Tarron's journey to the city's northern gates had been prolonged by his tendency to get lost.
He noted that the city's westernmost limits were the harbor. Even though he knew which direction to walk because he had entered by the eastern gates the day before, finding his way was still considerably more difficult because he couldn't see past the lumbering multi-story buildings.
After noticing his confused look, a kind lady called him over and pointed him to the proper route, mentioning a checkpoint. "Take a right at the third street, then the first left. It will be straight on until you arrive. Guards are stationed at every exit, so leaving the city might take some time. If you need to be someplace, you should head over right away."
"Thank you!" He bowed courteously. She nodded her head as he ran off, remaining there to observe his receding back for a few moments. If that kid was headed in the direction she suspected, he was in for some rough times.
As he approached, he found that the streets were becoming overcrowded with what appeared to be people his age, but as most of them were elves, it was hard to know. Some were dressed to the nines, toting expensive-looking backpacks, others in simpler garb. He took a quick look at his unremarkable ensemble and pulled the collar of his coat tighter around himself. Was he, maybe, underdressed?
Nearing the end of the long queues that had formed outside the city's towering double gates, a guard motioned him over to the right side, as there were two lines, one for the general public and one for merchants and dealers with carts and horses. If the gates were this crowded, he dreaded to think what the dockyard looked like; certainly, they had secured it and restricted any sailing departures, and it was often incredibly busy there.
Tarron stood patiently in line, eavesdropping on the chatter around him and keeping to himself. What else were you going to do while you waited?
Luckily for him, this line moved quicker than the left, and he overheard individuals getting more agitated by the minute over the inspections.
He caught snippets of talk that the city was on heightened alert while they searched for a culprit, just as those elderly gossipers had indicated. It had something to do with the late-night explosion that demolished a portion of a structure near the dockside wards. The most terrifying factor was the canard of an entire nighttime patrol being massacred; their bodies were discovered mangled, covered in ghastly lacerations, and their shattered lanterns scattered about them. Tarron was taken aback by how elaborate these tales were as if these folks had witnessed these events personally. The general public probably thought the same person or group was to blame for both, but he was curious if they were just coincidental.
This was all quite unusual for Caisus, the city that had become a thorn in the side of the Higher Elves. While it was home to a few unsavory characters, this type of escalation was unheard of, and thus could not go overlooked even in a land of lenient law. While not directly governed, it was still a city within the High Helm hierarchy, and no one wanted to be on the wrong side of the Higher Elves. You were either stupid or exceptionally strong for choosing to be.
Nobody, including the guards, seemed to have an explanation for what happened during the stormy night. The rain had vanished, along with any trace of the perpetrator. Whether fictitious or not, it was a dangerous juncture that coincided all too well with the events that were about to unfold in the north with the influx of adolescents heading there. At least there was safety in numbers.
Tarron had eventually made his way to the front after about an hour. At the gate, a female High Elven officer in intricately embossed half-plate armor stood alert with a small contingent of her fellow guard. She was unarmed and stood sternly with her hands behind her back, her long dark hair braided to one side.
When Tarron approached, she eyed him with peculiar bright eyes and saw that he held no weapon. She had offered not even one question, only looking him up and down before waving him through with an indifferent tone, "you may pass, human." What was it about him that made everyone want to remind him he was human? There were other humans in Caisus. Did they also suffer from this strange conduct? He did not pay it much mind. He was human, and for that, he was not ashamed.
Despite the fact that Tarron was confused as to how staring awkwardly at someone for ten seconds could discern if they were safe to cross, he nonetheless ran out of the gates, eager to be on his way after the delay.
The number of travelers dwindled as Tarron left the city and the morning's disarray, and Caisus gradually faded from sight behind him. There was still a sizable group of curious young people headed in the same direction, all casting curious glances about to see who else was on the same path. Some walked in chattering groups, while others, like Tarron, walked alone.
