Chapter 14;- The City of Dreams

The journey had been long, the weight of war and destruction still lingering in the air like the ghosts of the past. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Rhaegar Crowne was not marching toward another battlefield. This time, he was marching toward the future.

The City of Dreams—Elyndral.

A city spoken of only in whispers, a legend passed down through the ages. It was said to be built by the first great mages, hidden away from the world to protect its wonders. Unlike the great fortresses of men, built for war and conquest, Elyndral was a city of knowledge, magic, and endless possibility. It was where the greatest minds once gathered, where sorcerers shaped reality itself, where civilization had reached heights that now seemed like nothing more than myths.

And yet, as Rhaegar, Lucian, and Velion stood at the edge of a high cliff, overlooking the valley below, the city was real.

Bathed in golden sunlight, Elyndral stretched across the horizon, its towering spires gleaming with arcane symbols. Waterways cut through its streets like veins of liquid silver, bridges of crystal arching over them, carrying people dressed in fine silks and enchanted robes. Floating lanterns drifted lazily above the city, illuminating the winding roads and towering structures that pulsed with the hum of magic.

Lucian let out a low whistle. "Well. I was expecting something impressive, but this? This is ridiculous."

Velion, for once, was silent. His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable as he took in the sight before them.

Rhaegar remained still, his gaze locked onto the city. There was something about Elyndral—something ancient and powerful, yet untouched by the cruelty of war. It was unlike any place he had ever seen.

"Do you feel that?" Velion finally murmured, his voice lower than usual. "The air here is… alive."

Rhaegar closed his eyes for a moment. He could feel it, too. The magic of the city wasn't just present—it was woven into everything. The wind itself carried whispers of forgotten spells, the ground beneath his feet hummed with an energy that had long been buried in the rest of the world. It was as if the city breathed with the very essence of magic itself.

Lucian nudged him with his elbow. "So, oh mighty King of Death, what exactly is the plan here? We march into a city of ancient sorcerers and… what? Ask them nicely to share their secrets?"

Rhaegar opened his eyes, exhaling. "No. We don't ask." He turned to face them. "We earn it."

A City of Wonders and Watchful Eyes

The moment they stepped past the great stone archway that marked the entrance, it was clear that Elyndral was nothing like the cities of men. There were no beggars in the streets, no signs of poverty or suffering. Every corner of the city was immaculate, the roads paved with enchanted stones that glowed faintly beneath their feet.

The people of Elyndral moved with purpose, their eyes sharp and observant. Some looked at Rhaegar and his companions with curiosity, others with wariness. It was clear that outsiders were rare here.

Lucian muttered under his breath, "I don't like how quiet it is. Feels like we're being watched."

Velion smirked. "That's because we are."

Sure enough, the moment they stepped into what appeared to be a central plaza, a group of figures in flowing golden robes approached them. At the center of the group stood an older man, his long silver hair tied back, his piercing violet eyes filled with intelligence—and suspicion.

"You walk with the scent of war still clinging to you," the man said, his voice calm but firm. "Elyndral does not welcome those who bring destruction."

Rhaegar met his gaze unflinchingly. "I did not come to bring war. I came for knowledge."

The man studied him for a long moment before his gaze shifted to Velion. "And you, Sorcerer of the Void. You should know that your presence here is… controversial."

Velion chuckled, unfazed. "I'm controversial everywhere, old man. It's part of my charm."

The golden-robed figure did not look amused. "You seek knowledge, but knowledge is not given freely in Elyndral. It is earned. Prove that you are worthy."

Rhaegar's fingers twitched at his side. He had expected this. "And how do we prove ourselves?"

The elder gave a knowing smile. "The city will decide."

The Trial of the Dreamers

That night, beneath the glow of a massive floating crystal that hovered above the city, Rhaegar, Lucian, and Velion stood at the center of an ancient courtyard. Around them, the people of Elyndral had gathered, whispering among themselves, eager to see the fate of the outsiders.

The elder stood before them, raising his hands. "Elyndral was built not on war, but on understanding. Before you can take from the city, you must first allow the city to see you."

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes. "And what does that mean?"

