The next day had already begun. The caravan now rolled out of the snowy north, the wheels clattering softly along a paved stone road speckled with wind-blown sand. The air grew warmer, gentler. In the distance, rising like a dream, stood Glicent, the capital of the continent—named after the Dragon-ranked mage King of Wisdom who founded it.
Glicent shimmered like a holy vision. Gold-brushed towers arched toward the heavens, interwoven with massive trees whose branches blossomed year-round. Cascading waterfalls poured from balconies into channels that lined the sandy streets, creating a soft, ever-present whisper of running water. Enchanted griffins flew above, their wings casting brief shadows across the sunlit walkways. The entire city thrummed with gentle magic.
There was no need for a massive gate. Glicent was wrapped in a Level 10 magical barrier, visible only as a shimmer in the sunlight—a testament to its unassailable power. Even travelers who had no business within found themselves stopping, simply to marvel at its impossible beauty.
As the caravan drew nearer, its splendor grew. Lush flowers floated midair beside rune-carved lamp posts. Children laughed near levitating fruit vendors. Above, robed mages soared gracefully across the sky on winged creatures. It was the kind of place that felt more imagined than real.
At the edge of the barrier, four guards stood ready. Two towered above in golden posts, and two more waited at ground level, clad in tan armor glowing softly at the seams—magic woven directly into the metal. One of them raised his voice:
"Who wishes to pass?"
He was older, voice steady with the confidence of duty. Beside him stood a younger guard, face taut with nervousness.
Odin leaned forward from the driver's bench. "We carry Gladus and his son Silius—participants in the Day of Battle."
The older guard straightened. Recognition flickered across his eyes, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "Gladus, the dragon-slayer..."
He waved them through.
As the caravan rolled past, the younger guard's hushed voice followed behind. "That was him? They say he killed a whole pack of woodbears alone…"
Silius, still seated, couldn't help but glance down. A strange warmth bloomed in his chest—not pride, exactly, but the fragile hope of becoming something worth that kind of whisper.
But that feeling vanished the moment he turned back to the window.
Glicent overwhelmed the senses. Market squares burst with color—merchants shouting, glass vials of enchanted dust glowing beneath silken tents, stalls selling weapons that pulsed with runes. Mage-forged instruments played themselves on street corners. And there, amongst it all, other tournament fighters walked proudly—polished armor, sharp eyes, some already flanked by admirers.
Up above, fountains leapt from rooftop to rooftop, and flowers bloomed even in midair. The city was a living tapestry of luxury and power. It smelled of spices, magic, and promise.
"Don't lose focus," Gladus muttered, eyes fixed on the far-off Tower of the High Mage. "Most of these people grow soft from comfort. Few have bled. Good times make weak men. Remember that."
Silius nodded faintly. His father's voice didn't shake him anymore—but the truth inside it still struck hard.
The carriage turned toward the far side of the city, winding through tree-shaded streets until they stopped before a tall, vine-wrapped gate. A name was etched into the stone arch overhead: House Elowen.
His mother's estate.
The home was a graceful relic of old Glicent—tall crescent-shaped towers of polished white stone, wrapped in violet-flowered ivy. Soft blue runes glowed at the edges of the windows, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The fountain at the front courtyard featured a serene statue of a woman—his mother—cupping a flame in her hands, water flowing around her in concentric rings. It was quiet, noble, and peaceful.
Silius stepped down from the carriage slowly, breath caught in his throat.
"Your mother's blood built this place," Gladus said, finally breaking the silence. "Use it. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, you'll be measured."
And with that, the gates of House Elowen creaked open, welcoming the heir of a legacy forged in both sword and sorrow.