The morning after the Trial was grey, the sun hidden behind low, bruised clouds.
House Veylan did not hold ceremonies for the exiled.
Alaric stood in the cobbled courtyard with only two companions: Harun, his guard and the man who'd taught him his first parry, and Lira, who looked as if she'd been carved from the same cold stone as the keep's walls.
The rest of the household watched from the windows above.
No one came down.
Harun adjusted the strap of the pack slung over his shoulder. "We'll ride until we reach Kessryn Pass by nightfall. Beyond that, the weather will turn."
Alaric's gaze flicked to the stables, where three horses were already saddled. His was a rangy grey, not one of the fine war-breeds reserved for heirs, but strong enough for the miles ahead.
"Does Father truly think sending me north will make me vanish faster?" Alaric asked quietly.
Lira stepped closer. Her voice was low, but her eyes searched his face. "The Frontier is where they send troublemakers and the unwanted. It's also where they forget about them."
"And you?" he asked. "Why are you coming?"
Her lips curved faintly—not quite a smile. "Because someone has to make sure you don't starve before winter."
Harun swung into his saddle with a grunt. "We're burning daylight. Mount up."
From the high balcony of the solar, Earl Feren Veylan stood watching the courtyard below. Lady Meridyn entered without a sound, her pale gown trailing across the marble like mist.
"It will look like banishment," she said quietly.
"It is banishment," Feren replied. "But it is also the safest path. The Myth rejected him in front of the Twelve—Theren will see an opportunity to strike. If Alaric stays here, he'll be dead within a season."
Her fingers tightened on the balcony rail. "The Frontier will not be kind."
"It's kinder than our kin," Feren said. "And Harun will watch him. Lira too. If he's strong enough, he'll survive. If not…" He let the thought die.
Meridyn's eyes followed their son as Harun handed him the reins of a rangy grey horse. "Do you believe he'll return?"
Feren didn't answer immediately. "I believe the North changes a man. Whether it makes him strong enough to come back… that is his trial now."
The first stretch from the Veylan estate was a quiet one. The path cut through the ancient forest, tall pines and oaks standing like watchful guardians. The air smelled sharp with pine resin and damp earth. It was only a few hours' ride, about a third of a day to reach Veylan City, but the silence between Alaric, Harun, and Lira was heavy, as if the forest itself pressed down on them, reluctant to let them go.
When the thick trees finally gave way, the land opened to rolling hills dotted with small farms and hamlets. Smoke curled from stone chimneys, and the first signs of the city appeared. Fluttering banners and sky-splitting silver spires could be seen from afar.
As they entered the city gates, a bustle of life surrounded them. Merchants hawked goods in colorful stalls: bolts of dyed cloth, fragrant spices, and pottery glazed in muted blues and greens. Children darted between crowds, laughing and shrieking. The scent of roasting meat mingled with the sharp tang of leather and sweat.
Harun led them through the twisting streets toward the central market square. Massive stone statues of long-dead Veylan ancestors loomed over the square, their faces stern and eyes cold as they watched over the city.
"Veylan City is a hub for trade between the northern frontier and the southern provinces," Harun said. "It's rougher than most cities but honest in its own way. Folk here deal with the wild every day."
Harun's gaze sharpened. "We need to be careful here. The city draws all kinds—merchants, traders, and travellers from all over the kingdom. It's a crossroads for those heading north to the frontier or south to the heartlands. Folks here are rough but mostly honest."
Alaric scanned the bustling crowd with a practiced eye, his hand resting lightly on the shaft of his spear. "We'll gather supplies and rest briefly. Then we push on before dark."
The trio moved through the narrow, twisting streets toward the central market square, where the hum of voices and the clatter of horse hooves blended with the clang of smithies hammering out blades and horseshoes. Stalls overflowed with goods from across Arista: dried meats, bundles of herbs, bolts of fabric dyed in rich blues and reds, and barrels of fragrant spices. The air was thick with the scents of roasting meat, fresh bread, and smoke from countless hearth fires.
As they passed a wide-open square near the southern gate, Alaric's attention was caught by a large caravan preparing to break camp. A dozen wagons, covered in patched leather tarps, stood clustered around a fire. The caravan was guarded by a handful of armed men and women, all clad in worn travel leathers and sturdy boots stained from months on the road.
One of the merchants, a broad-shouldered woman with sun-kissed skin and sharp eyes, was barking orders to a few packhorses while checking the load lists pinned to a rough wooden board.
Harun nodded. "That's the band we want. Traders moving goods between the southern cities and the frontier settlements. They know the roads, the dangers, and the best way forward."
Lira approached cautiously, her gaze steady. "We need supplies and safe passage beyond Kessryn Pass. And maybe some news."
The merchant woman turned and sized them up. "That is not a problem, as long as you have the silver to pay."
Alaric then stepped forward and slapped a bag by his waist. The sound it made seemed to satisfy the woman.
The woman's expression softened just a little, though her eyes stayed sharp. "The frontier's no place for the faint-hearted. But we do what we must to survive." She gestured toward a rough wooden table near the fire, laden with maps, dried meats, and metal tools. "Sit. We'll talk."
As the sun sank lower behind the silver spires of Veylan City, Alaric, Harun, and Lira shared a simple meal with the caravan. Stories of bandit raids, sudden storms, and treacherous passes filled the air. The traders spoke of strange creatures prowling the northern forests and of small frontier towns clinging stubbornly to life against the wild.
"Once you cross the pass," the merchant woman warned, "the land changes. The trees grow taller and darker. The nights bite sharper. And the beasts… well, you'll want sharp eyes and steady blades."
Alaric listened intently, the weight of the coming journey settling like cold stone in his gut. Yet beneath the fear and uncertainty was a growing resolve. The exile was only the beginning.