The road from Mailie to Caldemount was a river of stone and soil — winding, patient, and shaped by the boots of generations before them.
Solis and Ada followed its rhythm, walking side by side as summer clouds rolled overhead in slow waves. A soft breeze tugged at their cloaks, and the sun was kind — warm but not stinging. The trees along the roadside arched above them like quiet sentinels, sheltering them from the harsher wind that occasionally swept in from the hills.
Solis carried only the essentials: a leather satchel slung over one shoulder, a waterskin at his hip, and an old, battered axe strapped along his back. The axe wasn't pretty. The head was dulled, its shaft slightly chipped, but Solis kept it polished and bound in cloth when not in use — a tool of survival for sure.
"I don't know how you're not sweating in that long coat," Ada said, adjusting her new armor with a grunt. "You look like a wandering librarian."
"Librarians usually don't carry axes," Solis replied.
Ada flashed him a grin. "Only the good ones do."
---
Encounters Along the Way
The road wasn't entirely uneventful. On the morning of their second day, they came across a merchant wagon that had slipped into a muddy ditch. The cart was half-tilted, one wheel submerged, and the old mule looked more annoyed than distressed.
The merchant, a round fellow with nervous eyes and a voice like overcooked noodles, waved at them frantically.
"Help! Please! I can't lift it, and I've got fragile stuff in there!"
Ada rolled up her sleeves. "What kind of fragile stuff?"
"Glass! Tea sets from Solaris!" he exclaimed. "One cracked teacup, and my business reputation goes poof!"
Solis set down his satchel. "Alright. Ada, lever the wheel. I'll lift."
"Of course. You lift," Ada muttered. "Mr. Broad Shoulders over here."
They coordinated — Ada wedging a thick branch under the stuck wheel while Solis used all his strength to pull the cart from its sunken position. The merchant practically wept in relief when the wheel popped loose and the cart was level again.
He tried to reward them with an unopened crate of dried peach snacks.
Ada accepted it before Solis could refuse. "Food is always payment," she said with a wink.
Later that day, they passed a group of children on a field trip from a nearby hamlet. One kid tripped near a steep ditch, and Solis, quick-footed, leapt in to catch him by the wrist before he fell in.
His coat got muddy. The boy hugged him around the waist, crying, "Thank you, mister knight!"
Ada didn't say anything for a while after that, until they stopped for lunch by a creek.
She quietly handed him a cloth to clean his coat.
"You're good with people," she said softly. "You don't even try to be, but… you are."
Solis didn't reply right away. He just wrung out the cloth and smiled faintly. "They deserve someone who won't look away."
---
Arrival at Caldemount
By the third day, Caldemount rose on the horizon like something out of legend — its outer walls cut clean and sharp from ash-gray stone, rimmed with steel plating to withstand both siege and time. Windmills turned slowly along the outer cliffs. The flags of the provincial capital fluttered high in the breeze, dark green and silver with a stylized mountain crest.
Solis stopped for a breath as the city came into view. "That's… huge."
Ada smiled knowingly. "You will get used to it."
"You really grew up here?" he asked.
"Yep. Middle ring of the city. My dad's an accountant for Bank of Caeroth — keeps books, files papers, all that dull stuff." She narrowed her eyes, then added teasingly, "Which is probably why I decided to become a knight."
Solis laughed. "I can't picture you sitting at a desk all day."
"I'd turn the desk into a weapon out of boredom," she said dryly.
As they neared the main gate, two city guards — both wearing polished steel armor and visored helms — stepped forward, halberds in hand.
"Halt. State your business."
Solis and Ada reached into their belts and held up their C-rank Postknight badges. Ada's glinted under the sunlight. Solis's was newer, still polished, but already bearing the faint smudge of travel.
The guards inspected them closely, exchanged a nod, and stepped aside. "Proceed. Keep your weapons sheathed inside the inner walls."
"Understood," Ada said, nudging Solis to keep walking. He had started gawking at the intricate gearwork above the gates — rotating mechanisms that regulated outer security during high alert.
Once inside, Solis nearly stopped in his tracks.
