Morning broke over Solgrath like a muted echo.
The sky was pale, streaked with grey clouds that hung low over the stone walls. The capital stirred with soft sounds—vendors setting stalls, bells chiming in the temple square, and the slow march of armored boots through the streets.
They had been lined up before dawn. The guards said little, only that they were to be "evaluated."
And in Solgrath, that word wasn't meant to scare. It simply meant order — the city's way of ensuring balance in a world that often had none.
The air was sharp with a scent of old stone and damp iron. Ren stood close beside Raiken, his small fingers clutching Raiken's coat.
"I don't like this," Ren whispered.
Raiken gave a slight nod. "Neither do I."
But they stayed. They waited.
Before the crowd, under a high arch draped with the kingdom's crest, stood a line of officials. Soldiers in black and gold. Healers with soft eyes. A few robed mages, their gazes sharp beneath their hoods. And in the center — quiet, still, yet impossible to ignore — sat the Seer.
She didn't command attention through force or power, but through presence.
Her long silver hair fell like a veil, soft against the rich fabric of her dress — a flowing gown of deep midnight blue, embroidered with delicate threads of silver that shimmered faintly in the morning light. The patterns were subtle — winding across her sleeves, trailing near the hem — intricate enough to suggest craftsmanship, but never loud enough to boast.
A dark silk blindfold wrapped smoothly across her eyes, giving her an almost otherworldly calm. Her lips were pale, untouched by color, and her face remained still — not cold, nor warm, but quietly unreadable.
Gloved hands rested gently atop each other on her lap. She sat with a composure that felt neither rigid nor soft, but something in between — as if the world itself slowed around her.
There was no visible aura. No grand whispers. Only the hush that settled whenever eyes fell upon her, like the instinctive quiet before a coming storm.
And when her voice came — soft, clear, cutting gently through the crowd — it carried with it a calm weight, one that silenced even the restless.
"Step forward when called. You will be seen. You will be judged."
One by one, the refugees were called forward. Each stepped into the circle where the Seer stood, answering soft-spoken questions none of the others could hear. The Seer would place a single hand upon their heads, whisper words beneath her breath… and then a decision.
A simple nod.
Or a soft command to the guards.
Those taken aside… never returned.
Raiken watched carefully. No cruelty. No spectacle. The process was clinical, efficient… almost too smooth.
His throat felt tight as the line shrank. And then—
"Raiken. Ren."
The guard's voice cracked through the air like a whip.
Raiken gripped Ren's hand. Together, they stepped forward.
They stood before the Seer.
The Seer tilted her head slightly as they approached. Her blindfold remained fixed, but Raiken felt the strange weight of her gaze nonetheless.
"Step closer," she said softly.
They obeyed.
Seated with a stillness that felt deliberate, the woman spoke—her voice soft yet commanding. "Your names?"
"Raiken. And my brother, Ren," Raiken said, voice steady.
Her hand hovered briefly before settling gently on Ren's head. Her fingers were warm.
Ren flinched but didn't pull away.
"You've seen death," she said softly. "You've lost much."
Ren nodded.
"And yet… something remains."
Her hand moved to Raiken.
The moment her palm touched his hair, Raiken felt it — a strange pull, like invisible threads tugging at his heart, unraveling, searching.
"...Interesting," she murmured.
Her expression remained still, but her lips parted, a faint breath escaping.
"You…" she whispered — so low the guards couldn't hear.
Raiken tensed.
But then—
She pulled her hand back. Straightened.
"They are clear," she said aloud. "They may stay."
The guard gave a short nod and gestured for them to step aside.
The Seer smiled, faint but real. "We'll meet again."
And then she turned to the next in line, as if nothing had happened.
It was over before Raiken could process it.
Relief and confusion twisted inside him as they were led away from the courtyard.
They passed narrow alleys and silent stares until they reached the edge of the Lower Rings once again.
But before they left that place entirely…
Hours later, as the courtyard emptied…
In a shadowed chamber beyond the stone walls…
The Seer loosened the knot of her blindfold and let it fall into her hand.
Her eyes gleamed — polished silver, sharp as moonlit steel.
"You saw it?" a low voice asked from the doorway.
A man leaned against the archway — draped in a flowing crimson kimono, a katana resting against his side. His face remained hidden in the angle of the fading light, his presence quiet, yet commanding.
"I did," the Seer replied softly. "The younger one… something stirs inside him. Dormant. But dangerous."
The swordsman said nothing. His fingers brushed the hilt of his blade — absentmindedly, like a habit forged from countless battles.
The Seer let the silence stretch before continuing. "He will be drawn into it, whether he chooses or not."
At that, the swordsman gave a slow, reluctant nod.
"I had hoped…" His voice trailed off.
The Seer turned her silver eyes toward him. "You hoped wrong."
The swordsman's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then it begins."
A faint, unreadable smile touched her lips. "You were right."
"I wish I wasn't."
He stepped back into the deeper shadows.
"And the elder one?" he asked quietly.
The Seer's expression softened — not with pity, but something closer to regret. "Unknown… but fate has touched them both. And where fate lingers… nothing stays untouched."
A long silence followed.
Then, like a whisper swallowed by the dark, the man's figure dissolved into shadow — gone without a trace.
The Seer stood alone, blindfold in hand, eyes gleaming like fractured mirrors.
"Winds have shifted," she murmured, her voice a mere breath. "And they… will stand where all paths collide."
Later that day…
Raiken and Ren stood before the worn gates of the orphanage.
The building was old — stone cracked with age, wood faded by rain. But it was clean. Quiet.
A tall man opened the door. No words. Just a nod.
They stepped inside.
The door shut behind them with a soft, final thud.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Raiken placed a hand on Ren's shoulder.
"We're here," he said.
Ren nodded.
A new beginning.
A different kind of battle.
And somewhere within the heart of Solgrath… a story neither of them could imagine had already begun.