Chapter 4: First Steps in Veridia
The morning of his departure dawned crisp and clear, the air carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth, a familiar Windmere scent that now felt both comforting and achingly poignant. The entire Ashford family stood by the edge of the village, a small, somber group, waiting for the Academy carriage that would take him to Veridia. The moment was heavy with unspoken emotion, a knot in Rowan's throat that made it hard to swallow. He hugged Garen, feeling the solid strength of his father, the familiar scent of iron and coal clinging to him. It was a silent farewell, a powerful embrace that spoke volumes of unspoken pride and concern. Garen's hand, calloused and rough, patted his back, a gesture of reassurance.
He embraced Elira next, burying his face in her shoulder, drawing comfort from her warmth, her soft murmur of "Be safe, my heart. Remember your lessons. Remember us." Her hands, still retaining that faint, comforting heat of a fire mage, smoothed his hair, a final, tender touch.
And then he knelt, pulling Lily into a tight hug. She clung to him fiercely, her small body trembling slightly. "I'll be back, Lily," he promised, his voice thick with emotion, a vow etched into his soul. "Before you know it. And we'll spar again, I promise. You'll have to show me all your new trick shots."
"You better," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder, clinging to him tightly. He could feel the wetness of her tears seeping through his tunic. "Don't forget us. Don't forget Windmere. Don't forget me."
"Never," Rowan vowed, pulling back just enough to look into her tear-filled eyes, a fierce determination in his own. "How could I? You're my family. My home." He gently wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "And you'll have to write me long letters, telling me everything. Especially about your archery." He even managed a small, reassuring smile for her, trying to ease her sadness.
A distant rumble announced the approach of the Academy carriage, a sleek, well-maintained vehicle drawn by two sturdy, well-groomed horses. The driver, a kind-faced Human with a neatly trimmed beard, pulled the reins gently, bringing the carriage to a halt. He cleared his throat gently. "Time to go, young master."
Rowan nodded, his resolve hardening. He gave his family one last, lingering look, imprinting their faces, their warmth, their love into his memory, a shield against the daunting unknown that lay ahead. Garen and Elira stood arm in arm, their expressions a mixture of pride and quiet sorrow, waving slowly. Lily, still standing by herself, waved frantically, her small figure growing fainter until she was just a speck against the backdrop of their familiar cottage. A profound sense of loneliness washed over him, a familiar ache from his Takaru life, a ghost of the isolation he once knew. But this time, it was tempered by the warmth of their love, a comforting ember in his heart, a promise of return. He was leaving Windmere, but Windmere, and the love of his family, would always be a part of him, a constant, guiding light in the vast, new world he was about to enter.
He climbed into the carriage, the plush velvet seat a stark contrast to the simple wooden benches of Windmere. The door closed with a soft thud, a definitive sound that marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. The carriage lurched forward, slowly at first, then picking up speed, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the dirt road carrying him further and further away from everything he knew.
Rowan pressed his face against the window, watching his family grow smaller and smaller in the distance. He watched until the last glimpse of Lily, a tiny, waving figure, vanished behind a bend in the road. A sigh escaped him, a mix of sorrow and anticipation. The road to Veridia was long, a blur of new landscapes, bustling towns, and the constant hum of anticipation.
The quiet, familiar fields of Windmere, with their gentle slopes and scattered wildflowers, gradually gave way to rolling hills, then dense, ancient forests. The towering trees cast long, shifting shadows, their branches intertwined like gnarled fingers reaching for the sky. The air grew wilder, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the comforting woodsmoke of his village. He saw glimpses of wildlife – a startled deer darting through the undergrowth, a hawk circling lazily overhead. Each new sight was a fresh piece of information, absorbed by his keen mind.
Rowan spent the first few hours in quiet contemplation, the images of his family vivid in his mind, replaying their farewells. He ran his thumb over the Ashford crest on his sword hilt, a tangible link to home, a smooth, cool comfort against his skin. The Æstra System, ever-present, remained quiet, allowing him this moment of introspection, a period of transition, of mental adjustment. He felt the familiar hum of its presence, a silent acknowledgment of his internal state.
