The journey to the royal castle began in grand style, a procession of ornately carved carriages, each harnessed to a pair of magnificent Hippogriffs. These creatures were awe-inspiring, their sleek, powerful bodies a blend of eagle and horse. The foreparts of their bodies boasted razor-sharp talons, gleaming feathers that caught the sunlight, and piercing eyes that seemed to observe everything with a predator's wisdom. Their wings—spanning wide and strong—beat steadily as they carried the carriages up the rolling hills toward the heart of Helia, casting swift-moving shadows over the ground below.
The carriages themselves were marvels of craftsmanship, every inch adorned with intricate carvings that depicted Helia’s long and storied past: scenes of grand battles, serene gatherings, and ancient kings and queens who had once walked these lands. Gold and silver inlays highlighted symbols of Helia’s most enduring legends, and even the wheels seemed to roll with the dignity of ages gone by.
Golden accents caught the light, casting warm glows across their polished surfaces, while lush, velvet interiors awaited within, offering comfort as well as grandeur.
Magnus and Seraph couldn’t resist the allure of the Hippogriffs. The creatures stood majestically by, feathers ruffling softly in the breeze, their intelligent eyes watching the newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and calm.
Magnus stepped forward, his movements steady and respectful, and extended his hand with his palm upturned—a gesture of trust he hoped the Hippogriff would recognize. The creature leaned down, its powerful beak inches from his hand, and gave it a soft, inquisitive sniff before nudging his palm with surprising gentleness. Magnus smiled, feeling a rare thrill at the creature's acceptance.
Seraph lingered a step back, her gaze filled with awe. She took a hesitant step closer, her fingers reaching out tentatively. The nearest Hippogriff turned its keen eyes on her, its feathers shimmering in hues of silver and bronze. Sensing her uncertainty, it tilted its head, as if assessing her. Magnus turned and smiled encouragingly.
“They can tell if you’re nervous, but they seem friendly enough,” he said.
Taking a breath, Seraph edged closer, her hand finally grazing the Hippogriff’s soft feathers. She gave it a gentle stroke, her eyes lighting up with wonder as the creature let out a low, satisfied rumble.
Elira, eyes wide with disbelief, gaped openly.
“What in the—What is that?” she exclaimed, pointing at the Hippogriffs as if her eyes were deceiving her.
Riven gave her a sharp, incredulous look. “Oh, please. We got reincarnated into a fantasy world and that’s what impresses you?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes and settling herself in the plush carriage seat, shaking her head but unable to hide a slight smirk.
Caelus couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle, sharing in her amazement even if he didn’t show it as openly. The Hippogriffs were indeed remarkable, their proud forms embodying the otherworldly beauty of this strange, ancient kingdom. As he took his place in the carriage, Cheese, nestled beside Lorian, let out a curious squeak, tilting its little slime “head” toward the creatures with interest as the boy’s eyes sparkled.
“Did you know that Hippogriffs are part eagle and part horse?” Lorian began, his voice brimming with awe. “They’re incredibly loyal, but they only bond with riders they deem worthy. And they can fly faster than the wind!”
Cheese seemed to listen intently, its body shifting slightly with each new fact, mimicking Lorian’s enthusiasm. Caelus watched them, laughing to himself as he listened to Lorian’s excited ramblings and Cheese’s wide-eyed curiosity.
As the carriage ride stretched on, the landscape around them began to change, becoming greener and more vibrant with life. The air grew thick with the smell of wildflowers, and the winding road was bordered by ancient oaks and elms, their branches creating an archway as if even nature bowed in respect for their passage.
Soon, the winding road soon led them over the crest of a hill, and that’s when they saw it—the royal castle of Helia. Towering spires reached skyward, each topped with banners that billowed gracefully in the breeze, embroidered with the kingdom’s sigil. High walls of stone encircled the castle, flanked by towers that stretched into the sky like stalwart guardians. But there was something else, too—a hint of Helia’s darker past. Despite its grandeur, the castle bore scars: faint cracks in the stone, ivy clinging stubbornly to weathered walls, and patches where time had worn through the once-perfect surface. The mix of splendour and weariness hinted at a kingdom that had known both glory and sorrow.
