For the first time since the turmoil began, I woke up without a nightmare in Mister Calenor's house. This quiet morning was a luxury my ten-year-old self had long forgotten how to afford. I felt safely cocooned in a small, warm room in the Oakshade district of Ironhaven, far from the smoky ruins of my village and the horrific, blood-stained maze of Bladewalk.
Sunlight, filtering through the window frame, filled the room with a gentle, orange glow. The space was sparse but comforting, clearly a guest room—perhaps Liora's old nursery. The usual piles of books and scrolls that cluttered the rest of the house were absent here, yet the walls were lined with neatly rolled blank parchments, waiting perhaps for an ancient spell or a forgotten history to be inscribed upon them. The thick velvet curtains and the building's heavy stone construction kept the late autumn chill firmly outside, wrapping me in a blanket of unfamiliar security.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My feet met a plush, woven rug, rather than the cold, splintery wood of our village floor; I felt the house silently cushion my every move. I walked to the window and looked out. Oakshade. It was exactly as Calenor had described it: a district of quietude and scholarship. The streets were wide and clean. Instead of shouting merchants, the only sounds were the distant clatter of a carriage and the faint, rhythmic chime of a smithy working somewhere deep in Stonepass.
I focused on the pain in my shoulder. The wound, a mere graze from Marc's claw, still throbbed—it was nothing compared to the emptiness left by losing my family and home, yet it was a persistent ache. But physical pain was easier to accept. It was real. It was something that could be overcome. The emotional void, however, felt infinite.
Just then, a faint scent caught my attention; it was a specific blend that pulled me out of the present moment and back into the complex, overwhelming emotions of the previous night. It was a comforting mix of baking spices and a whisper of dry lavender. I closed my eyes, and the memory of that initial moment of silent, utter safety washed over me.
[FLASHBACK BEGINS: A Warm Sanctuary]
Our walk from Cistern Square into Oakshade with Calenor was like crossing the border into another kingdom. As the pavements shifted to cobblestones and the simple, wooden buildings gave way to stately stone residences draped in ivy, my farmer's clothes suddenly felt threadbare and ridiculous. I gripped the pastries Calenor had bought, meant for me, though the thought of hoarding such a luxury felt wrong.
CALENOR: "Be ready, James," Calenor whispered, his voice hushed, indicating the imposing three-story stone house, draped in ivy, that we were approaching. "Control your gaze. Priests and scholars value discretion."
He didn't knock. Instead, he reached out his arm and delicately touched a tiny, almost invisible rune carved into the doorframe, a faint, silvery light flickering momentarily from his fingertip.
CALENOR: "A simple warding spell," he explained, noticing my wide eyes. "Mostly to keep unwanted salesmen out. Every sensible scholar knows a few minor tricks. Nothing like a battle mage, of course," he added, as if reminding himself of the distinction as much as me.
The heavy oak door swung inward, opening into a corridor lit by soft, glowing orbs suspended in wrought-iron cages—a distinctly magical touch. The air inside hit me: a comforting blend of the baking spices, the dry lavender, and the sweet, faint smell of rare ink.
Then, I saw her. Calenor's wife, Elara.
She was an Elf like Calenor, but she carried herself differently. Where Calenor was lean and scholarly, Elara was graceful, her movements fluid. Her hair was the color of autumn leaves, gathered in a complex braid. But her eyes were the striking difference—instead of the silver I was used to seeing in Ironhaven's Elves, hers were a warm, deep emerald green.
ELARA: "Calenor, where have you been all day?" she asked, her voice holding more weariness than true anger. "It's nearly midnight, and you missed supper. Liora has been practicing basic illumination and animation spells all evening, and frankly, I worry for our possessions."
Calenor coughed nervously and gestured toward me.
CALENOR: "Elara, my dear, allow me to introduce James Caolerin. My new assistant. And," his voice dropped, "he's had quite a rough first day. I've offered him sanctuary."
Elara's emerald eyes quickly scanned me from head to toe. She noticed my disheveled state, the dirt, the flicker of terror in my eyes, and the clear tension around my wounded shoulder. She needed no explanation. She was a mother, or at least someone who instantly recognized a wounded child.
ELARA: "Sanctuary?" she asked, her tone immediately softening. "Calenor, you don't offer sanctuary to a child who looks like he's escaped a battlefield. You bring him in and you mend him."
Ignoring the pastries in my hands, she stepped forward and placed a hand on my unwounded arm. Her touch was surprisingly strong, reassuring.
ELARA: "You are safe here, James Caolerin. No harm will come to you under this roof."
JAMES: "T-Thank you, ma'am," I stammered, instantly overwhelmed by this simple human kindness.
Before I could process the words, a girl who looked a year or two older than me bounded down the stairs. This was Liora. She had the same silver hair as her father, but it flowed down her back in wild, untamed waves. Her eyes were a striking blueish-grey. Her appearance affected me significantly; she was very beautiful. But of course, I didn't mention this to Master Calenor—it was against my principles, and besides, after everything he'd done to save me, if I said something like that, he would surely throw me out. She wore simple, homespun clothes. In her hand, she held a smooth, glistening orb of obsidian that pulsed with a faint, dark indigo light. This was no mere toy; it vibrated with a subtle power I could neither lift nor understand.
LIORA: "Father!" Liora cried, skipping the last three steps. "I almost mastered the Simple Illumination Spell! Did you see?" She thrust the orb forward, and the indigo light momentarily intensified, then sputtered out with a faint ozone smell in the air.
LIORA: "Huh? Who is this boy, Father?" she asked, then pointed at me.
CALENOR: "Liora, this is James. He will be staying here for a while."
Liora tilted her head, her silvery eyes examining me with intense, almost unnerving curiosity.
