The Journey Begins

The Magic Tower rose like a silver spear lodged into the cloudy sky — cold, merciless, silent. Looking up to its peak made my neck ache and my imagination wander: how far did it reach?

Its walls were cold and unadorned. An imposing structure meant to impress and to show the superiority of the mages of Velarion.

My footsteps echoed against the smooth stone walls, accompanied only by Mirna's. She walked beside me, always alert, like a faithful shadow. The tower's interior was cold, with statues of ancient mages looking down from above, judging every breath.

In the center of the hall, a circular platform pulsed in bluish tones. In front of it, a mage in a gray robe was waiting for us. He didn't look much older than me, but his gaze carried decades — his eyes seemed to pierce through me, analyzing everything.

He's probably an Archmage rejuvenated by constant use of magic or potions.

"Name and destination?" he asked, without lifting his eyes from the grimoire floating in front of him.

"Elisa Gracefall and Mirna. We're going to Grenthel."

He flipped through the grimoire with an automatic wave of his hand — the pages turned on their own until they stopped on a symbol I couldn't decipher. The mage then raised his eyes to me, arching an eyebrow.

"The payment has already been made."

I blinked. "What?"

"Your passage. It was paid in advance, in Velmund coins, with a seal from the Black Ravens Guild."

The mage then closed the grimoire with a dry snap. "Name of the sponsor: Nacht."

Beside me, I noticed the slight tremble in Mirna's hands. It was almost imperceptible — almost. But for someone who knew her like I did… it screamed louder than any words.

"Mirna…?" I whispered, glancing sideways, but she didn't look at me. Her gray eyes were fixed on the floor.

The mage interrupted, impatient. "You may step into the teleportation circle. The portal will activate in thirty seconds."

I chose not to press the issue… At least not for now.

Within seconds, the runes around us began to glow more intensely. Soon, the light grew too strong, forcing me to close my eyes.

When my feet finally found solid ground and my eyes opened, I realized I was trembling, and my mind was spinning.

If it weren't for Mirna, always vigilant, supporting me… I would have fallen.

She held me with care, but firmly enough to keep me upright. The warmth of her touch contrasted with the cold, dry air around us.

"Take a deep breath, my lady," she said, in a low but reassuring voice.

I did as she said, still dizzy. The scent of the air was different — lighter, cleaner. This was Grenthel. A border city of the kingdom of Velmund. Known as a haven for mercenaries, wandering alchemists, and exiled nobles. A place where the influence of the nobility doesn't reach.

Looking around, the new tower we had arrived in seemed even more austere than the last. No statues, no decorations. Just walls black as obsidian and winding corridors bathed in pale blue light that seemed to emanate from the floor itself.

We descended the spiral steps leading to the tower's exit, and with each step, the oppression of that place seemed to dissolve — as if the air could finally circulate freely again. When the massive stone doors opened at last, natural light enveloped us like a long-overdue embrace.

Grenthel.

The sky was covered by heavy clouds, but the city below pulsed with life. Narrow, uneven stone streets formed a labyrinth between dark wooden buildings with sloped roofs, some showing clear signs of abandonment. Alchemists in worn robes chatted with armed merchants, while rough-looking swordsmen walked by in partially damaged armor — all suspicious, all alert.

Carts pulled by hybrid beasts rushed along the paths, splashing muddy water onto the sidewalks. Grenthel wasn't welcoming. But it was alive.

Outside, the cold was biting, with a freezing wind that seemed determined to steal the warmth from your bones. I wrapped my cloak tighter around my body, feeling my legs still slightly unsteady.

Mirna, at my side, hailed a carriage with a discreet gesture. Not a word passed between us during the minutes we waited. Only the distant sound of voices and hammers filled the air — Grenthel never slept.

Soon, a dark carriage approached, pulled by two gray horses with red eyes. The driver, an old man with a stern expression, simply nodded when Mirna told him the destination:

"The Church of the Holy Son. Noble wing."