For a few hours, they had been making this kind of trek, in a multitude of groups of new acquaintances. Tarron occasionally became the target of curious glances, and those eyes would avert their gaze when he would nod his head in an acknowledged greeting. Though he felt a twinge of loneliness when this happened, he did not mind this walk alone.
The main road went on a winding path through the woodland until coming to a large post hammered into the ground, from which two side roads branched out to the right and left, respectively. Taron stopped to read, in awe of the blue painted lettering on dark stained wood that had not faded with time owing to some form of enchantment. The text with the arrow pointing north was read aloud: "Tuloria."
He knew little of the city born of magic but was overcome by an incredible excitement at the prospect of experiencing something so spectacular that it would eclipse the life he had known thus far as a simple young man from a little hamlet.
The tall young man was looking at the wooden sign with childlike wonder, and an elf off to the side looked up from his book and paused his pace to watch him.
What made it so exceptional, exactly? He wondered.
He furrowed his brow, staring intently at the other person.
His thick jet-black hair, which was wavy and curled at the ends, framed his lovely pale face and revealed the tops of two human ears. His infectious zeal and warm golden-brown eyes were hard to ignore. These were features that were almost unnaturally beautiful in a human, much alone someone of elven blood, and here was a human more stunning than most.
He scrunched his nose and approached cautiously while clearing his throat and putting on an air of indifference, "is this your first time in the north?"
Tarron turned in surprise as he noticed a familiar-looking Woodland Elf standing to the side, his green eyes fixed on the book in his hands.
Without waiting for an answer, he flipped a page and began to walk away.
Whether or not he was meant to, Tarron followed him and said rhetorically, "indeed, is it so easy to tell?"
He towered above the elf in front of him by a full foot, so his lengthy stride allowed him to quickly catch up.
Knowing that the other had followed, the elf spoke into his book, "it is."
"I was raised in the Midlands."
His attention was diverted away from the path for an instant as he glanced at the tall young man who was now walking steadily beside him. "Vjelken?"
Tarron rubbed his nose sheepishly and answered, "No."
He relaxed his hand and smiled as he cast a quick glance at the elf beside him, "actually, very few people can say they've heard of it."
His voice was steady and deep, but his tone was kind and sincere. Unfair when combined with a face that carried a strong jaw and features softened by charming but incisive eyes and the curve of a boyish smile.
The elf mused, 'well he's certainly...friendly,' before returning his attention back to his reading.
Because of his insecurities about his own physical attributes (his short stature and what he perceived to be lesser elven features), he did not look directly at the young man for fear of developing feelings of resentment.
"I have never visited the cities of men in Westmure. I've also not met many humans."
As someone who had not traveled much until now, Tarron could only shrug, "they don't resemble the great elven societies I've read about. In my opinion, you haven't missed much."
Despite the fact that he was never permitted to leave the hamlet, he heard vivid accounts about the capital and some of the smaller cities from various villagers. Mostly because he hounded them until they gave up and humored his curiosity, explaining to him in great detail. Some of his village's elders even brought him gifts from Vjelken on occasion. Perhaps they felt sorry for him, he reasoned.
As the elf flipped over the pages, a grin crinkled his lips, "if that's the case, I'm relieved I didn't miss out. In any case, it's something I want to see in the future."
Tarron admired his ability to read and communicate at the same time; it was impressive, to say the least.
He continued, his eyes scanning the pages methodically, "I saw you this morning, watching that street performance. I was honestly surprised to see you are heading to Tuloria as well."
"What makes that surprising?" Tarron inquired, genuinely perplexed.
He stammered, "ah..." with a slight reddening at the tips of his beige ears. "I apologize if I came off as rude. Humans are usually... well, never mind."
He wanted to sigh. Humans were always the focus, it seems. When Tarron noticed the elf was feeling troubled, he cut off his thoughts before they could continue.
He joked, "I'll let it slip this time. You don't seem the rude type anyway. After all, you did stick up for those performers this morning."