---
Caldemount's Inner World
The capital was a living machine.
Towering buildings of stone and copper-lined wood climbed toward the clouds, stacked with balconies, cables, and chimneys. Steam hissed from rooftop vents. Pedestrians bustled past in layers of robes, armor, uniforms, and tunics — tradesmen, scholars, nobles, smiths, and children. Mechanical lifts clicked up and down rail lines embedded in buildings. Birds roosted on brass gargoyles. A boy flew by on what appeared to be a glider pack before crashing harmlessly into a hay stack.
"Okay," Solis breathed, eyes wide. "This is definitely not Mailie."
Ada gave him a look. "Don't fall behind. City pickpockets love dreamers."
He jogged to match her pace. "So where exactly are we staying?"
"Dahlia's Inn. My aunt owns it. She's got a spare room on the top floor. Great food, and she never asks questions unless you break something."
"I want to visit the Armory first to find my sword first," Solis said. "I… it's been on my mind this whole journey."
Ada slowed slightly. "I know. But rest first. You'll need a clear head when we go there."
"You know where it is?" he asked, surprised.
"I do. Trust me. It's not going anywhere."
Solis hesitated for a moment. Then nodded. "Alright."
---
Dahlia's Inn
Nestled between a bookstore and a lamp-post vendor near Caldemount's mid-ring, Dahlia's Inn had the gentle character of a place loved by locals. A flowering vine curled up one window. Warm orange light glowed behind glass panes etched with the symbol of a tea kettle and crossed forks.
Inside, the smell of baked cinnamon and roast lamb wrapped around them like a welcome hug.
Behind the counter stood Dahlia — a stout woman with thick braids coiled around her head, flour on her sleeves, and piercing gray eyes that softened as she spotted Ada.
"Ada, my girl!" she called, wiping her hands. "You finally remembered you have family in this city!"
Ada hugged her. "Had to bring a guest to get your attention."
Solis bowed slightly. "Solis. From Mailie."
"Well, Mailie must be raising knights properly again," Dahlia said, sizing him up. "You're taller than I expected."
Ada smirked. "Everything's taller than you expect, aunt."
They were shown to a room at the top — two beds, a slanted window, and a small writing desk. Solis placed his bag down with care.
"Looks cozy," he said.
Ada flopped onto her bed. "Compared to Mailie dorms? This is royalty."
Later, over dinner (roast chicken, seasoned root stew, and apple tart), Dahlia kept her questions light — how the road was, how the weather had been, whether they'd seen the migrating Thunder Geese along the hill ridges (they hadn't).
When she noticed Solis staring quietly out the window, she offered him more stew.
"You've got something on your mind," she said.
"My sword," he replied.
Dahlia gave Ada a look.
Ada placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Tomorrow. I promise. We'll go find it together."
Solis didn't answer, but he nodded. Slowly.
---
Night at Caldemount
That night, while Ada helped Dahlia clean up the inn's main floor, Solis stood by the window in their room, watching the city glow beneath the moonlight. Streetlamps flickered on like stars being born one by one. The air was cooler here, crisper.
From his pocket, he took out the wolf-head token from Tedric and held it against his chest.
"Tomorrow," he whispered. "Let's see if I'm ready."
Downstairs, Ada dried a mug with a cloth, glancing up at the ceiling. She could sense his thoughts even through the floorboards.
She smiled faintly. "He'll be fine."
Dahlia raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
Ada didn't hesitate. "Yeah. His will is stronger than it seems like."
---
Meanwhile...
Far beneath Caldemount, in the sealed chamber surrounded by the crimson fog, the girl sat by a glyph-marked pillar, her fingers folded in contemplation. Her head covered in darkness. Her boots clicked against obsidian stone.
A low voice echoed from the far wall — deep, tired, and patient.
"Is he here?"
She opened her eyes. "Yes. The boy with the red soul has arrived."
Silence stretched.
Then came a chuckle. A slow, crumbling sound.
"Then the chains will braek soon."
She stood and walked away into the mist. "All we need is one crack, father. Just one."
The fog curled behind her like a second skin.
"I will surely save you just see, father."