Stone cellar. Damp air. One torch fixed to the wall.
Gallant hung with his arms bound above his head. Mana restraints locked around his wrists and fed into the stone. His shoulders trembled. His tunic was torn open. Bruises spread across his ribs. Dried blood marked his jaw.
The door opened.
Vernon stepped inside. Coat pressed. Gloves clean. Expression relaxed.
He stopped a few paces away.
“Well. You going to talk now.”
Gallant lifted his head slowly. Blood pooled in his mouth. He spat it onto the floor and breathed hard.
“I told you all I know.”
Vernon walked closer.
“I want to hear it again. Clearly.”
Gallant closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.
“We were on a material hunt,” he said. “Me. Rin. Tobi. Osbin.”
“Location.”
“Southeastern forest of Solaris.”
“Continue.”
“Our scout, Rin, noticed disturbance. Trees broken. Ground split. We felt the impact before we saw it.”
Vernon listened without interrupting.
“We moved toward it. Weapons drawn.”
“And.”
“We found a Feral Gray.”
“Alive.”
“No.”
Vernon’s gaze sharpened.
“Describe.”
“The body was torn apart. Spine broken. Chest ruptured. Earth beneath it cracked inward. Like something had struck from above.”
“With a weapon.”
“No.”
“Magic.”
“We didn’t see residue.”
“And the boy.”
Gallant swallowed.
“He was on the ground. Unconscious.”
“Armed.”
“No.”
“Injured.”
“Scratches. Bruising.”
“Clothed.”
Gallant hesitated.
“He was wearing leaves and vines.”
Vernon stared at him.
“Leaves.”
“Yes.”
“Vines.”
“Yes.”
“As clothing.”
“Yes.”
Vernon’s expression did not change, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
“No armor.”
“No.”
“No insignia.”
“No.”
“No pack.”
“No.”
“And no one else present.”
“No.”
Vernon paced once across the room.
“You are telling me an unidentified boy, dressed in foliage, annihilated a Feral Gray strong enough to fracture the terrain.”
“That’s what we saw.”
“You saw the aftermath.”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone witness the fight.”
“No.”
“Did he remember it.”
“No.”
Vernon stopped.
“And yet you requested I observe him later.”
“Yes.”
“Why.”
Gallant looked at him directly.
“Because of what we saw.”
“That is vague.”
“The earth was split beneath him,” Gallant said. “Not around. Beneath.”
Silence filled the chamber.
“And that suggested what.”
“That he was the source.”
Vernon stepped closer.
“And you reported this to your guild master.”
“Yes.”
“Guild Master Raiyo.”
“Yes.”
Vernon gave a quiet laugh.
“That old drunk.”
Gallant’s jaw tightened.
“Watch your mouth.”
Vernon smiled faintly.
“You serve him loyally.”
“He trained me.”
“He allowed a demon to observe one of his own members.”
“He didn’t know you were a demon.”
“He knew I wasn’t human.”
Gallant pulled against the restraints. Mana flared but held.
“You were hired to watch,” Gallant said. “Nothing more.”
“I watched,” Vernon replied. “I saw more than you did.”
He leaned in slightly.
“I saw frost form from his sweat. I saw mana react without chant. I saw instinct sharpen beyond reason.”
Gallant said nothing.
Vernon’s voice lowered.
“Where did he come from.”
“I don’t know.”
“That forest borders Celestia.”
“Yes.”
“And Celestia hides knowledge.”
“Yes.”
“Did you investigate inside their territory.”
“No.”
Vernon studied his face.
“You expected me to find something.”
“I expected you to confirm whether he was a threat.”
“And is he.”
Gallant hesitated.
“He doesn’t understand what he is.”
“That makes him dangerous.”
“He’s not malicious.”
“I did not ask that.”
Vernon stepped back.
“You truly do not know his origin.”
“No.”
“Not a rumor.”
“No.”
“Not a symbol.”
“No.”
Vernon watched him in silence for several seconds.
Then he straightened his coat.
“Very well.”
Gallant’s eyes narrowed.
Vernon walked toward the door, then paused.
“Get comfortable in my cellar,” he said calmly. “You may be here awhile.”
Gallant pulled against the restraints again.
“The more days that pass,” he said through clenched teeth, “the more my guild will notice I’m gone. They will come.”
Vernon smiled.
“They will find you.”
Gallant froze.
Vernon bowed slightly.
“Rest.”
He left the chamber. The door shut.