The elf's ears became a deeper shade of pink, but he chuckled at his remark, and Tarron felt an unwarranted flutter of anxiety in his chest at the smooth, steady tone of his voice. "This is what I thought, anyhow, that you did, in fact, hear me then."
Tarron's current emotional state may be described in two words: delighted nervousness. Perhaps it was because he hadn't seen somebody his age in a long time, or maybe just because he was relieved to have someone to chat with after his weeks-long solo journey. He had been the subject of many inquisitive and judgmental glances from passers-by during his brief hours on the road today, but none had taken the initiative to speak to him as this elf had. No one had acknowledged him until now.
The elf tucked a strand of silky brown hair behind a pointed ear and snapped shut his book before stowing it beneath one arm. Tarron peeked at the action, then quickly averted his gaze as the other turned his head.
"I frequently find myself in hot water for doing just that. I can't control myself. Every one of us has our share of flaws." He said it casually with a grin, knowing that the guardswoman had undoubtedly departed in a huff since she had been publicly ridiculed. His argument was as follows: "I realize she was only doing her job and that the city was being careful for whatever occurred last night, but honestly...she would have spotted the runes carved in the wooden hoop if she had taken the time to look."
Tarron made an 'oh' face, "oh yeah, do you happen to know anything about the explosion or the murders?"
The other shook his head, "not really, simply the same rumors you surely heard," he qualified his statement. "One witness reported it was a failed heist, while another said it was a fight between lovers. Inquiring minds want to know! If only they could find the culprit."
It was assumed by Tarron, who turned the conversation back towards the performers, that the riddle would stay unsolved. He asked, "how did you know that cat wasn't magical?"
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"Ah, that's not difficult to understand. The heavenly dome's enchantment contained sigils that, like the runic hoops', caused the creature to change into a blazing fox. The appearance of one, at the very least. But," he lamented, remembering the horned creature, "just so you know, for whatever benefit it may bring you in the future, unicorns look nothing at all like whatever that horror was. After going through it myself, I have a lot of sympathy for their species."
Tarron, recalling that insignificant detail, laughed heartily at his remarks, "haha! I already knew that. I read about unicorns in a book back home, but I appreciate the heads-up."
The unicorn hadn't misled him, but he didn't bring up the fact that he had not known about the enchantments until that performing elf explained them to everyone. His surprise at the abrupt ending of the show came as a result of his initial fascination with it.
It made him consider the irony of his excursion to the north. Tarron was unaware of the dangers of obscurity, nor did he understand the significance of runes or sigils, enchantments, and charms, or the distinction between sorceries and fundamental magics. In light of the extremely rare chance that presented itself, his grandmother reluctantly consented to his departure and sent him on his way so that he might pursue his lifelong dream of learning about most of these things.
"Is reading something you enjoy?" At the mention of books, the elf's eyes became a little wide. Tarron was startled out of his thoughts and nodded in response.
"I do, though we never had many books to choose from." Tarron then cocked his head to the side and glanced beneath the elf's arm at the leather-bound tome. "I was wondering what have you been so engrossed in that you could hardly put it down?"
He looked down at the book, then up at the eager human, drawing it from under his arm to show him, "what, this?" Tarron straightened and nodded.
He held it out in front of him with two hands and gleefully said, "this is a book on the approaches and practices of dimensional manipulation magic. Probably one of the most complicated sub-magical fields. The ability is accessible exclusively to exceptionally powerful mages."
Again, Tarron cocked his head in assent, not really understanding but yet not wanting to say anything that would reveal his lack of familiarity with magical procedures. It was often preferable to remain silent rather than make a fool of yourself in front of individuals you had just met.
There was a short silence and the elf's face fell.
He continued with a tinge of sadness at Tarron's lack of reaction, "it's not...a popular subject for someone to study on their own." He went on, "I just like reading about the mental fortitude needed to apply apparition magic."
Tarron raised an eyebrow, "apparition? Like a phantom, or a ghost?" He asked thoughtfully.