The elder gestured, and suddenly, the air around them shimmered.

A wave of unseen energy washed over Rhaegar, pulling him downward—not in body, but in mind. The world around him shifted, the city dissolving into mist, until he was standing in an endless expanse of silver light.

Then, he saw himself.

Not as he was now, but as he had been—bloodstained, cold, ruthless. The Reaper King. The man who had carved a throne from the bones of his enemies.

But then, something changed. The image of himself shifted—his armor was gone, the darkness in his eyes replaced with something unfamiliar. A version of himself that was not bound by vengeance. A version of himself that could choose something else.

The voices of Elyndral whispered around him. What do you seek?

He clenched his fists. "I seek to shape the world—not through destruction, but through purpose."

The vision faded.

Rhaegar's eyes snapped open, his breath unsteady. He was back in the courtyard, Velion and Lucian stirring beside him.

The elder watched him carefully. Then, with a slow nod, he spoke.

"You may enter the halls of knowledge."

The city had accepted them.

For the first time, Rhaegar was not standing on the ruins of his past.

For the first time, he was stepping into the future.

The Halls of Knowledge

The moment Rhaegar, Lucian, and Velion stepped through the grand archway leading into Elyndral's inner sanctum, a wave of ancient power washed over them. It wasn't an oppressive force—it was alive, woven into the very walls, into the air, into the stones beneath their feet.

The halls stretched impossibly high, lined with towering bookshelves made of shimmering silverwood, their spines glowing faintly with magical energy. Between them, floating lanterns illuminated pathways leading deeper into the heart of Elyndral's vast archives.

Lucian whistled, his voice echoing in the silence. "Well, damn. If I'd known libraries could look like this, I might've actually read a book once in my life."

Velion smirked. "That's assuming you even know how to read."

Lucian shot him a glare. "I will punch you."

Before Velion could retort, a soft hum of movement caught their attention. Figures in long robes—scholars, mages, and sages—glided between the shelves, their hands glowing as they reached for books that floated effortlessly into their grasp. Some cast curious glances toward the newcomers, but most carried on as if their arrival was of little consequence.

Rhaegar exhaled, his gaze scanning the labyrinth of knowledge before them. This was why he had come. Not for war, not for conquest—but to understand, to wield something greater than brute force.

The elder who had led them here stopped at the entrance, turning to face them. "Elyndral has accepted you, but do not mistake this for an open invitation. The knowledge here is not freely given—it is earned, just as trust must be earned."

Rhaegar nodded. "And how do we earn it?"

The elder's violet eyes glowed faintly. "By proving you are more than the past you carry." He gestured to the halls. "Find what you seek, but be warned—knowledge is a double-edged sword. It can shape the future, or it can consume you entirely."

With that, the elder stepped away, vanishing into the labyrinth of bookshelves.

Lucian crossed his arms. "Well. That wasn't ominous at all."

Velion chuckled, already moving toward a section labeled The Arcane Arts of Old. "Come on. Let's see what secrets this city has been keeping from the world."

Secrets in the Shadows

Hours turned into days.

Rhaegar immersed himself in the texts, absorbing everything he could. He studied battle strategies beyond simple war, learning how magic had once shaped kingdoms, how diplomacy and power had been intertwined long before steel decided the fate of men.

Velion, unsurprisingly, vanished deep into the forbidden sections of the archives, seeking knowledge lost to time—dark spells, forgotten rituals, and theories that had been deemed too dangerous for the outside world.

Lucian, despite his initial reluctance, found himself drawn to the history of Elyndral itself. He read tales of rulers who had once shaped the world without ever lifting a blade, of warriors who had won wars through sheer cunning rather than brute force.

But something about the city still felt off.

There were whispers in the halls—conversations that stopped when they approached, figures that vanished the moment they turned a corner. It was clear that Elyndral's people had accepted them, but they were watching.

Waiting.

And then, the warnings began.

It started with a simple note left on the table where Rhaegar had been studying.

The past cannot be undone, nor can it be buried beneath books. Beware the price of knowledge.

The next day, a shadowed figure crossed their path in the marketplace, whispering under their breath before vanishing into the crowd.

