For many days he journeyed eastward, crossing vast plains and dense, unyielding forests. The cold winds and piercing rains slowed his steps, yet they could not extinguish the fire in his heart that drove him forward.
Along the road he encountered many kinds of people. Some were simple farmers struggling for survival, while others were mysterious travelers whose origins remained unknown. From their conversations, one theme was repeated again and again:
— "Lately, a dark shadow has been moving in the Eastern Continent. People are vanishing, villages and settlements are becoming deserted…"
These words stirred Nevann's thoughts with growing unease, urging him to hasten his pace.
At last, after crossing a deep emerald forest, he beheld the towering stone walls of a great citadel, shrouded in pale mist. This was the gateway to the Eastern Continent's largest city, the port of Arvendral.
Torches burned along the ramparts, and watchmen peered intently into the distance. As Nevann approached, one of the guards called out in a firm voice:
— "Who goes there? From where, and to where?"
Nevann stepped forward, drawing a travel document from his leather satchel.
— "I am a wanderer from the Western Continent, bound for the East. I seek to learn of this land… and perhaps uncover some truths," he replied softly.
The guard narrowed his eyes and studied him.
— "Hardly anyone has come from outside of late. Letting someone as bold as you pass is no simple matter. But…" After a pause, he gave the signal, and the gates creaked open.
As the door swung wide, the glow of lanterns and the clamor of voices poured through the mist. Nevann set foot into this new land.
Yet deep within his heart, a voice whispered:
— "Your true journey begins now. You will face not only perils from without, but also the shadows within…"
---
The City of Arvendral
As the gates opened, Nevann was greeted by broad streets paved with stone and tall houses with soaring rooftops on either side. The walls were adorned with ancient carvings and symbols, and at every corner, torchlight flickered against the night.
The closer he moved toward the city's center, the more vibrant the movement of its people became. Merchants shouted their bargains, chatter filled the air, the hooves of hired horses struck against stone, and the clinking of steel all merged into a unique rhythm of life.
The Outer Streets
Lining the outer streets were rows of small shops. Old tomes, rare magical trinkets, silver ornaments, and handmade crafts of common folk were all on display. In one corner, an elderly wizard flipped through pages of a spellbook, showing sparks of light to children who paid him with coins. Across the way, a blacksmith with a soot-covered face hammered steel upon an anvil, sparks flying as he forged a gleaming blade—children stood by, staring in awe.
The Central Square
In the heart of the city lay a grand square where crowds gathered to trade and converse. At its center stood a towering stone monument, said to honor the hero who first founded Arvendral. Around it, fountains spilled water that shimmered in the moonlight, casting a silver glow across the plaza.
At one side of the square, taverns and night-houses hummed with activity. Musicians played flutes and stringed instruments, singers filled the air with folk songs, and weary travelers let their troubles melt away. Yet, in shadowed corners, cloaked figures whispered in hushed voices, their intentions unreadable.
The Tower of Sorcery
The city's tallest structure was the Tower of Sorcery. Its peak rose into the clouds, its walls glittering as though encrusted with gemstones. Thirteen stories high, it was home to the most skilled mages, who devoted themselves to ancient texts and forgotten knowledge. Each night, a radiant blue light shone from its peak, like a beacon, as though guarding the entire city.
The Garrison and Military Hall
To the west stood the garrison, where armored soldiers marched in strict formation, their weapons gleaming under torchlight. Drills echoed throughout the yard. At the gates of the military hall, a black banner bearing the image of a lion flapped in the wind—Arvendral's emblem of strength and vigilance.
Nevann's Impression
As Nevann walked through the city, he felt as though he had stepped into an entirely new world. The cities of the Western Continent were grand, but Arvendral was different—every step, every glance carried a sense of vigor and hidden mystery, as though the city itself was alive.
Yet beneath the hum of the crowd and the glow of the lights, Nevann's heart felt an undercurrent of unease. People laughed, traded, and sang, but in the eyes of some lingered an unspoken fear—an uneasiness that whispered of secrets best left unspoken.