As the carriages rolled closer, everyone leaned out of the windows, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. Darius was practically hanging out, mouth agape as he took in the impressive structure. Magnus, seated across from him, watched with a quiet, contemplative look, taking in every detail as though trying to understand the very soul of the place.
“This… this is amazing,” Lorian murmured, his voice hushed with reverence.
The castle itself was a marvel: towering spires stretched into the sky, each decorated with silken banners of blue and gold that fluttered in the wind. Its white marble walls gleamed under the sunlight, but up close, signs of age were clear. Faint cracks ran along some of the stonework, a testament to Helia’s once-bright glory and the dark days that followed. Vines had crept up certain corners, nearly blending in with the engraved Helian insignias. The grandiosity of the castle, laced with small reminders of its history, gave it an aura both inviting and solemn.
They were led through the castle's polished hallways, which sparkled with chandeliers, rich tapestries, and statues of past rulers, and finally entered the feasting hall. The feast hall, lined with long tables draped in red-and-gold silks, gleamed with freshly laid platters of roasted meats, baskets of warm bread, and bright arrays of fruits and cheeses. The room was magnificent, a vast chamber with vaulted ceilings, rows of ornately carved chairs, and tables that stretched out, laden with a mouth-watering array of food. The golden platters were heaped with roasted meats, baskets of fresh bread, vibrant fruits, and pies that steamed, filling the air with warmth and spice. It felt like a scene from an old legend.
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Goblets of Helian wine caught the light from crystal chandeliers above, and the aroma of spiced meats and herbs filled the air. For the first time in ages, the Champions allowed themselves to relax, their voices blending with the lively tunes of the royal musicians as they filled their plates and raised their goblets.
To Caelus, who rarely indulged in alcohol, the taste of this wine was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Each sip was rich and smooth, a blend of flavours that hinted at dark berries and warm spices, with a subtle sweetness that lingered pleasantly on his tongue. He found himself savouring it slowly, marvelling at the craftsmanship that had gone into its creation. For someone with little appreciation for drink, this was by far the most exquisite wine he’d ever tasted, and he couldn’t help but smile as he lifted his glass for another sip.
Without delay, Darius and Elira set upon the food, their laughter mingling with the clinking of goblets as they reached across each other for seconds, then thirds. Darius devoured anything in sight, savouring each bite with gusto, while Elira tore into a thick slice of roast, barely pausing to chew before going for more. Lorian and Seraph enjoyed their meals with a little more restraint, sharing quiet conversation and grins between bites. Magnus, in his usual measured way, took small, thoughtful bites, as if studying the flavours. Caelus, who was also enjoying the feast, glanced over at him, concerned by his reserved appetite. With a gentle nudge, he urged Magnus to try more, and Magnus nodded, appreciating the reminder as he took a larger portion.
Meanwhile, Cheese, the lively little slime, sat on the table near Caelus, watching everyone intently. With what could only be described as excitement, the small creature opened its ‘mouth’—a comical, circular opening—and stretched toward a loaf of bread. As soon as Cheese engulfed it, the loaf began to dissolve, disappearing within moments, to the group’s amused fascination.
Across the table, King Rowan maintained perfect composure, eating with practised elegance that spoke to his noble upbringing. After a few quiet moments, he finally looked up, a warm expression softening his usually composed features. “So,” he began, his voice relaxed as he glanced around the table, “How was your first mission using your new abilities?”
“Great!” Darius boomed, unable to contain his excitement. He lifted his arms triumphantly, his voice carrying a proud lilt. “I can fly and breathe fire!” His laughter echoed through the hall. “Though,” he added in a lower tone, glancing around sheepishly, “I didn’t exactly use the fire part yet.” The group erupted into laughter, and even Riven’s usual stoic demeanour cracked as she let out a small chuckle.
“It was incredible,” Lorian added, grinning widely. “Casting all those different spells, feeling the magic coursing through me—it was like I was in a dream.” He laughed softly, recalling the thrill of weaving his powers in the heat of battle.
Suddenly, Caelus dipped his head, his tone shifting from lighthearted to sincere. “I’m truly grateful to all of you,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Facing the orc lord... I don’t think I’d have made it without your help.” He looked around the table, his gaze lingering on each of them, as if trying to convey the weight of his words.