"There are those who do not wish for the past to change."

Rhaegar didn't believe in coincidences. Someone in Elyndral feared what he might find.

And they were trying to stop him.

The Gathering Storm

On the seventh night, as the three of them sat in one of the upper chambers, pouring over a collection of scrolls, Lucian finally leaned back with a frustrated sigh.

"Alright, I'm just gonna say it—someone's messing with us." He tossed the note he'd found earlier onto the table. "This is the third one. If they don't want us here, why not just kick us out?"

Velion smirked, but there was a sharpness in his gaze. "Because they're afraid of something."

Rhaegar tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair, deep in thought. "The question is—what?"

He had assumed Elyndral's knowledge was protected because of its value. But what if it was protected because it held something more?

A truth that could change everything.

A sudden gust of wind flickered through the room, making the candle flames dance. Velion's expression darkened. "We're not alone."

Rhaegar rose to his feet in an instant, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The shadows along the walls shifted—something moved.

Lucian was already reaching for his daggers. "Alright, whoever you are, you've got exactly three seconds to explain before we—"

A voice interrupted him.

"You seek what should remain forgotten."

The shadows pooled together, forming a cloaked figure at the edge of the room. Their face was hidden, but their presence radiated an unnatural stillness, as if the very air around them refused to move.

Rhaegar didn't flinch. "Who are you?"

The figure ignored the question. "Elyndral was built on knowledge, but knowledge is a dangerous thing. You come searching for truths that could unmake the world."

Velion scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, cryptic warnings, forbidden knowledge, doom and destruction. Can you please just get to the point?"

The figure tilted their head slightly, then stepped forward. "The city you seek is not just a city." Their voice was barely above a whisper, yet it filled the entire room. "Elyndral was built to contain something. To hide it."

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

The figure raised a hand. The shadows around them shifted, and suddenly, the walls of the room seemed to melt away, revealing an endless void beyond. And in that void—

A massive, pulsating structure.

It was not of stone or magic, but something else, something ancient and alive. Symbols older than any language flickered across its surface, shifting like liquid fire.

Velion inhaled sharply. "That's not… possible."

The figure turned toward Rhaegar. "You wish to rebuild the world, to shape a future beyond war. But to do so, you must first understand what came before. The knowledge you seek is not just power—it is a burden. It is a choice."

Lucian crossed his arms. "Okay, dramatic speeches aside, what exactly is it?"

The figure's voice was barely audible now.

"The last remnants of the First Dream."

A silence settled over the room.

Rhaegar's grip tightened. He didn't fully understand what the figure meant, but one thing was clear—Elyndral had been built on more than just knowledge. It had been built on a secret.

And now, that secret was calling to him.

Velion's lips curled into a smirk. "Well. Things just got interesting."

Rhaegar exhaled, his eyes never leaving the structure in the void.

The past had already shaped him.

Now, it was time to shape the future.

The Dream That Came Before

Rhaegar's gaze remained fixed on the pulsating structure in the void, its ancient symbols shifting like living fire. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, not with fear, but with the raw gravity of understanding—this was something beyond mere history. It was the foundation upon which Elyndral had been built.

Lucian let out a slow breath. "So… when you say First Dream… you mean what, exactly?"

The shadowed figure turned slightly, its presence still unnervingly still. "Before the kingdoms of men, before the rise of sorcerers and warlords, the world was shaped by something else. Something greater. The First Dream was not a time—it was a state of being. A reality before reality."

Velion, for once, looked intrigued rather than smug. "You're saying this world wasn't always like this?"

The figure inclined its head. "It was shaped from something older. Something forgotten. The knowledge buried here in Elyndral is not simply history—it is the memory of what was before. The truth that has been erased from the minds of mortals."

Rhaegar crossed his arms. "And why was it erased?"

The figure's voice was quieter now, almost reverent. "Because it was too much. The First Dream was not meant to be remembered. Those who glimpsed it—those who understood it—went mad. They became gods, demons, or something in between. The world you know exists only because the First Dream was sealed away."

Lucian rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay. Fantastic. We've just uncovered some cosmic secret that could apparently drive people insane. Great. What are we supposed to do with that?"

