The first step

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew and freshly turned earth. The castle courtyard was unusually quiet, save for the low hum of activity around the modest wagon that stood ready to take Speed to Saptar. Unlike the grand carriages that had whisked his brothers away, this wagon was plain, its wooden frame sturdy but unadorned. Two brown mares, their coats dusted with the chill of the morning, pawed at the ground restlessly.

Speed stood near the wagon, a single trunk packed with his belongings resting at his feet. His attire, though neatly arranged, was simple—a long, dark coat over a tunic and trousers that bore the wear of many days spent outdoors. He adjusted the strap of his satchel, his fingers brushing against the letter from Demiri tucked securely inside. Despite the tension in his chest, there was a spark of something unfamiliar—hope.

Parker oversaw the preparations, speaking in hushed tones with the hired men. They were a small group—two seasoned riders and a young driver—each dressed in practical traveling gear. Though they showed no outward disrespect, their expressions betrayed a mix of curiosity and skepticism as they glanced at Speed, as if wondering what purpose a boy with no magic could possibly have in Saptar.

The guards, however, made no effort to hide their disdain. Standing in clusters along the courtyard walls, they exchanged quiet jabs and muttered remarks, their voices carrying just enough for Speed to hear.

"Looks like the Duke's finally had enough of the runt," one of them said, arms crossed as he leaned against the stone. "Sending him off to some backwater to be someone else's problem."

"Lucky he's going at all," another added with a smirk. "Most would've just left him in the woods with the beasts."

A ripple of laughter followed, and Speed's jaw tightened. He kept his gaze fixed on the wagon, refusing to meet their mocking eyes. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay composed.

Parker approached him then, his measured footsteps cutting through the undercurrent of derision. The butler's expression was as calm and deliberate as always, but there was a flicker of warmth in his gaze—a silent reassurance that spoke louder than words.

"Everything is ready, young master," Parker said, his voice low and steady. "The journey will take a few days, but the men I've hired are reliable. You'll be safe."

Speed nodded, his throat tight. "Thank you," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Parker's eyes softened, and he placed a firm hand on Speed's shoulder. "This is not the end," he said, his tone carrying a quiet conviction. "Remember that. You may leave this place under their judgment, but it is up to you to decide what they will one day see when they look at you again."

The words settled over Speed like a shield, fortifying the fragile hope within him. He glanced once more at the guards, their laughter ringing hollow now against the resolve taking root in his chest. Without another word, he climbed into the wagon, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

As the wagon creaked to life and began its slow journey out of the courtyard, Speed didn't look back. The mocking voices of the guards faded into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic clatter of wheels against stone. For the first time in his life, the path before him was his own.

Saptar is a kingdom where nature and artistry entwine, creating a realm of unparalleled beauty and wonder. Nestled in a lush valley surrounded by rolling emerald hills, the kingdom seems to breathe with life itself. Rivers, wide and glittering like molten silver, wind gracefully through the land, feeding vibrant meadows and dense forests where ancient trees whisper secrets of the past.

At the heart of Saptar lies its radiant capital, Miravoré. The city is a masterpiece, designed to harmonize with the natural world. Towering spires of marble and crystal rise into the sky, their surfaces catching the sunlight and refracting it into dazzling rainbows. Intricate carvings of mythical creatures and floral patterns decorate every archway and facade, telling the kingdom's stories with artistry that seems almost alive. Winding cobblestone streets are lined with flowering vines and colorful marketplaces where scents of spices, freshly baked pastries, and blooming orchids mingle in the air.

Magic flows through Saptar like an invisible current, enriching its land and people. Enchanted lanterns hover above the streets, casting a warm golden glow as twilight descends. Bridges made of entwined roots and shimmering light span the rivers, their designs both practical and breathtaking. In the evenings, the skies above the kingdom are painted in hues of violet and gold, and the stars shine brighter here, as if drawn to the kingdom's unique charm.

The countryside is equally mesmerizing, dotted with villages that mirror the kingdom's elegance in smaller, cozier forms. Fields of lavender and sunflowers sway in the gentle breeze, while crystal-clear lakes reflect the endless sky. It is said that the waters of Saptar hold healing properties, gifted by the ancient dragon spirits who once roamed the land. Shrines to these revered beings are scattered across the kingdom, their designs a blend of intricate runes and dragon-like sculptures, often draped with offerings of flowers and candles.

Yet, Saptar's beauty is not just in its landscapes and architecture; it is in its people. They are artisans, scholars, and warriors, each contributing to the kingdom's legacy with pride and passion. They wear garments woven with threads that shimmer like morning dew, and their festivals are bursts of color and music, celebrating the harmony between magic, nature, and humanity.

Saptar is not merely a place—it is a living poem, a testament to the power of balance and creativity. To walk its lands is to feel both humbled and uplifted, a reminder of the beauty that can emerge when a people cherish the world they inhabit.