This is my story—born in a world made of ashes, still echoing with the memories of a time long buried beneath centuries of silence and survival. They say it's been seven hundred years since the great war, maybe more. Who really knows anymore?
They call this time the *Era of Adventurers*, a name given by those of us who remain. We travel, we fight beasts, we uncover epics and whisperings buried deep beneath time. And today, my story begins the moment I finally reached my destination.
(Present time)
The square was alive with heat, dust, and chaos. I stepped off the bull chariot—a cart tugged by a beast larger than life, more than two meters tall, packed with muscle, easily weighing over three tons. Around me, a dozen more like it moved in and out, parked and loaded. This was a station, clearly. Full of noise, sweat, steel, and humanity.
The heat hit me first. Warm country. Warm wind. My boots struck dry stone roads, and my eyes took in everything: vendors shouting, meat sizzling, clothes whipping on lines, sweat glistening on skin. My own were sticky and dusty, my clothes rugged from weeks of work—but still clean, still stitched with the pride of my family.
The square buzzed with voices. Children running, vendors shouting, animals groaning under weight. I could smell spices and steel, hear the clang of tools, and taste the dryness in my throat. My clothes were still dirty from the journey—dusty, wrinkled, but still neatly kept. I must've looked like I didn't belong. Too well-kept for a place like this, where people lived day to day, hand to mouth. Eyes followed me as I passed, whispering silently.
"Ahh… I'm so tired. I just want to sleep," I murmured under my breath, rubbing the back of my neck.
I walked on. Past smiths and hunters, merchants haggling, kids scraping coins together. This road connected Valemoor to nearby towns—and to the capital beyond. Always busy, always alive.
My attention snagged on a group of workers heaving a massive iron gate into place, fitting it into a stone archway of what looked like a new building. Their skin was tanned and burned from sun and sweat, their bodies lean but corded with muscle. Their faces were worn but alive. Resilient.
"A hardworking community," I muttered, with no small amount of respect.
A wave of hot wind blasted through the street. It was past seven in the evening, but the heat hadn't gone anywhere. Sand rose with the gust, stinging my eyes and cheeks. I shielded my face. Sweat had already begun its journey down my brow to my chin, forming thin streams of relief that the wind kissed cool.
"Damn, it's hot even now? How do they live like this every day?" I thought, wiping sweat from my eyes. I kept walking.
Half an hour later, the road began to change. Fewer shops. Less noise. The buildings grew taller, cleaner. The crowd thinned to nothing. Horse-drawn carriages rolled past on smooth, wide streets. This was a district of wealth and quiet, where silence cost money and every wall had eyes.
I stopped in front of a large wrought-iron gate set between two stone pillars. On one of them, a plaque read:
Headmaster Elandor Vaelwyn
The plate was relatively new but stained dark at the edges—rain and time had left their marks. A breeze carried the scent of flowers over the walls, mingled with the moisture from what I knew was a fountain beyond. Home.
The gate creaked open. A tall man in his fifties, dignified but warm, stood behind it.
"Welcome back, Kael," he said with a smile.
"Well met, Uncle. How've you been?" I asked, smiling back.
"Like a horse," he laughed. "Tired, overworked, and still alive."
I chuckled and stepped inside. The garden greeted me like a memory—lush, bright, alive. The buzz of insects, the flit of butterflies, the soft burble of the fountain at its heart. Flowers stretched their necks toward the evening light, and the breeze wrapped around me like a mother's hug. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting it all in. This... this was peace.
A creak behind me. Wooden doors opening. Then, rapid footsteps—light, joyful, familiar.
"Brother! Brother's back!"
She came running, seven years old and all sunlight. Her arms wrapped around me before I could even kneel. I scooped her up, kissed her forehead. The garden, for all its beauty, just became a hundred times brighter.
"What did you bring me?!" she asked, eyes sparkling.
My smile froze.
"Ah... I forgot," I said softly, almost too quietly.
Her expression crumpled. "What... Brother!!"
I opened my mouth to explain—but then the door creaked wider. Three figures stepped out.
Leading them was my father.
Elandor Vaelwyn. Tall, serious, always in white. Spectacles perched on his nose, giving him that timeless scholar look. Behind him, a noble and his butler. The noble was young, maybe twenty-five. Dark cloak, strong frame, face like carved obsidian—elegant, but stern. He exuded the kind of presence that makes other men straighten their backs.
They finished their conversation with a handshake. The noble turned to leave, pausing only to look directly at me.
His eyes pinned me—stern, assessing, but not unkind. Like a father judging a son he hadn't yet decided to accept.
I bowed little. He nodded back.
I watched his carriage roll away. Just before it passed the gate, I saw the name etched in gold on the back:
House Thornvale
I blinked, turned to my father.
"A noble ?" I asked.
"I was expecting a 'How've you been, Father?', I taught you better," he said, smirking.
I rolled my eyes. "Alright then—how have you been, Headmaster Elandor Vaelwyn?"
He laughed. "Better. Now that you're home."
We stood there for a moment, something quiet passing between us.
"I'm a headmaster now, Kael. Meetings with nobles come with the burden. They need our resources. Our minds."
He didn't need to say more. I nodded. I understood. The world had changed. We all had roles to play.
"Well, can't argue with that," I said, grinning.
"Come. I want to hear about your research. Did you reach the ruins of Valemire?"
He ushered me through the wooden door, voice full of curiosity, pride, and something else—something deeper.
I stepped inside. Home.
And somewhere, beyond the walls of comfort and laughter, the world kept whispering.
Murmuring.