Velion smirked. "I can think of a few ways to use it."

The shadowed figure's presence grew heavier. "That is the danger. You must not try to wield it."

Rhaegar remained silent, studying the massive structure beyond the void. It called to him. Not with words, but with a feeling—like something buried deep in his soul had been waiting for this moment.

He had spent so long fighting, bleeding, raging against the world that betrayed him. He had torn down his enemies, rebuilt his empire from ashes, and forged a path of vengeance that left nothing but ruin in its wake. But here, in the heart of Elyndral, he had found something far greater than revenge.

He had found the key to the truth.

And he knew, in the depths of his being, that he could not turn away.

The Choice That Shapes the Future

The void shimmered, the symbols burning brighter for a moment before fading. The walls of the chamber reformed around them, the vision vanishing as if it had never been there.

Rhaegar turned back to the figure. "If this knowledge is so dangerous, why show it to us?"

The figure regarded him for a long moment. "Because you are the first in centuries to ask the right questions."

Velion chuckled. "Lucky us."

Lucian exhaled sharply. "Alright. Let's assume for a second that we don't immediately walk away from this. What happens if someone else does find out? If the wrong people—" He hesitated. "—if another Sebastian gets their hands on this knowledge?"

The figure's voice darkened. "Then the world will burn. And not by fire or war, but by something far worse—the unraveling of what is."

Rhaegar closed his eyes for a moment, considering the weight of what they had learned. This wasn't about conquering kingdoms. This wasn't about ruling with power. This was about protecting something greater than any throne.

He opened his eyes. "Then we make sure that doesn't happen."

Lucian raised an eyebrow. "So what, we just sit on this secret for the rest of our lives?"

"No." Rhaegar turned toward the grand halls of Elyndral, his mind already forming a plan. "We ensure that this knowledge is guarded. That no one can abuse it." His expression hardened. "And we make sure that if anyone tries, they are stopped before they even begin."

Velion smirked. "So… we're gatekeepers of forgotten cosmic power now?"

"Call it what you want," Rhaegar said. "But the age of war is over. I won't let the future be shaped by destruction."

Lucian crossed his arms. "And what about you? You've been seeking vengeance for so long, it's practically part of you. What does a Reaper King become when there's no one left to kill?"

Rhaegar was silent for a long time. Then, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he smiled.

"A king who builds instead of destroys."

Lucian blinked. "Well, damn." He grinned. "Didn't think you had that in you."

Velion clapped his hands together. "Alright then. If we're doing this, let's do it properly."

Rhaegar nodded. "We begin immediately. Elyndral will not just be a city of scholars—it will be a fortress of knowledge. A sanctuary. And a line that no tyrant will ever cross again."

The shadowed figure watched them in silence, then, slowly, it began to fade.

"The choice is made," it whispered. "May you bear its weight well."

As the last of its presence vanished, Rhaegar exhaled, his eyes lingering on the place where it had stood.

For the first time in years, he felt something other than rage.

He felt purpose.

And this time, it would not be built on bloodshed.

The Foundations of a New Era

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts. For once, there was no battle looming, no traitors to hunt down, no enemies plotting in the shadows. Just the remnants of a forgotten truth, resting in the ruins of a city lost to time.

Lucian stretched his arms behind his head. "So, uh… how exactly do we turn an ancient ruin into a fortress of knowledge? Because, no offense, but this place looks like it's one strong wind away from collapsing on our heads."

Velion smirked. "Give me a few hundred enchanters, a vault of gold, and a decade, and I'll have this place shining brighter than any king's palace."

Rhaegar ran his gloved fingers over the cracked stone wall, feeling the lingering pulse of ancient magic beneath it. "We don't have a decade," he said. "We barely have a few months before word of this place spreads." He turned to Velion. "You said enchanters. Do you have any who would be willing to work with us?"

The sorcerer tilted his head in consideration. "A handful. The rest will take some convincing."

Lucian scoffed. "Let me guess—because the great and terrible Reaper King is involved?"

Velion chuckled. "Precisely. Scholars and sorcerers don't usually throw their lot in with warlords, no matter how reformed they claim to be."