The other paused in reflection before taking a deep breath and responding, "...theoretically yes. In some ways, this situation is analogous to that of ghosts, who are caught between the living and the dead. They periodically fade in and out of existence due to the energy that keeps them tied and unable to pass beyond. Both the spiritual realm and the physical world are open to them, but they do not choose when. In contrast, teleportation has to do with briefly slipping from the temporal plane and jumping back into the material plane, and you are able to make that choice on a whim. As long as you see a place before you, or have seen it even once, you can make a jump. While it is possible to build a clear enough mental picture of a place after learning enough about it, this is extremely unusual and potentially dangerous. It takes more effort and skill to get further. Numerous guidelines must be adhered to. Those who fail to do so sometimes hear tales of mages who have lost fingers or even their whole bodies."
He finished his fully fleshed explanation and froze, concerned that he was speaking to a stranger in a loquacious manner, making it appear presumptuous that this young man understood nothing about magic. His countenance faltered, and his attention shifted to the rocky, dusty ground beneath them. "Sorry... I...sometimes talk a lot."
"You..." Tarron started. The elf drew in on himself, half expecting to hear something unpleasant.
"You shouldn't feel the need to apologize. Especially not when it is something you feel so passionately about."
His posture relaxed and he looked up in astonishment at the words. The human's demeanor was steady and calming; it was clearly one of compassion and understanding as he looked down at him.
"If you don't mind, could you tell me more? It's comforting to have a companion when you are walking the same path. And..." he paused and rubbed at his nose with a knuckle shyly, "it would be a lie if I said I hadn't been bored up to this point. I'm a bit grateful."
The elf's jaw hung open, but he was unable to say anything. No one was ever interested in listening to him blab on and on about magic!
"Are you certain?" He managed a query, and it came out so tentatively that it was clear he didn't really believe the other person.
A bit amused by the elf's reaction, Tarron asked with a cocked eyebrow, "why wouldn't I be? Well, I shouldn't make assumptions either. Maybe you prefer to be alone? I can-"
"No!" The elf seemed quite uncomfortable as the other travelers on the road turned to gaze at him in a perplexed manner after this near-yell. "Ahem," he sputtered. "Not at all... In all honesty...I think I would like your company as well."
When the other's ashamed face made Tarron giggle, he swiftly altered his attitude when the elf scowled at him. Shortly after, his intense look morphed into one of rapidly blooming delight.
He squared his shoulders and promptly extended a hand to the human next to him, grinning and showing characteristically sharp wolf-like canines, a trait shared by all of the Woodland Elves of Calwenduin. "I am Ezreal."
Tarron smiled in reply, "Tarron." He encompassed his smaller hand within his.
When static electricity discharged at the brief point of contact, they sprang apart, startled by the tingling in their fingertips.
"Odd..." Ezreal shook his hand, glancing over at the human who was frowning thoughtfully at the length of his long fingers. When Tarron realized that the other was gazing at him, he straightened up and shifted his pack on his shoulder.
"Wasn't it?" The words came quietly as he laughed in a way that was both unusual and breathy. Ezreal doubted that response, but he didn't want to push his new friend too much.
"What do you know about sorcery, Ezreal?" Tarron asked, taking a deep, almost solemn breath before cracking a signature grin.
A little ways ahead, a trio of elves stood on a moss-covered stone bridge overlooking a narrow river. Dawnlight glinted off the fish below, creating a shimmering effect in the crystalline water.
An expressionless half-elf with pitch-black hair and ice-blue eyes slouched back on the stone with folded arms. He paid little heed to his companions.
The girl, a Sun Elf with a chestnut complexion, curling brown hair, and orange-brown eyes, grinned as she climbed to the top and leaned over for a closer look.
A pale-skinned Moon Elf stood next to her, with rounded grey eyes and short white and black hair, reaching out a hand as if she were going to fall, and trying to pull her down.
"Asarrah! Get down will you?"
She waved her hand dismissively and said, "Oh, quiet, Beniki. Water is harmless."