As the day wore on, his innate curiosity, a blend of Rowan's youthful eagerness and Takaru's intellectual drive, began to reassert itself. He couldn't help but observe the passing world with keen interest, his analytical mind already at work. He saw small, isolated farmsteads nestled in clearings, their inhabitants wary but welcoming, offering him water and a place to rest in exchange for news of the outside world. He noticed the scars of monster attacks on barn doors, the nervous glances of farmers at the encroaching forest line. This was the frontier, raw and untamed, a place where strength and vigilance were paramount, where survival depended on more than just academic knowledge.
They passed through bustling market towns, their streets filled with merchants hawking their wares, their voices a cacophony of commerce. He saw different styles of architecture, from sturdy stone cottages to half-timbered inns, each reflecting the local culture. He noticed the varying crops in the fields, the subtle shifts in the accents of the people they passed, the way their clothes and customs changed with the landscape. His "Cultural Immersion" quests began to subtly activate, noting his observations and rewarding him with minor Wisdom gains. Each new sight, each new sound, was a lesson, expanding his understanding of the world beyond Windmere.
The carriage stopped for the night at a bustling inn in a mid-sized town called Oakhaven. The common room was loud and crowded, filled with travelers, merchants, and a few rough-looking adventurers, their faces scarred and their armor worn. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, stale ale, and unwashed bodies. Rowan, feeling a pang of loneliness amidst the boisterous crowd, found a quiet corner by the hearth, its crackling fire offering a small measure of comfort. He ordered a simple, hearty meal of stew and fresh bread, savoring the unfamiliar flavors.
As he ate, he overheard snippets of conversation, his keen ears picking out details from the general din. Tales of dangerous beasts in the northern mountains, of cunning goblins raiding trade routes, and whispers of political unrest in distant kingdoms. He heard adventurers boasting of their latest delves into forgotten ruins, of treasures found and monsters slain. He listened intently, his "Knowledge Quests" subtly activating, absorbing the raw, unfiltered information. He learned about different monster types, their weaknesses and strengths, about the various factions vying for power in the larger cities, about the flow of trade and information across the realm. It was a crash course in the wider world, a stark contrast to the sheltered existence of Windmere. He felt a surge of excitement, a renewed sense of purpose. This was what he had come for – to understand, to learn, to become stronger, not just in theory, but in the harsh crucible of reality.
Later that night, in the small, cramped room he shared with the driver, Rowan couldn't sleep. The unfamiliar sounds of the inn, the distant shouts, the creaking of old timbers, kept him awake. He rose quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping driver, and moved to the small window, gazing out at the starlit night. He pulled out his new training blade, the lighter one Garen had forged for him, and began to practice his mana channeling in secret. He closed his eyes, focusing on the subtle hum of energy within him, refining his control. He envisioned his Arcanefencer blade, shimmering with elemental power, cutting through imaginary foes, deflecting unseen blows. He practiced the subtle shifts between fire and wind, the seamless integration of magic and steel. He was preparing, not just for the Academy, but for the life that awaited him beyond its walls, a life he knew would demand every ounce of his skill and resolve. The system, a silent partner, registered his diligent practice, subtly increasing his "Mana Control" and "Elemental Proficiency" stats.
The next few days of travel were similar, a steady progression towards the grand city. Rowan continued his observations, his mind a sponge, soaking in every detail of the changing landscape and the people within it. They passed through more varied terrain – rolling plains that stretched for miles under an endless sky, then into denser woodlands where the trees stood ancient and watchful, their branches intertwined like gnarled fingers. He encountered other travelers on the road – lone merchants with wary eyes, grizzled trappers with tales of the wilderness, and even a few aspiring adventurers heading towards Brightwood, their faces a mix of eagerness and trepidation. He exchanged pleasantries, listened more than he spoke, absorbing their stories and their cautious advice. Each interaction, each new piece of information, added to his growing understanding of the world.
The air grew thicker with the scent of industry and human activity, the sounds of distant cities replacing the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves. The sky, once a clear, open blue, began to take on a faint, hazy glow in the distance, a sign of the sprawling metropolis ahead. The anticipation within Rowan grew with each mile. He thought of Master Aerion's words, of the promise of unparalleled instruction, of the chance to truly hone his unique gifts. He thought of his family, and the pride he wanted them to feel.
When the spires of Veridia finally rose on the horizon, gleaming under the afternoon sun, Rowan felt a profound sense of awe. The city was a sprawling tapestry of white stone and glittering rooftops, a stark contrast to his quiet village, a vibrant, living entity that seemed to stretch endlessly. Its sheer scale was breathtaking, a testament to centuries of civilization and magical advancement. He could see massive, ornate bridges spanning wide rivers, towering structures that seemed to pierce the clouds, and intricate, glowing runes etched into the very fabric of the city walls, pulsing with ancient power.