He seemed to hesitate for a moment but then turned without protest.

We got in. The carriage's interior was simple, but clean. Thin cushions lined the seats, and a small magical lantern hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, gentle light over the space.

I sat slowly, exhausted, letting my head rest against the side. My body ached, and the dizziness hadn't fully passed.

Mirna sat across from me, silent. Her eyes were fixed on me, but her gaze… was distant.

A heavy silence settled in the carriage. This time, I couldn't hold back the restlessness building in my chest.

"Nacht…" I murmured, not looking directly at her. "You know him, don't you?"

She remained silent for too long. Her eyes turned to the view outside the window.

"Yes," she finally replied. "I know him."

"He… paid for our teleportation."

"Yes."

"And that doesn't scare you?"

Mirna took a deep breath. She looked at me, and this time, her eyes held none of their usual comfort — only a dense, calculating seriousness.

"Nacht is the leader of the Black Ravens Guild," she said at last. "The organization that controls Velmund's underworld. Assassinations, espionage, smuggling... If something happens in the shadows of that kingdom, the Ravens are involved."

The information hit me like a weight. But Mirna continued:

"And he's also the Patriarch's right hand."

My lips went dry. My heart raced.

The Patriarch…

"The Patriarch… Does he want something from me?"

My voice came out thin. Almost childlike. The name Dorian had sent chills down my spine since I was little. Even without knowing exactly why, he had always given me an uneasy feeling — like a demon in wolf's clothing, a predator silently sharpening its claws.

Mirna took a while to respond. Her fingers touched the collar of her tunic, as if searching for invisible reassurance.

"It's impossible to know what Dorian is thinking," she said, almost in a whisper. "But if Nacht helped us leave… that means the Patriarch allowed it."

"Allowed… allowed it?"

"If he didn't want us to go… we'd be dead before we reached the tower."

Silence returned — heavier than before.

I curled up on the carriage seat, hugging my own arms. Mirna noticed. She slowly extended her hand across the space and rested it over mine, warming my fingers with hers.

"My lady…" she said, her voice sweeter than before, almost motherly. "Dorian doesn't wish you harm."

I raised my eyes, hesitant, staring at the face that had always protected me — but now also seemed to hide secrets far too deep to be spoken aloud.

"You… are you sure about this?" I asked, feeling my voice falter. "He always ignored me, like I was... a nuisance."

Mirna gently squeezed my hand.

"Paying for your passage to Grenthel was a clear gesture," she said. "In his language, that means goodwill. Generosity."

"Generosity from a monster?" I shot back, more bitterly than I intended.

She didn't respond. Her silence was an answer — but not one of agreement. It was... understanding. A silence that accepted the pain of doubt.

"He could've made you disappear," she continued, looking into my eyes. "But he didn't. That means something. And Nacht — as frightening as he seems — wouldn't have just left a name. He would've hunted you down like a loyal hound, if it were a direct order."

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to organize my thoughts.

"But... why now?" I whispered. "After all this time. After letting me rot in that mansion, forgotten..."

The carriage passed over a rough cobblestone street, jolting slightly. The lantern on the ceiling swayed with the impact, casting unstable shadows inside.

"He had his reasons," Mirna said slowly. "But I can assure you he truly cares about you."

Mirna didn't usually speak in circles. If she was being careful now, it was because the truth was sharper than I could handle in that moment.

I stayed silent, watching the lantern's reflection in the fogged window. For a moment, I thought I saw Aaron's silhouette there — his gentle, confident smile. But of course... it was only the reflection of my longing.

The carriage slowed down and soon came to a complete stop.

Mirna stepped out first. Then she extended her hand to help me down, as she always did. My fingers intertwined with hers, still trembling.

Outside, the Church of the Holy Son rose among the abandoned mansions of the noble quarter. It wasn't a grand structure like the churches in Solaria, but it emanated a different kind of power — quieter, more... reverent. White stone pillars surrounded the inner courtyard, where a statue of Aaron in white marble dominated the center.

