Chapter 4 : The gates of Lumithrone

The carriage rattled over the final stretch of bumpy road, forest thinning into golden fields that rolled toward the horizon. Nicholai pressed his nose to the window, squinting into the sunlight. Luminthrone shimmered ahead Eryndor's capital, a fortress of white stone walls laced with mana's faint glow. 

Crystal spires pierced the sky, refracting light into streaks of blue and gold. It dwarfed anything he'd known on Earth, grander than skyscrapers, steeped in a weight he couldn't name. His stomach twisted, half awe, half nerves.

He slumped back, raking a hand through his dark, tangled hair. *This is the stage,* he thought. The evaluation loomed in that city his shot to flip the script on everyone who'd written off Nicholai Verenth. The system buzzed in his mind, a quiet edge he could feel. He'd called up the stats menu earlier, marveling at his 500 Mental Energy. If it was mana and he was pretty sure it was—he was already leagues ahead of most. Mira's 180 looked small next to it, and she wasn't weak. A grin crept up. *Two-and-a-half times above average. At Level 1.* He could taste the potential.

"Stats menu," he muttered, more habit than need. The blue screen flared before him, crisp and familiar, detailing his abilities. He propped his chin on his fingers, scanning it, already plotting how to use it tomorrow. Across from him, Mira sat beside Tomas, the lanky stablehand, their heads bent in a hushed exchange.

"Young lord's acting strange today," Tomas whispered, scratching his beard.

Mira's eyes flicked to Nicholai, then back. "Mind your business." But she lingered on the thought. He was different sharper, brighter, like a candle relit after years of smoke. She smiled faintly. *Strange or not, it's good to see some fire in him.*

Nicholai barely noticed. He was lost in the numbers, heart thumping. Five hundred Mental Energy was enough to fuel tricks his former self couldn't dream of. 

He imagined conjuring something big tomorrow, healing a scratch mid-fight, outsmarting them all. A laugh slipped out, loud and jagged, bouncing off the carriage walls. Mira and Tomas snapped their heads up, staring like he'd sprouted a second head. He waved a hand, grinning, and they sank back, uneasy.

The carriage slowed, joining a queue of vehicles noble coaches, traders' carts snaking toward the western gate. Nicholai leaned out again. The gate towered, ironbound and rune-carved, flanked by guards in silver-trimmed armor, their spears tipped with House Althyr's blue feathers. Beyond, a crowd churned vendors shouting, kids laughing, a bard mangling a tune. It was alive, messy, a far cry from the estate's stillness.

"First time in the capital, m'lord?" Tomas asked, breaking his silence.

"Yeah," Nicholai said, smirking. "For me, anyway." The old Nicholai had tagged along once, a kid ignored in Gideon's shadow. This was different—his debut. "You?"

"Few times," Tomas grunted. "Horses for the house. Big. Loud. Stinks."

"Poetic," Nicholai quipped, but the air did carry a mix of bread, sweat, and a sharp tang he pegged as mana. The carriage inched up, halting as a guard approached.

"Name and business," the guard said, peering in, his face lined and stern.

"Mira Tallen, with Young Lord Nicholai Verenth," Mira replied, smooth as silk. "Mana evaluation."

The guard's eyes slid to Nicholai, then to his list. "Verenth. Third son?" A hint of something pity, maybe colored his tone. Nicholai's grin tightened, but he kept it bright.

"That's me," he chirped. The guard scribbled, waved them through, and the gates creaked open.

Luminthrone hit him like a flood. Cobbled streets sprawled, lined with shops and homes, stone and timber bowing to the spires' gleam. Mana lamps flickered, a woman conjured water into a bucket, a kid chased a floating ball. 

Magic was woven into everything, casual as breathing. Nicholai's borrowed memories nodded mana was Luminthrone's lifeblood, from wards to street tricks.

"Crowded today," Mira said, glancing out. "Evaluation pulls 'em in—nobles, gawkers, cutpurses."

"Let 'em stare," Nicholai replied, leaning back. "They'll get a show soon." He pictured the arena, the Order of the Crest, Sylia's sneer twisting. He'd fake mana with the system, turn heads. His hands rubbed together, a villainous tic he couldn't ditch.

Tomas muttered, "Hope it's worth it," earning a quick elbow from Mira. He slouched lower.

The carriage swung onto a wider street, the Crystal Spire looming a glass-and-mana tower, seat of the king. Nicholai's eyes narrowed. Theron ruled there, Eric trained there, archmages with mana in the thousands. He'd top them someday, but for now, he was a spark with a secret.

A jolt the carriage stopped. "Guest manor, m'lord," Harrick called from the driver's perch. Nicholai stepped out, boots hitting stone, stretching his scrawny arms. The manor was modest gray brick, three stories, the Verenth crest above the door. Servants scurried, unloading, Mira directing with quiet calm.

Nicholai lingered, soaking it in. The street pulsed noble kids strutted, a merchant haggled over mana crystals, a scruffy cat with glowing eyes darted past. His gaze locked on the cat, curiosity tugging. He focused, and the system kicked in—blue text flaring beside it, no words needed:

```

[Stats]

Name: Unknown (Stray Cat)

Level: 3/100

Race: Feline (Mana-Touched)

Mana Capacity: 80/80

```

He blinked. *Eighty?* More than his old mana, and it was just a cat mana-touched, sure, but still. The cat froze, green eyes meeting his, tail flicking. Nicholai crouched, extending a hand. "Hey, little guy. You're mine now." It hissed, then softened, padding closer. He scooped it up, its fur warm and faintly electric. *A pet with mana. Perfect.*

"M'lord?" Mira's voice pulled him back. "Rest. Evaluation's at dawn."

"Right," he said, tucking the cat under his arm. It purred, a low rumble. Inside, the foyer was dim wood-paneled, a staircase curling up. A servant took his cloak, and Nicholai paused at a mirror. Thin, pale, but alive and sharper than before. He nodded. *Tomorrow.*

His room was sparse bed, desk, window to the city. The cat leapt onto the mattress, curling up as Nicholai flopped beside it. He scratched its ears, mind racing. Sylia would be there, maybe Eldric, watching. He would show them all

A laugh slipped out, soft but edged. Luminthrone hummed beyond the glass his first step.