"So you think." He knew of plenty of mages who could harness the powers of water. And, yeah, it was something that might inflict serious injury. A calm river? Maybe not as much of a risk, but one could never be too careful.
She heaved a sigh, seeking to soothe the other. "Beniki, do you actually believe water worries me coming from a family that owns a merchant fleet of ships?"
"I was being preemptive," he grumbled, mocking her tone.
She raised a brow at him, "about what exactly?"
He threw his head back in exasperation, "do you want to fall into the river?"
She shrugged.
Apathetically, he said, "you are honestly the oddest Sun Elf I know, and if you want to walk the rest of the way to Tuloria in garments drenched through, then you can!"
She ignored his fretful demeanor and turned back to the water, rolling her eyes. Beniki let her be, knowing her stubbornness and that it wasn't always worth battling with her, because she usually got her way regardless of what he said or did. He was only trying to be a courteous friend! Is this the thanks he gets? Often, yes.
"Nil, I can't tolerate this woman any longer," he exclaimed dramatically to their companion. "You keep an eye on her."
"Asarrah," the half-elf Nil said sternly, uncrossing his arms and pulling away from the stone wall against which he had just been leaning. He only gave her a sidelong glance, but it was enough to elicit a pout from her.
She leaped from the wall, landing on her heels. "There will be no distractions. Yes, I know." She started walking away, leaving the other two to follow.
The trip from Caisus to Tuloria took at least seven hours on foot, and maybe even eight if you stopped to eat, rest, or find a bush to relieve yourself in. Not many dared to stop.
They had been traveling for hours, but not a single cart had stopped to offer a ride; instead, drivers simply waved or tipped their hats in greeting.
At the end of the day, a fed-up blond elf with sore feet yelled after a passing cart, "can't we catch a ride?!"
The driver looked back, "sorry youngsters, they warned us not to offer you any rides there! Wishing you the best of luck!"
The prospects spanned the whole road leading to Tuloria, and there were maybe two hundred of them. Giving a ride to each one of them just wasn't feasible!
There was no one in Tuloria who did not know what was going on; even the city's merchants were in on it. In High Helm, the word first spread quickly. Then across all of Anumiel, word spread even quicker. I mean, come on, this was a huge deal!
Interested persons were expected to undertake the ceremonial voyage to Tuloria when it opened its gates to the waiting world after a thousand years.
For what was the first quality that a mage values? Determination.
The first step in a journey is to walk through a door.
All too well, Tarron recalled the day he first learned about this.
A friendly neighbor returned to the hamlet, clutching a piece of parchment and shouting so loudly that everyone assumed something awful had happened.
They clustered around him as he hastily read the words aloud for everyone to hear.
"We, the greater hierarchy of Tuloria, make the public appeal to the young and capable, who in so wish to try their hand at the millennia application. Applicants must travel to the city using personal initiative and means and will arrive no later than the evening of the thirty-first day of the subsequent month, as testing will begin the following morning upon arrival. As a result, those who do not qualify, while permitted to stay for the remainder of the application period, must depart upon its completion unless otherwise stated. Apprenticeships will be regarded for truly exceptional individuals who can demonstrate their drive and capacity to reach the pinnacle of accomplishments and prove their merit.
Sol. Luna. Terra. Umbra. Lux."
With each passing syllable, more sets of eyes had fallen upon Tarron.
Some of the villagers couldn't perform magic at all, while others could use only the simplest forms. Then there was Tarron, an abnormality. In his little village, he was the only person born with such innate magic.
Thinking back on this, Tarron tightened his hand on the strap of his traveling pack, while Ezreal was relaying more information to him from his side. He brought his attention back to the Woodland Elf, not having meant to zone out, and listened closely and carefully, nodding with each new detail eagerly provided to him.
"How will they know someone is young?" Tarron asked Ezreal. The range of ages at which you would consider a human or an elf to be an adolescent was enormous.
Furthermore, he said, "what's to stop someone of any age from coming to the city to apply?" For Tarron, at least, estimating an elf's age was difficult (impossible), and he didn't want to be impolite by asking Ezreal his. On the other hand, the average human lifespan was considerably lower.