As they drew closer, the streets teemed with life – not just humans, but proud Leonin with their golden manes and regal bearing, their powerful forms moving with an innate grace; ethereal Sylvans whose movements were as graceful as forest breezes, their voices like whispered melodies; sturdy Draconians with scales glinting in the sun, their presence commanding; and countless other beast folk, each with their own unique features and customs, their cultures interwoven into the city's fabric. The air vibrated with a cacophony of languages, the tantalizing scent of exotic spices from distant lands, the earthy aroma of street food, and the distant murmur of countless lives, a symphony of urban existence that overwhelmed his senses. It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once, a sensory overload that both thrilled and intimidated him. He felt a surge of nervous excitement, a tingling sensation in his mana, as if the city itself was a vast, living organism pulsing with power.
The carriage navigated the bustling streets, past grand marketplaces overflowing with vibrant goods, past towering guild halls where adventurers and merchants conducted their business, and through districts filled with elegant homes and bustling workshops. The sheer energy of the city was infectious, a stark contrast to the quiet simplicity of Windmere. He saw mages openly casting minor spells, their hands glowing with faint light, and warriors sparring in public training yards, the clang of steel echoing through the streets.
Finally, the carriage reached its destination: the Aetherium Academy. It was a sprawling complex, a city within a city, nestled in the heart of Veridia. Its ancient stone walls were adorned with glowing runes that pulsed with a soft, inner light, and the sounds of clashing steel from training grounds mingled with the distant hum of magical incantations from lecture halls. It was a microcosm of the world, a place where knowledge and power converged, where aspiring mages and warriors from every corner of the realm came to hone their craft, drawn by the promise of unparalleled instruction. The gates, massive and ornate, stood open, inviting him in.
The driver helped him unload his meager belongings – his satchel, his travel sword, and the lighter training blade Garen had made. "Good luck, young master," the driver said, his kind eyes twinkling. "The Academy is a grand place. You'll do well. Just try not to get lost in the first week." He chuckled, a warm, friendly sound.
Rowan nodded, a silent thank you, his throat suddenly tight with a mix of gratitude and apprehension. He stood before the massive, ornate gates of the Aetherium Academy, his heart pounding with a mixture of trepidation and fierce determination. He was here. He was alone, in a new, overwhelming world, but he was here. And he was ready to learn. The hum of the Æstra System, usually a subtle presence, now resonated with a quiet anticipation, mirroring his own. His journey had truly begun.
He stepped through the gates, the ancient stone archway seeming to hum with latent magic. The air inside the Academy grounds felt different, charged with a palpable energy – a hum of concentrated mana, the distant clang of steel from training yards, and the murmur of countless voices engaged in academic discourse. It was a symphony of learning and power, a stark contrast to the rustic simplicity of Windmere. Students of all races and disciplines moved purposefully through the courtyards, some with scrolls tucked under their arms, others with practice weapons in hand, a vibrant tapestry of aspiring talent.
His first task was to report to the Registrar's Office, a grand, echoing chamber filled with towering shelves of meticulously organized scrolls and a constant flurry of students and faculty. The sheer volume of parchment and the intricate, glowing diagrams on some of the scrolls were mesmerizing. A stern-faced Human administrator, Master Thorne, with spectacles perched on his nose, sat behind a massive oak desk, surrounded by stacks of ledgers. He greeted Rowan with a curt nod, not looking up from his work.
"Name, student?" Master Thorne asked, his voice dry and efficient, his quill scratching across parchment.
"Rowan Ashford, sir," Rowan replied, trying to keep his voice steady amidst the bustling office. "From Windmere. I was invited by Master Aerion."
Master Thorne paused, his quill hovering over the parchment. He looked up, his expression shifting from detached professionalism to one of mild surprise, his eyes, magnified by his spectacles, scrutinizing Rowan. "Ah, the Arcanefencer from the fair. Master Aerion spoke highly of you. A rare talent, indeed. Welcome to Aetherium Academy, young Ashford. Your room assignment is Dormitory Three, Room 17. Your introductory schedule is here." He pushed a thick packet of parchment, sealed with the Academy crest, across the desk. "Classes begin tomorrow. Don't be late. And try not to cause too much... disruption." He gave Rowan a pointed look over his spectacles, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
Rowan took the packet, his fingers brushing against the crisp parchment, feeling the weight of expectation. "Thank you, Master Thorne. I won't."