Rhaegar nodded, expecting as much. His name was still synonymous with death and destruction across the continent. A thousand reassurances wouldn't change that overnight.

"Then we show them," he said. "We don't just ask for their help. We prove that this is bigger than kings and thrones. That this is about something greater."

Lucian gave him a skeptical look. "And how do we do that? Because I'm not sure an inspirational speech is gonna cut it."

Rhaegar exhaled, glancing toward the distant skyline. "We give them Elyndral."

Velion's brow arched. "You're saying we offer them the city?"

Rhaegar nodded. "Let them rule it. Let the scholars and enchanters shape it into what it was meant to be. As long as it remains protected, I don't care who holds the title of governor."

Lucian let out a short laugh. "So, after clawing your way to the top, burning down half the kingdoms that wronged you, and carving a throne out of vengeance… you're just gonna hand this one over?"

Rhaegar's expression remained unreadable. "I didn't come here to rule."

Lucian studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. "You really are full of surprises."

Velion grinned. "I like it. It'll be a hard sell, but I can make it work."

Rhaegar crossed his arms. "Then start immediately. Gather the enchanters you trust. We'll need fortifications, wards, and hidden vaults to keep the most dangerous knowledge locked away."

Velion gave a dramatic bow. "Your will, my king."

Lucian rolled his eyes. "Oh gods, don't encourage him."

Velion winked before disappearing in a swirl of dark magic, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air where he had stood.

Lucian turned back to Rhaegar. "And what about us?"

Rhaegar's gaze returned to the ruined city around them. "We stay. At least for now."

Lucian raised an eyebrow. "No grand conquest waiting on the horizon? No lingering blood debts to settle?"

Rhaegar shook his head. "Not anymore."

Lucian let out a slow breath. "Huh." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know… I think I might actually be bored for the first time in years."

Rhaegar smirked. "Then you're welcome to help rebuild."

Lucian groaned. "Manual labor? That's worse than war."

Rhaegar chuckled, turning toward the heart of the ruins.

For the first time in a long time, he felt something strange.

Something unfamiliar.

It was not the cold satisfaction of vengeance. Not the grim resolve of war.

It was something lighter.

It was hope.

A City Reborn

Days turned to weeks. The scholars arrived first, skeptical and cautious. But when they saw the ruins of Elyndral, when they touched its ancient stones and felt the magic pulsing beneath, their hesitation gave way to awe.

Then came the enchanters—Velion's doing. They were less impressed by the history and more concerned with practical matters: stability, safety, secrecy. But once they were convinced of the project's importance, they worked with a dedication that rivaled any soldier's discipline.

Lucian, to everyone's surprise, took an active role in overseeing the restoration. Not because he particularly cared about history, but because, as he put it, "If I'm stuck here, I might as well make sure the damn place doesn't fall apart on top of us."

Rhaegar, however, found himself in an unfamiliar position.

He was not leading an army. He was not hunting enemies. He was simply… watching. Guiding.

And as the city slowly rose from the ruins, as the first towers were reinforced and the great libraries uncovered, he realized something.

This was not a kingdom won by blood.

This was a legacy built on something greater.

The Dawn After Darkness

One evening, as the sun cast golden light over the newly rebuilt halls, Rhaegar stood at the highest balcony, looking down over the city.

Lucian joined him, leaning against the stone railing. "So," he said, "how's it feel?"

Rhaegar glanced at him. "What?"

Lucian gestured at the city. "Not having to burn everything to the ground to get what you want."

Rhaegar considered the question for a long moment before answering.

"…It feels different."

Lucian snorted. "Yeah, no kidding. You're actually smiling."

Rhaegar smirked. "And you're not complaining."

Lucian sighed dramatically. "Yeah, yeah, it's weird for both of us." He paused, glancing at the city below. "But, you know… this? I think this might actually be worth it."

Rhaegar followed his gaze.

A city of knowledge. A fortress of wisdom. A place where the mistakes of the past would not be repeated.

For the first time in years, Rhaegar Crowne was not a conqueror.

He was a builder.

And for the first time, the future felt like something worth protecting.