The wooden door creaked softly as I pushed it open.
It smelled of incense—thick, warm, and vaguely sweet. The kind Father always favored. The scent wrapped around me like an old memory. Inside, the house was just as I remembered, though somehow grander now, as if time had polished it while I was away. The floor was paneled in dark, gleaming wood, mostly covered by a carpet woven with moons and river-symbols. The front hall opened wide—a place clearly meant to welcome important visitors. A narrow hallway snaked to the left, leading to the backyard where Myrren used to chase the crows. Shelves lined the walls, stuffed with leather-bound books that hadn't moved an inch since I left.
Two wide sofas sat across from each other in the center of the room, plush and ornate. Between them, a low table was cluttered with open books, scribbled pages, two half-finished cups of tea, and a forgotten ink pen. Above us hung a star-shaped chandelier—its crystals swaying gently in the breeze that filtered through the cracked window. This room wasn't just for guests. It was where my father thought, debated, and schemed.
He guided me to one of the sofas, and I dropped into it. The cushion swallowed me whole. Gods, I thought. This is what wealth feels like—like being held by the clouds.
"So," Father said, folding his hands and giving me that familiar, amused smile, "how was your journey, son?"
"It was tiring... but exciting," I said, chuckling as I leaned forward. "You wouldn't believe what we found out there."
He didn't interrupt. Just watched me with those calm, waiting eyes.
"Well, as you know, we were sent on an expedition—twelve of us, all prepared. Or so we thought." I laughed, a bit bitter. "But Valemire's jungle? It was… wild. Living. We ran into more beasts than I could count. If it weren't for Captain Segeford, I don't think we'd have made it."
Elandor's eyes narrowed slightly. "Hmm. If my memory serves, Segeford is Emberlight-ranked, yes? That explains it. Still, I'm curious—who else was in your party?"
I smiled. "Yes, you're right. Captain Segeford was our leader. He's nearly your age but has the energy of a cart bull. Stronger than one, even. I've never seen a man throw an axe like that."
I paused, picturing Segeford's swing cleaving straight through a beast's torso like butter.
"Six of the fourteen were from Segeford's personal squad," I continued. "Three were Kindlings, and three were Ashborns—solid fighters, all of them. Then we had two scholars and two of the town guards from Valemoor."
Father raised an eyebrow, voice suddenly stern. "And the last two? Wouldn't happen to be Lady Silvy and Edward, would they? You didn't think you needed my permission to bring your friends on a dangerous mission?"
I gave him a sheepish smile, scratching the back of my head.
"Well... we needed a medic. And a cook. And they volunteered."
Father sighed, rubbing his temple. "You truly are my son—always armed with perfect logic. But Kael… that doesn't excuse the risk. What if something had happened to them? You're not a child anymore. Think before you act."
I looked down, nodding. "I know… I'm sorry."
His features softened, and he waved the tension away. "It's done. But next time, you ask."
He leaned back, pulling Myrren into his lap. She'd crept into the room silently, probably hiding behind the curtain this whole time. Her eyes lit up as she nestled against him, gaze locked on me. She always loved hearing about my adventures—even the ones I made up.
"Now," Father said, voice lighter, "tell me everything."
---
Two Months Ago – Arrival at Valemire
The bull-cart groaned as it trundled down the slope toward the village gate. Or… was it a city?
"Ahh, so this is Valemire?" Edward's voice piped up behind me. "Doesn't look like a village to me. More like a little city."
He wasn't wrong. Thick stone walls rose ahead of us, and the iron gate gleamed in the sun. Banners fluttered atop narrow watchtowers. This place was more fortified than I expected.
"It has to be," I said. "This close to the jungle? They'd be fools not to build strong walls."
Taren, another Kindling in our squad, let out a low whistle. "Still feels strange calling this a 'village.' Feels more like a fortress."
Our cart rolled to a halt in front of the metal gate. Two town guards stood watch, inspecting us with a mix of boredom and suspicion. Two of our own—guards from Valemoor—hopped down and approached them. I watched them speak, hand over documents, gestures flowing back and forth. It was a calculated move—sending guards from the noble house itself to ensure direct communication. Scholars and adventurers were too… unreliable.
Papers were handed over, names exchanged. A long pause. Then, at last, the gates creaked open.
The scent hit me first.
Bread. Warm, golden-crusted bread. Mixed with sweat, dung, and dust—but it was the bread that struck me.
Valemire smelled like bread. Warm, crusty, fresh-baked bread. That, and mud, and dung, and sweat. The roads weren't paved like in Valemoor. Instead, the ground was packed dirt, covered in footprints, bull-hoof indentations, and food stains. There were four carts parked near the entrance, and dozens of people filled the narrow roads—barking prices, carrying baskets, shouting at lazy bulls. Shops lined the sides of the street, offering fruits, dried meat, flowers.
"It's definitely a village now," Silvy said, hopping down beside me. Her white coat was already picking up dirt. "Though a rather noisy one."
"Smells more like a bakery," Edward added cheerfully.
Silvy laughed.
Then, a deep voice cut through the noise.
"We move to the ruins tomorrow. Rest today. Rooms are ready at the local inn. Gather there. We'll discuss plans tonight."
Everyone turned. Segeford stood at the head of the group like a boulder given life. Two massive axes hung on his back, and even his voice seemed to shake the air. It wasn't just loud—it had presence. Power. The kind that made you straighten your back and watch your words.
Even now, after weeks with him, he still gave me goosebumps.
He walked off toward the market, probably to scout supplies.
Meanwhile, the town guards handed the cart driver a pouch of coins. Payment for the long journey. I watched the driver smile faintly, tucking the pouch away as though it were gold itself.
The rest of us gathered our gear. I slung my bag over my shoulder, inhaling the scent of dust and old leather. We followed the others down the road, toward the inn that would be our shelter for the night.
The Ruins waited tomorrow.