Finding Dormitory Three was an adventure in itself. The Academy was a labyrinth of ancient stone buildings, winding paths, and hidden courtyards, each with its own unique charm and purpose. His Mana Sense, a skill he had honed in the Whispering Woods, subtly guided him, picking up the faint mana signatures of the Academy's ley lines – powerful currents of pure mana that flowed beneath the very foundations of the buildings – and the ambient magic of the students. He navigated through bustling courtyards where students practiced basic spells, their hands glowing with faint light, conjuring small flames or gusts of wind, and past quiet cloisters where others pored over ancient texts, their hushed murmurs echoing softly. He saw students of all races, practicing their crafts, their faces a mixture of concentration and youthful enthusiasm. The sheer diversity was captivating.
His room, 17, was small and functional, with a sturdy wooden bed, a simple desk, and a window overlooking a vibrant training courtyard where students were already engaged in mock combat, their practice weapons clashing with rhythmic precision. It was empty, a blank canvas awaiting his presence. He unpacked his meager belongings, placing his travel sword carefully by the bed, its familiar weight a comfort. His new training blade he propped against the desk. The charm Elira had given him, humming faintly with her protective magic, he tucked under his pillow, a small piece of home in this grand, unfamiliar place.
As he was settling in, arranging his few books and the small, hand-carved wooden bird Garen had given him, a soft knock came at his door. He opened it to reveal a girl with shimmering, bushy auburn fur, bright, curious eyes, and a mischievous grin that crinkled the corners of her nose. It was Rynessa , the Fox-kin girl he had briefly met outside the Registrar's office, her presence a welcome burst of familiar energy in the overwhelming newness of the Academy. She carried a stack of books that seemed almost too tall for her, precariously balanced in her arms.
"Hi!" she chirped, her bushy tail twitching with excitement, almost knocking over her stack of books. She quickly steadied them. "You must be Rowan, right? I'm Rynessa . I saw you at the Registrar's. You're the one Master Aerion was so excited about, the Arcanefencer. That's so cool! I'm in Room 18, just next door. Thought I'd introduce myself. This place is huge, isn't it? I got lost three times just trying to find the library, and then I found it, but then I got lost trying to get out with all these books!" She laughed, a light, musical sound that filled the small room, instantly dispelling some of Rowan's lingering apprehension.
Rowan felt a genuine smile touch his lips, a rare occurrence since leaving Windmere. Rynessa 's open, friendly demeanor was a welcome antidote to the overwhelming grandeur of the Academy. "It is," he agreed, nodding. "I almost got lost myself just finding this room. Nice to meet you, Rynessa ." He extended a hand, and she shifted her books to shake it, her grip surprisingly firm and warm.
"So, Arcanefencer," she began, her eyes sparkling with an insatiable curiosity, "what's your element? Or do you have all of them? Is it true you can imbue your sword with fire? And wind? Can you do ice? Oh, and what about earth? I'm an illusionist, mostly. It's really fun! You can make people see all sorts of things that aren't there. Like, I made Master Thorne think his ledger was floating earlier, just for a second. He almost dropped it!" She giggled, covering her mouth with a paw, her eyes wide with unrepentant mischief.
Rowan chuckled, a genuine, easy laugh. "Slow down, Rynessa ! Yes, I can channel elements. Fire, wind... I'm still working on ice and earth, but I'm getting there. And no, illusions aren't really my focus, but that sounds incredibly impressive. Master Thorne seems like he wouldn't appreciate that much mischief." He felt a lightness he hadn't realized he'd missed, a simple, easy camaraderie that reminded him of Lily. The system, in the background, registered: "Social Interaction: Positive. Companionship: Rynessa – Level 1."