Ezreal shrugged, "trust me, the mages know. For this reason, you will notice that the roads are populated exclusively by young people. Anyone who dares to sneak inside Tuloria unwelcome must be completely insane."
Tarron's face clouded...exclusively young?! He had absolutely no clue how old any of these elves may be! How young was young to an elf exactly?! The curiosity of it was going to drive him mad.
He suddenly swiveled to look down at Ezreal, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he studied him with intent. He took in his flawless skin, caramel brown hair, pointed ears, his sharp and short brows, his lively verdant eyes and long lashes, a single mole beneath his right eye, the delicate edge of his exquisite nose, the lovely upward curve of his lips... He looked away, forlorn. 'I really can't tell.'
"Uh...yes?" Ezreal asked with a raised brow.
"What?" Tarron was taken aback and began rapidly blinking.
Ezreal gave him a perplexed look and asked, "why are you staring at me like that?"
"In what way?"
"You know, never mind."
They'd talked for a few hours more (mostly Ezreal) and Tarron's excitement rose as they grew closer to the city, which Ezreal found amusing and a bit endearing.
Tarron was the most impatient to reach their destination, but he pretended not to mind the long hours of traveling by admiring the stunning landscape that unfolded before them.
While most of the other elves, with the exception of the more robust Woodland Elves, had begun to slouch into their steps and plod along slowly with complaints about being hungry and fatigued, Tarron was able to ignore his hurting feet and growling hunger altogether.
Ahead of them, a Moon Elf shrieked, scaring those walking nearby as he sprinted away from a Sun Elf. She giggled and dashed after him as if she were ready to tackle him to the ground, the tight curls of her voluminous hair bouncing gracefully as she went. A half-elf trailed them with folded arms and a heavy sigh.
Ezreal laughed and exchanged a confused look with Tarron, and they both could only raise their shoulders at the amusing scene. It seems a few others still had some energy left.
Far off in the distance, grayish, snow-capped mountains delineated the northernmost limits of the highlands. The magical creatures of the forests below could be heard calling to one another from time to time. The steppes were peppered with vivid wildflowers, and the rolling hills were blanketed in luxuriant bright grasses. Lakes settled into the valleys that had formed through time from the rivers and streams that flowed from the mountain and cliff sides, gently enveloping their bases in nature's tender embrace. The tranquillity of the region was enhanced by the cascading waterfalls that poured over tiers of rocks, spraying white, sparkling mist. A scene that was hard to describe without really seeing it firsthand.
The beauty of the elven kingdoms.
Even from this great distance, the Tulorian castle could be seen as a speck seated high on the horizon, calling the applicants ever closer.
Once upon a time, this was a stronghold defended by ancient elves, equipped with the original castle and ramparts. Little of the architecture had changed throughout time, most likely due to magical renovations, and it stood for thousands of years as a warning to all evil in the world.
Over the centuries since its inception, it expanded in size and beauty, eventually becoming the size of a metropolis thanks to the addition of cutting-edge defenses, architecture, and those who dwelled within its walls.
The castle was built at the peak, with one wing cut into the rock and the other supported by great stone arches that protruded out over the cliffs and waterfalls.
Tuloria's massive grey and white stone walls hid the city districts a short distance below them in stacked layers of significance, with constructions rising over the tops of Tuloria's walls.
Each soaring tower was crowned with a turret painted in a different shade of blue or silver that glistened in the sun with an unending brightness that had not faded despite the passage of time.
The sunlight flowing across the crowns of those buildings' cerulean spires gave the impression that they were engulfed in radiant blue fire.
Tarron, with his eyes fixated forward, hardly saw Ezreal approach his side. His eyes widened, enraptured by the city in the distance as it came into view.
"It's beautiful," he said softly.
Ezreal couldn't stop the smile from growing on his lips when looked up admiringly at Tuloria. He had almost forgotten until he met this strange human, how marvelous it truly was.