman beside him chuckled, clearly enjoying the success of the impromptu stall.

Aileen approached as Len leaned into the innkeeper with a smile. "You keep the money," he said quietly, slipping her a bag full of silver coins. "Consider it my thanks for letting me use your oven."

The old woman gave him a grateful nod, her wrinkled face softening. "You're a good lad, Len," she said warmly. "These cakes will have my guests talking for weeks."

Aileen smiled, watching the scene unfold. Despite everything that had happened earlier, seeing Len so effortlessly spread joy made her heart feel lighter.

Out of the corner of her eye, Aileen spotted a familiar figure by the door to the courtyard—Angeline, looking hesitant and remorseful. "Hey, Len," she said, nodding toward Angeline's direction. "I think someone's here to apologize."

Len followed her gaze and, without hesitation, ran toward Angeline with cake in hand. He had baked her favourite in the hopes that she'd come downstairs, ready to forgive him for how he had handled the situation earlier. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Angeline accepted the offering with a small smile before pulling him into a tight embrace.

Aileen watched the scene unfold, admiring Len's tactful approach. She couldn't help but wonder if Len was, maybe...just maybe, quite the catch for someone who valued a man with both a playful heart and a knack for making things right.

"Oh! Hold on," Len said, dashing to the kitchen. He returned moments later with a cake in hand and handed it to the old innkeeper. "Please, give this to the boy in the barn... I'd hate for him to miss out on trying some."

"Why, thank you my dear boy. I'm sure my grandson will love to try it," the innkeeper replied with a warm smile before leaving for the barn.

Angeline leaned into Len with a playful grin. "So, what did you put in it?"

Len smirked. "I might have added some laxatives."

Angeline's eyes sparkled with mischief as she smirked. "My knight in shining armour…" she drawled, her voice teasing, each word dripping with playful flirtation.

Len and Angeline remained close throughout the night, their earlier tension forgotten as they exchanged playful banter, their connection growing stronger with every passing joke and shared smile.

As the night wound down, Aileen felt the exhaustion of the day catching up to her. She exchanged goodnights with Len and Angeline before retreating to her room, where the warmth of her earlier bath still lingered in the air. She drifted off to sleep to the faint sounds of laughter and music from the courtyard below, her thoughts finally at peace.

The next morning, Aileen woke to the quiet bustle of the inn as the early risers prepared for the day. She stretched and dressed quickly, eager to begin the final leg of their journey. When she made her way downstairs, she found the old innkeeper outside with the drakes, tending to them herself instead of her grandson.

"Where's Roy?" Len asked as he and Angeline joined Aileen in the courtyard, the smell of breakfast still on their clothes.

The old woman chuckled softly, shaking her head. "That boy of mine's taken ill, and I haven't the faintest idea why. Probably something he ate." She gave them a knowing smile. "But don't worry, the drakes are in good hands. We'll have you off to Auron soon enough."

Aileen exchanged a glance with Len, whose smirk was barely contained. Angeline elbowed him playfully, and the three of them loaded up their belongings onto the carriage, thanking the old woman for her hospitality before setting off.

The following days in the drake-drawn carriage passed with ease, filled with light-hearted conversation and the warmth of friendship. Aileen couldn't help but notice the subtle change in the dynamic between Len and Angeline. They weren't quite a couple, but the way they shared private smiles and leaned closer in conversation suggested that they were at least heading in the right direction.