Elira, already on her fifth course, reached over, clapping him on the back with her usual vigour, pulled him in with a playful grin. Ah, no need to get all formal, Caelus!” she said, grinning. “That’s what we’re here for, right?” She gave him hearty pats a few more times—hard enough to make Caelus wince and made him sway slightly in his seat but also enough to bring a smile to his face. King Rowan watched them with a fond chuckle, clearly amused by their camaraderie.
The others exchanged glances, a collective sense of camaraderie passing among them. Riven, typically more reserved, nodded in acknowledgement, a faint smile ghosting her lips. “Well, don’t get used to it,” she muttered, though there was a glint of humour in her eyes.
As the laughter and conversation flowed, Elira lifted a slice of what looked like roast chicken to her lips and took a hearty bite. “Wow, this chicken is amazing!” she declared, her eyes widening in delight.
King Rowan tilted his head with a curious smile. “Chicken?” he repeated, amusement evident in his tone. “That is Basilisk meat.”
There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone processed this, except for Elira, who continued to eat, unfazed. Caelus blinked down at his own portion, thinking that it looked and tasted deceptively similar to regular poultry. Lorian, wide-eyed with excitement, immediately launched into a detailed explanation about the biology of Basilisks and their rumoured abilities, much to the amusement—and slight exasperation—of those nearby.
As the conversation wound down, Magnus glanced toward Seraph, sensing her quiet demeanour and the faraway look in her eyes. “And what about you, Seraph?” he asked gently. “How did you find the mission?”
Seraph seemed to snap out of her thoughts, blinking in surprise. “I—uh, sorry, what?”
King Rowan tilted his head, his gaze full of concern. “Are you alright? Is there something on your mind?”
She hesitated, shifting slightly before finally speaking. “It’s… nothing important, I suppose.” She paused, then, with a sigh, let the words spill out. “People don’t… seem to like dark elves much, do they?”
The table fell quiet, the festive air momentarily subdued. Rowan sat up straighter, his gaze solemn. “Yes,” he admitted, his tone tinged with regret. “There are those who hold prejudices. Has anyone treated you poorly?”
She shook her head, looking down. “No, it’s nothing direct. I just… heard whispers. Saw the way some people looked at me.”
Magnus leaned closer, offering her a reassuring smile. “Pay them no mind, Seraph. There will always be people like that. Just remember—we’re here for you, alright?”
Seraph’s face softened, and a faint, grateful smile returned. “Thanks, everyone.”
King Rowan cleared his throat, adding gently, “Sadly, some superstitions are hard to erase. Dark elves are often misunderstood, viewed as ill omens or cursed beings. But here, in Helia, no race is lesser than another, and I won’t tolerate prejudice of any kind.” His words were steady and reassuring, and Seraph’s spirits visibly lifted, her smile now genuine and full of warmth.
As the last plates were cleared away and the warmth of the feast settled over them, Rowan’s expression grew serious, drawing everyone’s attention. Leaning forward, he regarded each of the Champions in turn, his eyes weighted with concern and purpose.
“I need you all to remember the gravity of the mission ahead,” he began, his voice steady and clear. “Myrkos is not an opponent to be underestimated. His curses have already left a mark on our kingdom, sowing pain and suffering that cannot be ignored.” His gaze lingered, filled with both expectation and a flicker of gratitude. “Tonight, rest well and gather your strength. At dawn, we reconvene here to begin preparations. We’ll need every ounce of resolve we can muster to face what lies ahead.”
Rowan paused, his demeanour softening as he considered each of them. “Know this: if you need anything—supplies, weapons, armour, guidance—do not hesitate to ask. Whatever you require to succeed will be provided.”
A hushed moment passed as Rowan’s words settled over them. Then he nodded once, signalling their dismissal. “Go now, and make use of the evening however you see fit. You’ve earned this time to recover and reflect.”
The Champions rose from the table, a graceful harmony as they dipped their heads in respectful bows, acknowledging the king’s gratitude and his parting words. Their movements, though subtly unique to each, held a unified purpose—a mixture of pride, respect, and a hint of exhaustion after their long day. The grand hall echoed softly with the rustle of robes and the faint clinking of armour as they turned to leave, the lingering warmth of the feast and King Rowan’s kindness accompanying them. They filed out into the quiet corridors, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the vastness of the castle, ready to find a place of rest as the evening drew its curtain over Helia.