My heart tightened at the sight of him.

The sculpture depicted him with his hand extended forward, as if welcoming the world. His face, serene and resolute, made my throat burn. Even the runic details of his armor were faithfully reproduced. As if he were there… waiting for me.

Mirna respected my silence as we walked to the gate. Two clerics awaited us, dressed in golden robes with curious but not hostile eyes.

"Lady Elisa Gracefall?" asked one of them, a bronze-skinned elf with austere features.

I nodded in response.

"The temple has been prepared. The mercenary group is waiting inside."

I gave a slight nod, but my gaze remained fixed on the statue. I wanted to touch his marble hand, to feel the illusion that he was there. That Aaron, somehow, was still guiding me.

But now… it was time to move forward. For him.

And for me.

Mirna walked ahead, and I followed her through the temple gates. The doors opened with a deep creak, revealing a vast interior hall lit by floating chandeliers. The floor was made of white marble so polished it reflected our distorted images. Paintings and stained glass depicted Aaron in various legendary scenes — sealing pacts with spirits, wielding his sword against dragons, extending his hand to kings of other races. It was impossible not to feel his presence there.

And at the center of the hall, a group was already waiting. Four people stood before the altar. Each had a striking appearance, but my eyes were immediately drawn to the figure leaning against one of the side pillars — arms crossed, bored expression, blood-red gaze.

She looked like the strongest one in the group.

Dark red hair fell over her shoulders in wild waves. Her tanned skin contrasted with the dark, battered armor she wore — marked by past battles, each scar telling a silent story. Her deep red eyes met mine — and for a moment, I felt a chill.

She looked me over from head to toe without bothering to hide it. Evaluating. Judging.

"This is the alchemist?" she asked in a low, rough voice. "Looks like she'll collapse under the weight of her own clothes."

My eyes widened, and I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I opened my mouth to reply, but Mirna stepped forward with a subtle but firm movement.

"Lady Elisa is stronger than she looks," she said coldly. "And she's the one paying for your stay, mercenary."

The woman raised an eyebrow, and a mocking smirk formed on her lips. She pushed off from the pillar and walked toward us — her steps firm, almost defiant. Her aura seemed to push the air around her.

"I'm Kale," she said, stopping less than a meter away from me. "Swordswoman, protector, mercenary. And the only one in this rotten city who won't run when danger shows up."

Her eyes fell on me again, now more intense. "You don't look like someone who'll last a week on this journey. But who knows... sometimes the weakest surprise the most."

I opened my mouth to answer, but my voice barely came out. "I… I'm not that fragile."

Kale laughed — a rough, short sound, but not exactly cruel. "We'll see."

Before I could say anything else, a male voice rose from among the others. A young man with tied-back blond hair and a long robe approached, wearing a smile far too charming to be sincere.

"Apologies for Kale. She doesn't know how to introduce herself without sounding like a collapsing avalanche." He gave a short bow. "I'm Silas. Support mage and barrier specialist. It's an honor, Lady Gracefall."

Behind him, a young elf woman with golden hair and a calm expression simply nodded in silence.

"That's Thalya," Silas explained. "Our archer and scout. She prefers silence over words, but she's deadly with a bow."

The last member of the group — a massive man with grayish skin and golden eyes — remained leaning against a pillar, silently observing everything.

"Ignore the big guy for now. He only speaks when the sky's about to fall," Silas murmured. "But you can call him Dorn."

Mirna watched everything closely, assessing every move.

I took a deep breath. The group was assembled. Different, wary, even hostile… But they were here.

And somehow, something in me said this was the first piece falling into place.

Maybe Aaron was right.

Maybe… I really could do this.

"My name is Elisa Gracefall," I said, raising my chin with what little dignity I had left. "I'm an alchemist. And I'm hiring you for a dangerous journey. The risk of death is high, but the rewards will be just as great."

Silence.

Then Kale crossed her arms and let out a bored sigh.

"At least it won't be boring."