Over the next few days, Rynessa became his unofficial guide and constant companion. She showed him the quickest routes through the labyrinthine Academy, pointed out the best places to study (and to sneak snacks from the kitchens, much to the exasperation of the culinary staff), and introduced him to the intricacies of Academy life. She was a whirlwind of energy and information, her endless questions and playful banter a constant source of amusement. They spent hours in the vast Academy library, its shelves reaching to the vaulted ceilings, filled with ancient tomes and modern magical treatises. Rowan, channeling Takaru's scientific curiosity, devoured the texts, often finding connections between seemingly disparate magical theories and the logical frameworks of his past life. Rynessa , with her quick wit, would often simplify complex concepts for him, or point out practical applications he might have missed in his intense focus on theory.
Their days were a blur of intense training and academic rigor. Rowan's schedule was demanding, split between the sun-drenched training courtyards and the arcane lecture halls. He found himself thriving in the structured environment, his mind eagerly absorbing new knowledge and his body adapting to the rigorous physical demands.
In the sword yard, he quickly found himself drawn into the competitive atmosphere. He met Roric, a skilled and disciplined Human warrior student. Roric was a year older than Rowan, already powerfully built, specializing in heavy weaponry. He wielded a massive two-handed sword with surprising agility for his size, his movements economical and devastating. Their first sparring match was a clash of titans. Roric's raw strength and unwavering technique pushed Rowan to his limits. Rowan, relying on his speed and the subtle arcane enhancements to his movements, darted around Roric's powerful blows, his lighter blade a blur. He infused his sword with a burst of wind, deflecting a heavy strike that would have shattered his guard. Roric grunted, impressed, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Not bad, Arcanefencer," Roric said, leaning on his sword, breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. "You move like a shadow. Never seen a mage fight like that. Most of them stand back and throw fireballs."
"And you hit like a mountain," Rowan replied, his own breath coming in ragged gasps, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Impressive. It's hard to get past that guard of yours."
Their rivalry was fierce but respectful, a constant challenge that pushed Rowan to refine his physical combat, forcing him to adapt his magical speed and agility to counter Roric's powerful blows. Their sparring matches soon became legendary among the students, often drawing crowds of onlookers eager to witness the clash of steel and skill. The system registered: "Rivalry Detected: Roric. Combat Skill: Increasing Rapidly."
On the magical side, Rowan found himself frequently challenged by Nyxara, a gifted Sylvan mage with a natural affinity for elemental magic. She had long, dark hair woven with intricate braids, and eyes that shimmered with arcane power. She could conjure miniature storms or eruptive bursts of flame with effortless grace, her spells flowing like a natural extension of her will. Their first magical duel in the practice hall was a dazzling display of arcane power. Nyxara unleashed a torrent of ice shards, forcing Rowan to create a shimmering fire shield with his blade, melting them into steam. She then conjured a swirling vortex of wind, trying to disorient him, but Rowan used his own wind magic to stabilize himself, even redirecting some of her spell back at her.
"You're... surprisingly resilient for a blade-wielder," Nyxara admitted, her brow furrowed in concentration, a hint of respect in her voice. "Most Arcanefencers focus too much on the physical. Your arcane defense is... unusual. And that wind redirection... I've never seen a warrior do that."
"And your raw power is formidable, Nyxara," Rowan countered, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. "It's hard to get close enough to strike when the air itself is trying to freeze me." He winked playfully. "Perhaps we should combine our efforts sometime. Imagine the chaos we could cause." The system confirmed: "Arcane Proficiency (Elemental Defense): +4. Arcane-Physical Synergy: +6."
Beyond the structured classes, Rowan's friendship with Rynessa blossomed. She was his confidante, his partner in mischief, and his window into the social intricacies of the Academy. Rynessa , with her quick wit and mastery of illusion, was a constant source of amusement and insight.
"Rowan, you're always so serious in class," Rynessa teased one evening, as they sat in the common room, theoretically studying, but mostly talking. Her bushy tail twitched with amusement. "Don't you ever want to just... not think about mana pathways and sword forms? You look like you're about to solve the mysteries of the universe every time you open a textbook."
"Sometimes," Rowan admitted, closing his textbook with a sigh, rubbing his temples. "But there's so much to learn. So much to understand. The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don't know. It's... addicting."
"And so much to experience!" she countered, pulling him up from his chair. "Come on. I heard there's a new street performer in the Artisan's District. They say he can make entire buildings disappear! And I'm pretty sure he uses illusion magic, so I need to go investigate his technique. For academic purposes, of course." She winked, her eyes sparkling.