Gallant strained against the mana cuffs once more. Veins stood out along his arms. The bindings held firm. He slammed his fist against the stone floor in frustration. The impact echoed through the cellar.
The torch flickered.
_____
Midday sun over Zahara.
The temple gates stood tall behind Lars and Aery. Time had passed since the earlier spar.
Master Raizen stood inside the courtyard, arms folded.
“You will return tomorrow,” he said to Lars. “I need time to evaluate your flaws. You show promise. That does not mean you are refined.”
Lars nodded.
Raizen’s gaze lingered a moment longer, then he turned away.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Aery stepped closer to Lars.
“You didn’t have to wait,” Lars said.
“I wanted to,” she replied.
Her stomach growled loudly.
She froze. Her face flushed.
Lars laughed.
“You’re just like me after all.”
She lowered her head but smiled.
They exited the temple grounds. The gates closed behind them.
From inside the courtyard, Raizen watched their retreating figures. His expression shifted.
As a Retired S Rank. Decades of discipline. Yet the boy’s Ki prowess and reaction speed had exceeded most veterans he had trained.
“I will have to speak with Zahira,” he muttered.
Outside, Lars pointed toward the market district.
“That place,” he said. “Smells promising.”
Aery nodded.
They walked through narrow streets lined with vendors. Sunlight reflected off pale stone. Heat rose from the ground.
Lars stopped in front of a wooden sign carved with a slab of meat over crossed knives.
“That one.”
They stepped inside.
Warm air. Thick scent of roasted meat. Fat crackled over open flame. Voices filled the room. Tables crowded with merchants and adventurers.
Lars inhaled deeply.
His stomach tightened with hunger.
They found an empty table near the wall. The room was loud. Plates clattered. Smoke from the grill drifted through the air.
Lars sat back and stretched his shoulders. Aery folded her hands in her lap.
“So,” Lars said, “you’re from the Arcane Dominion of Celestia.”
Aery nodded.
He watched her for a moment.
“You said you chose to come to Zahara.”
“Yes.”
“Why.”
She looked down at the table.
“Celestia is closed,” she said. “It’s structured. Controlled. Everything revolves around mana. Towers. Academies. Ritual grounds. It’s beautiful. Clean. Efficient.”
She paused.
“It’s the best place for a mage.”
“Then why leave.”
Aery’s fingers tightened together.
“What kind of mage from Celestia can’t control her own power.”
Lars leaned forward slightly.
“Zahira said lack of control means high output.”
“It means I’m unstable,” Aery said. “It means people don’t want me in their party.”
Lars opened his mouth to respond but a waiter stepped up to the table.
“What can I get you two.”
Lars glanced toward the grill. The scent pulled him back to Solaris.
“Ironhide boar,” he said without thinking. “Do you have it.”
The waiter raised a brow.
“We do.”
“Two.”
Aery blinked but didn’t object.
The waiter nodded and walked off.
Lars looked back at her.
“Sorry. I just ordered.”
“It’s fine,” she said quietly. “I’ve never had it.”
He studied her face.
“You left because they saw you as weak.”
She shook her head.
“They saw me as dangerous.”
Lars didn’t respond immediately.
Aery looked up at him.
“When you told Hadrim you wanted to make your own guild,” she said, “did you mean it.”
He frowned.
“Mean what.”
“The guild.”
Realization settled in.
“Yes,” he said. “I meant it.”
His voice was steady. Not loud. Certain.
“I want to build something that’s mine,” he continued. “Not inherited. Not assigned. Mine.”
Aery watched him closely.
“I want to create a guild,” he said. “And protect it.”
“Do you not have a family.”
Lars paused.
He pictured marble halls. Formal dinners. Calculated smiles. A cup placed in his hand.
“I thought I did.”
His tone shifted. Flat.
Aery immediately lowered her gaze.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head.
“It’s fine.”
The waiter returned. Two heavy plates landed on the table. Thick slabs of meat, glazed and steaming. Fat still crackling along the edges.
The smell filled the space between them.
Lars didn’t hesitate. He cut into it and took a bite. Juice ran down his fingers. He chewed fast, almost aggressive.
Aery stared at him.
He swallowed and pointed at her plate.
“Eat.”
She cut a small piece and tasted it.
Her eyes widened. She covered her mouth as she chewed. Tears formed from the intensity of flavor.
“It’s good,” she said softly.
Lars nodded, proud.
“Not just anyone gets to eat this,” he said. “Even nobles don’t have access to it regularly.”
“Sounds expensive.”
He shrugged.
“Probably ten bronze.”