LIORA: "I don't know who you are, but are you interested in magic? Maybe attack spells?"
ELARA: "Liora!" Elara gently admonished. "Enough! The boy is tired. Dearest James, Liora is a student of the Ancient Arts at the local academy. She's terribly curious."
LIORA: "No, I'm not!" Liora protested, but then lowered the orb. She looked back at me, this time less intensely. "Welcome. I hope you don't snore."
Elara led me to a small washroom.
ELARA: "Clean yourself up. I'll bring you some clean clothes—they'll be a little large, but you won't sleep in those street rags. Calenor, put on some comforting tea. And fetch the Healing Salve from the second shelf in the study."
Calenor, the astute scholar and part-time merchant, instantly transformed into a flustered but obedient husband.
CALENOR: "Yes, dear, right away, dear."
The feeling of profound relief that enveloped me at that moment was deep. It wasn't just physical safety; it was the sudden realization that I had found a semblance of family in this strange new life, an entirely unexpected, cohesive unit. The house wasn't just a roof over my head; it was an environment of order, learning, and quiet magic.
That night, finally lying in the warm, soft bed, Elara reapplied the salve to my shoulder. It was a thick, herbal mixture that smelled of mint and earth, and it immediately took the sharp edges off the pain. Calenor stood beside her, watching.
CALENOR: "James," he had said, his voice serious, "You are safe here. But if you are to survive in Ironhaven, you must promise me one thing: Do not go back to Bladewalk. It is a place that consumes the innocent. It leaves nothing but ghosts and assassins in its wake."
I nodded my promise. Lying there, under Elara's care and Calenor's stern but gentle guardianship, the child within me—the one who had died the night the village burned—stirred again and slowly began to breathe.
I drifted off to sleep, my final thoughts a complex medley of Marc's ruthless laughter juxtaposed with the faint, comforting glow of Liora's magic orb in the hallway.
[FLASHBACK ENDS]
I opened my eyes, the scents of the oven and dry lavender pulling me back to the present. Elara's kindness and Calenor's warnings felt like a lifetime ago, though only a single night had passed. The wound on my shoulder already felt better than it had in the tavern.
I dressed in the clothes Elara had given me—soft, slightly oversized garments. They were plain and comfortable. I looked nothing like the farmer I once was, and even less like the terrified, desperate child who had stabbed a man and thrown a knife at an assassin.
My goal this morning was clear: to erase the debt and begin earning knowledge. I had to prove my worth not just as an errand boy, but as an apprentice. I still owed Calenor for the advance wages, which meant I would be working for free for a long time. But the work was secondary. Survival was primary, and in a city full of Elves, Dwarves, and secret mages, survival was written in books.
I walked to the door and eased it open.
The sounds of morning drifted up from downstairs, clear and inviting: the rhythmic clinking of a pot, a simple, soulful Elven melody hummed by Elara, and Calenor's low, murmuring voice.
I began my descent down the wide, wooden staircase, moving from the secure refuge of the second floor down toward the bright, warm kitchen. The sight of domestic peace in the house was almost blinding. Calenor was seated at a large, round table, a massive, leather-bound tome open before him instead of a newspaper. The morning light caught the gold script on the cover, and I could barely make out the title: "Ancient Factions and the Sundering of the Veil."
CALENOR: "Good morning, James," Calenor said, looking up from the book, pushing his spectacles down his nose a fraction. He wasn't smiling broadly, but his eyes were pleasant. "Sleep well, I trust?"
JAMES: "Better than I have in a very long time, sir. Thank you and Lady Elara."
Elara, standing by the stove, turned and offered a genuine, warm smile.
ELARA: "No thanks necessary, child. Now, come, sit. I've made fresh oatcakes and berry jam."
I sat at the table, my eyes immediately drawn to the enormous book Calenor was reading. It felt wrong to ask about it, but the title was too close to Zhal'Thuun's words for me to ignore.
JAMES: "Sir," I began tentatively, accepting the warm porridge Elara placed before me, "is that book... is it related to what Durgan asked you to order?"
Calenor paused, tracing a long, thin Elven finger across the yellowed page.
CALENOR: "Partially. Durgan and Thalendir are researching the First Dawn War—a rather complex period. But no, this is not a delivery. This is my own study. Just reviewing some old texts in my collection."
He closed the book with a soft, leathery thud.
CALENOR: "But since you are here, James, let's talk about the more immediate future. You are a clever boy. You have courage, though perhaps you are a little too rash. You also possess a serious lack of knowledge. That ends today. You will continue your work at the shop, but you will also begin to read. Starting with the trade ledgers. If you are to survive in Ironhaven, you must first understand how it operates."
This was not just a job; it was an apprenticeship. It was exactly what I had hoped for. The debt of silver was a physical burden, but the debt of kindness was far heavier, and I vowed to repay it with my utmost diligence.
Just as I brought the first spoonful of porridge to my lips, an abrupt, urgent shriek erupted from upstairs. It wasn't a girl's scream; it was a metallic, high-pitched sound of magic, followed instantly by a loud CRASH!
ELARA: "Liora's awake," Elara sighed, rubbing her temples. "She's trying to animate her cat toy again. I think Grandmother's antique Porcelain Vase finally gave up."
Calenor calmly returned to his book, his cool absolutely unshaken.
CALENOR: "A simple Failure of Form. Nothing serious. Probably just a few broken vases. Ignore it, James. In this house, chaos is merely a prelude to learning."
But I couldn't ignore it. The world had taught me that chaos always came with a cost. And looking up at the ceiling, I couldn't help but wonder if the chaos I had fled had followed me even here, simply replacing the screams of Orcs with the high-pitched shriek of a small, dangerous spell. It was time to leave the sanctuary of the table and begin learning. The real work of survival was about to start.