Their excursions into Veridia became a vital part of Rowan's Academy experience. The city was a sprawling, vibrant metropolis, a stark contrast to the quiet life of Windmere. With Rynessa as his guide, he explored the bustling marketplaces, where merchants from every corner of the realm hawked exotic wares and strange spices mingled in the air. He saw proud Leonin artisans crafting intricate jewelry, their golden manes gleaming under the sun. He watched Draconian guards, their scales glinting, patrolling the city walls with an imposing presence. He learned about the different districts, from the scholarly enclaves near the Academy to the rough-and-tumble docks, from the elegant Sylvan gardens to the boisterous Orcish taverns. Rynessa , with her innate curiosity and knack for observation, would often point out things Rowan might have missed.
"See that merchant, Rowan?" she whispered one afternoon in the bustling Grand Bazaar, pointing with a subtle flick of her ear. "He's selling 'genuine' dragon scales, but my Mana Sense tells me they're just cleverly enchanted lizard scales. A good illusion, but a rip-off. The mana signature is all wrong."
Rowan, activating his own Mana Sense, focused. He saw the faint, artificial shimmer around the scales, a subtle distortion in the mana. "You're right," he murmured, impressed. "It's subtle. How did you know? Mine just tells me it's... off."
"A good illusionist knows how to spot a bad one," she winked, a playful grin on her face. "And a good friend keeps his Arcanefencer from getting swindled. Besides, you're too busy thinking about grand theories to notice the small cons." The system chimed: "Cultural Immersion: Veridia – Level 2. Insight Gained: Detecting Minor Illusions."
They often found themselves in the vast city archives, a dusty, echoing building separate from the Academy library, where historical records and ancient maps were kept. Rowan, driven by Takaru's insatiable thirst for knowledge, would pore over old texts, seeking information about the Æstra System, about ancient Arcanefencers, or forgotten magical techniques. Rynessa , ever helpful, would use her nimble fingers to navigate the brittle pages, sometimes creating small illusions of light to help him read in the dim corners, or conjuring a silent, floating quill to take notes for him.
"This is fascinating, Rynessa ," Rowan said one evening, pointing to an old map depicting ancient ley lines crisscrossing the continent, their faint glow visible only to his Mana Sense. "It's like the world has its own circulatory system, just as Mother said. And these points... they're mana wellsprings, like the one in Windmere. But these are so much larger, so much more powerful."
"So, the world is alive, just like us," Rynessa mused, tracing a line on the map with her paw, her eyes wide with wonder. "Makes you wonder what else is out there, doesn't it? What other secrets are hidden? And what happened to the people who drew these maps? What kind of magic did they wield?"
Their bond deepened with each shared adventure, each late-night study session, each quiet conversation under the city's enchanted lights. Rynessa 's playful spirit balanced Rowan's intensity, and his quiet strength offered her a sense of grounding. Their hands would brush accidentally as they reached for the same book, their gazes would linger a moment too long, and a comfortable, unspoken intimacy grew between them. The system continued to track their connection: "Companionship: Rynessa – Level 5 (Deep Bond). Charm: Increasing."
As his sixteenth birthday approached, Rowan felt the familiar hum of the Æstra System grow more pronounced, a subtle shift in its guidance. He had mastered the foundational elements of his class, pushed his physical and arcane limits, and gained a broader understanding of the world beyond Windmere. He was no longer just a student; he was an Arcanefencer, ready to step out of the Academy's protective embrace and into the wider, more dangerous world. The Academy had given him the tools, the knowledge, and the confidence. Now, it was time to use them.
He still wrote home every week, long letters filled with descriptions of his classes, his training, and his new friends, carefully omitting any details that might worry his parents. He described the grand library, the bustling markets, and the diverse students, painting a picture of a vibrant, exciting new life. He received letters back, filled with news of Windmere, of Garen's new forge projects, Elira's latest herbal remedies, and Lily's increasingly impressive archery feats. These letters were a lifeline, a constant reminder of the home and family he carried in his heart. They were a tether to the quiet life he had left behind, even as he embraced the grand, chaotic symphony of Veridia. He knew his family would be proud of the man he was becoming, an Arcanefencer ready for whatever challenges lay ahead. He often found himself smiling as he read Lily's lively descriptions of her latest "epic battles" with the village squirrels, or Garen's gruff but loving advice about staying grounded. Elira's letters, filled with subtle wisdom and quiet encouragement, always brought a sense of peace. He was ready, not just for himself, but for them.