They kept eating until the plates were nearly clean.
The waiter returned and placed a small wooden board on the table.
Lars picked it up casually.
His expression froze.
“Fifty bronze per plate.”
Aery blinked.
“Each.”
He stared at the number again.
“That’s one silver for the both of us.”
He leaned back in disbelief.
“No wonder nobles don’t eat it often.”
Aery reached into her pouch and pulled out a silver coin.
She placed it on the table.
“I’ll cover it.”
Lars looked at her.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” she said. “You saved me from the sand wyrm.”
He hesitated.
She pushed the coin forward.
“Let me.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded once.
“Next time,” he said, “I’m picking something cheaper.”
She smiled faintly.
Lars and Aery stood from the table. Plates empty. The smell of roasted fat still clung to the air. Voices filled the room behind them.
Lars stretched his arms once, loosening his shoulders after the heavy meal. Aery adjusted the strap of her grimoire against her side.
They walked toward the exit.
The wooden door creaked open just as a group of adventurers stepped inside.
Five of them.
Armor worn from travel. Cloaks dusted with sand. One carried a spear across his back. Another had twin daggers hanging from his belt.
But one stood at the front.
He moved with calm precision. Tall. Broad shoulders. His armor was not ornate but well maintained. Dark steel plates fitted close to his body. No wasted weight.
A sword rested at his left hip.
Long grip. Slight curve to the blade. The guard was simple. No decoration. The weapon looked used often.
His hair was black and tied behind his head. His jaw sharp. A faint scar ran from the corner of his eyebrow down along his cheek. His eyes were steady. Focused.
Blade class.
The kind that trained for years before stepping into real combat.
He stopped briefly when Lars stepped past him.
Their eyes locked.
The man’s gaze did not move. It held firm. Measured. Studying.
Lars felt it immediately.
Not hostility.
Assessment.
The kind warriors gave each other without words.
Lars met the stare. Neither moved for a moment.
Then the man walked past him into the restaurant with the rest of his group.
The moment broke.
Lars and Aery stepped outside.
Heat from the desert air rolled over them. The street was alive again. Vendors shouted prices. Camels passed through the road pulling trade carts.
But Lars still saw that man’s face in his mind.
The posture.
The calm.
The confidence.
“You okay.”
Aery’s voice pulled him back.
He blinked and looked down at her.
“Yeah.”
“You stopped walking.”
Lars glanced back at the restaurant door briefly before continuing down the street.
“Just thinking.”
They walked through Zahara’s market lanes. Colorful fabrics hung above the streets, casting moving shadows across the ground. Merchants called out deals. Jewelers displayed rings and bracelets beneath shaded tents.
Lars moved slowly, taking everything in.
He wanted to ask Aery more about Celestia.
But every time the subject approached, she grew quiet.
He noticed it again now.
“You don’t talk much about your home.”
Aery looked ahead instead of at him.
“There isn’t much to say.”
Lars tilted his head slightly.
“You said it’s beautiful.”
“It is.”
“Full of mana.”
“Yes.”
“And full of mages.”
“Yes.”
He studied her expression.
“But you still left.”
She didn’t answer.
They continued walking.
Lars looked around at the city again.
Different races passed through the streets. Beastfolk merchants. Tall desert traders wrapped in cloth. Human adventurers with weapons across their backs.
Zahara was nothing like Solaris.
In Solaris, people watched status.
Here they watched strength.
Lars glanced at Aery again.
She walked carefully beside him. Wand at her side. Grimoire held close to her chest.
Timid.
Quiet.
But powerful.
Zahira had seen it.
Raizen had likely seen it too.
Lars wondered again about Celestia.
A nation of mages.
A closed kingdom.
An academy only their people could enter.
He looked at Aery again.
“Maybe she’s a noble,” he thought.
Then another thought crossed his mind.
“Maybe she’s a princess.”
He almost laughed to himself.
Aery noticed the expression.
“What.”
“Nothing.”
“You smiled.”
“Just thinking.”
They kept walking through the streets of Zahara while the afternoon sun hung high above the desert city.
Lars walked a few streets in silence, still thinking about the blade-class man from the restaurant. The image of his steady eyes stayed in his mind longer than he wanted.
He shook it off and scanned the street signs again.
“I need gauntlets,” he said.
Aery looked at him. “You didn’t have any before because you had no money, right?”
Lars paused.
His hands flexed once at his sides.
How could he answer that.
The pair he had owned was tied to Solaris. Tied to Osbin. Tied to evidence bags and accusations.
He didn’t respond.
He turned his attention to the streets and began searching for weapon signs.
Aery stayed close, matching his pace.
They passed stalls selling spices, woven cloth, and bottled perfumes. Passed a booth selling carved bone charms. Passed a smith hammering thin plates in the open heat.
Lars kept walking until he found a storefront with a hanging sign carved into a crescent blade crossed over a clenched fist.
The building was narrow, built into a sandstone wall. A shade awning stretched out over the entrance. Two lanterns hung on either side, unlit in daylight.
He stepped inside.
The air was cooler. Thick with the smell of oil, metal, and treated leather.
Weapon racks lined the walls. Swords of different curves and lengths. Scimitars with decorated guards. Straight blades with simple hilts. Axes with heavy heads. Hooked knives designed for close range. Spears with crescent tips.
Compared to Solaris, the selection felt different.
Less knightly.
More practical for desert fighting.
Aery’s eyes moved across the shop, looking for wands or grimoires. There were few. A small shelf held basic catalyst rods and cheap charms. Most of the inventory was built for Ki users.
Lars walked past the blades without stopping and went straight to the back where heavier gear hung.
Gloves.
Gauntlets.
He slowed when he saw them.
A pair of leather gauntlets reinforced with thin metal plating across the back of the hand. Fingerless design. Tight straps at the wrist. Simple. Functional.
They looked similar to the pair he once held in Solaris.
His chest tightened slightly.
He reached out and lifted them carefully.
The weight felt right.
The doorbell chimed as someone stepped from a side room.
A man appeared behind the counter. Middle-aged. Dark skin. Short-cropped hair. Strong hands stained with oil. A thin scar on his chin.
He studied Lars and Aery briefly, then gave a small nod.
“Looking for something specific.”
“Gauntlets,” Lars said.
The man’s gaze dropped to the pair in his hands.
He chuckled once.
“A Monk class.”
Lars looked up.
“You can tell ?”
“Not many people walk past a wall of blades and go straight for gloves,” the man replied. “You don’t have many options. Monk gear isn’t popular.”
Lars held the gauntlets up slightly. “Why.”
The man shrugged.
“Most people want status weapons. Knights want swords and sheilds. Blades want Katana's. Monks take years to be worth fearing. Most give up.”
He stepped closer and extended a hand.
“Name’s Rafeq.”
“Lars.”
“Aery.”
Rafeq nodded to her politely but his attention stayed on Lars.
“You’re not from Zahara.”
“No.”
Rafeq leaned back against the counter.
“These will fit you,” he said. “But don’t buy tools you can’t use.”
Lars turned the gauntlets over in his hands. The straps were stiff. New. Unworn.
“How much.”
“Sixty bronze.”
Lars froze for a fraction of a second.
Sixty.
In Solaris, Brannik had valued them at twenty.
Even then Lars had only gotten them by accident, shoved under Osbin’s debt.
He looked down at the gauntlets again.
He had 5 silver now.
He could afford them.
But he hesitated.
He remembered Raizen’s critique. Legs silent. Arms loud. Power without structure.
If he bought gauntlets now, would he fall back into what he already knew.
Fists only. No refinement.
He slowly set them back onto the rack.
“I’ll come back.”
Rafeq’s brow lifted.
“When you feel ready.”
Rafeq didn’t understand, but he didn’t mock it.
He gave a slow nod.
“Fair. When you come back, tell me what kind of monk you want to become.”
Lars nodded once and turned toward the exit.
Outside, the heat hit again. The street noise returned.
Aery walked beside him, quiet.
Lars glanced at her.
“Why both,” he asked. “Wand and grimoire. I thought catalyst mages used one.”
Aery looked down at her grimoire.
“It’s true. One is enough.”
“Then why.”
She hesitated.
“I feel steadier with both. The grimoire structures. The wand executes. If one slips, the other keeps me from losing control as fast.”
Lars absorbed it silently.
He thought about Raizen’s lesson. About balance. About using the whole body.
He looked down at his own legs.
“No wonder he kept saying half of me was asleep,” he thought.
They continued walking.
Aery suddenly slowed.
Her eyes shifted upward toward a rooftop line.
Then to a passerby.
Then to an alley shadow that didn’t match the light.
Lars noticed her change.
“What.”
“I want to look at mage shops,” she said quickly. “On my own.”
Lars blinked.
“You sure.”
“Yes.”
Her tone was rushed.
Not nervous like usual.
Urgent.
Lars didn’t like it, but he nodded.
“Stay near the main streets.”
Aery nodded, already stepping away.
She moved faster than he expected. Turned through a side lane and disappeared between stalls.
Lars watched her go, then forced himself to keep walking.
Aery cut through the crowd and slipped into a narrow alley. The noise of the street dropped immediately. Shade cooled the air.
She pressed her back to the wall and controlled her breathing.
She closed her eyes.
She felt it.
A faint mana presence.
Not close enough to identify.
Not strong enough to be obvious.
But steady. Controlled. Watching.
Her fingers tightened around her wand.
“Celestia,” she thought.
Her eyes opened.
She looked up toward the rooftop line again, searching for anything out of place.
____
A knock at the door.
Zahira looked up from her desk.
“Enter.”
The door opened. Raizen stepped inside. Red and orange cloth. Bare feet. Tail still. Face neutral.
He shut the door behind him and stopped in front of her desk.
“You asked for my evaluation,” he said.
Zahira nodded.
“Speak.”
Raizen did not sit.
“He is not a normal B rank.”
Zahira kept her expression steady.
“Explain.”
“He lacks structure,” Raizen said. “He lacks control. He favors his arms. His legs carry force but no form. That part matches an inexperienced fighter.”
Zahira waited.
“But his output is not inexperienced,” Raizen said. “His Ki density is high. His reactions are fast. His adaptation speed is abnormal.”
Zahira leaned back slightly.
“How abnormal.”
Raizen spoke in short pieces.
“I corrected one habit. He changed immediately. His counters became cleaner. His timing improved within minutes. His movement shifted from defense to active punishment. He did not need repetition.”
Zahira watched him closely.
“You think he is dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“Because he is strong.”
Raizen shook his head once.
“Because he is strong and untrained.”
Zahira’s fingers tapped the desk.
“Continue.”
“When he started to use his legs,” Raizen said, “his kicks missed, but the force still traveled. He does not measure output. He guesses. He holds back by instinct, not by discipline.”
Zahira stayed quiet.
Raizen’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You sent him to me because you already sensed he was a special case.”
Zahira did not deny it.
“I approved his A rank request because I wanted to see what he would do,” she said.
Raizen held her gaze.
“You approved it without a guild backing him.”
“Yes.”
“Without a history in your records.”
“Yes.”
Zahira’s tone stayed controlled.
“He came in with no guild affiliation. He held himself like someone used to pressure. He took the highest reward he could find. He refused to step down when provoked.”
Raizen nodded once.
“That matches what I saw.”
Zahira shifted a file on her desk.
“He said an S rank trained him in Solaris.”
Raizen’s eyes sharpened.
“Who.”
“He refused to name him. I guessed Lance Whitecastle. He denied it.”
Raizen’s tail flicked once.
“So he had an S rank teacher and still fights like a half-built weapon.”
Zahira spoke carefully.
“He also has no registered quest history in Solaris.”
Raizen’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Then his skill was not built through the system.”
Zahira’s gaze moved to another paper.
“Aery Valenwood,” she said. “B rank. Origin Celestia. No guild.”
Raizen looked at the name.
“Celestia rarely lets mages leave.”
“She left anyway,” Zahira said. “She is unstable. She hides it. She is not weak.”
Raizen’s eyes returned to Zahira.
“Two young B ranks arrive at the same time. One from Solaris with missing history. One from Celestia with rare training.”
Zahira nodded.
“That is why I want more information.”
Raizen stepped back.
“I will continue training him,” he said. “I will not soften the work. If he breaks, I will tell you.”
Zahira’s voice stayed flat.
“If he breaks, you stop.”
Raizen gave a short nod.
He turned toward the door.
He stopped with his hand on the handle.
“One more thing,” he said.
Zahira did not speak.
“He fights like he expects something to end badly,” Raizen said. “That makes him reckless when tired. Watch what he does after wins. Not during fights.”
He left.
Zahira stayed seated.
She looked down at Lars’ record again.
Origin Solaris. No guild. No history. B rank.
She opened a drawer and pulled out official request paper. She wrote a name in clean lines.
Grandolf.
She sealed the letter in wax and pressed her signet into it.
“Courier.”
A staff member entered.
Zahira handed the sealed request over.
“Send this to the Adventurers Association in Solaris. Direct to Head Master Grandolf. Priority.”
The courier bowed and left.
Zahira remained at her desk, eyes on the door, listening to footsteps fade into the hall.
"What are you hiding Grandolf." she mutters quietly.
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