The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of fiery gold and violet as Emberfist and I made our way back toward Vallenport.

The day’s training had been gruelling—exactly what I needed. It wasn’t physically exhausting, but mentally so. It was a reminder, despite being a dragon, I was still capable of pushing my limits.

Emberfist, of course, had barely broken a sweat.

The cart jolted and creaked along a trail in the wilderness. It jolted slightly as the draven pulling it trudged over a patch of uneven cobblestones. I glanced at the creature—six legs, reptilian scales shimmering faintly in the dimming light, and eyes that glowed with a deep, placid amber. Its tail flicked idly as it adjusted its pace, utterly unbothered by the weight of the cart or the steep incline of the road.

'What is that thing?' I finally asked, gesturing toward the draven.

Emberfist, lounging in her seat with an ease that bordered on infuriating, raised an eyebrow at me. 'That?' She smirked. 'That’s a draven. Didn’t you pay attention during your lessons lazy-boy?'

I gave her a flat look. 'Humour me.'

She stretched lazily, her molten-gold embroidery catching the sunlight. 'Dravens are part-dragon. Leftovers from the Age of Dragons. Back then, dragons were… well, let’s just say they didn’t have the best boundaries when it came to mating.'

So dragons were horny. I laughed internally. It did check-out. I had inherited the Old Tavalor’s memories after all. He had normal habits though.

'So, this is what? A dragon’s drunken mistake?'

'More like a creative experiment,' she said with a shrug. 'They’re sturdy, loyal, and don’t complain when you make them haul your stuff around. Honestly, they’re better company than most people.'

I watched the draven for a moment, its movements steady and purposeful. 'And the rest of the creatures from that age? What happened to them?'

'Some survived,' Emberfist said, her tone shifting slightly. 'Others didn’t. The strong adapted; the weak… well, you can guess. The Age of Dragons wasn’t exactly a picnic.' She tilted her head, studying me. 'Why the sudden interest?'

I leaned back in the cart, watching the distant silhouette of Vallenport’s towers emerge against the horizon. 'Just thinking. If dragons shaped so much of this world, where does that leave the rest of us? People, beasts, all of it. How much of what’s here now is because of them? Or us?'

She snorted. 'Philosophical, are we? Look, everything’s a product of something else. Dragons, humans, Dravens, even this damn cart. None of it’s original. But if you’re looking for some grand revelation…' She gestured vaguely toward the distant city. 'You’ll have to dig deeper than a draven’s genealogy.'

I nodded, though her answer only raised more questions. This world was still a mystery to me—its history, its creatures, its magic. And, apparently, its penchant for dragon-related hybrids.

The old farmer who drove the hummed a wordless melody. As the cart creaked along, I let my gaze wander to the landscape around us. The road wound through a series of hills that overlooked a roaring waterfall cascading into a shimmering pool below. The air smelled of damp earth and wildflowers, the faint mist from the falls cooling the evening breeze. Starfruit trees lined the path, their tall, slender forms swaying gently in the wind.

It was beautiful—idyllic, even—but I couldn’t shake the unease that had been gnawing at me all day. Maybe it was the lingering effects of our training, the adrenaline still humming in my veins. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

'We’re being watched,' Emberfist said suddenly, her voice low.

I tensed, scanning the surrounding area. 'How can you tell?'

'Call it instinct,' she replied, her gaze fixed on a distant cluster of trees. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her dagger, flames flickering faintly around her fingertips. 'And years of dealing with idiots who think they can sneak up on me.'

I focused, opening up my senses. My eyes glowed gently. I used [Dragon Sight].

I could see some vague shapes in the shadows. The air felt heavier now, the stillness of the evening disrupted by an undercurrent of tension.

'Keep your eyes open,' Emberfist murmured. 'We’re not far from the city, but that doesn’t mean we’re safe.'

The cart jolted again as the draven paused, sniffing the air. Its nostrils flared, and for a moment, its calm demeanour shifted. A low growl rumbled in its throat, a sound that sent a chill down my spine.

'Looks like you were right,' I muttered, drawing my blade.

Emberfist grinned, her flames flaring brighter. 'I usually am.'

The first arrow struck the side of the cart, embedding itself in the wood with a sharp thunk. Another whizzed past my ear, close enough to ruffle my hair.

'Well,' I said, rolling my shoulders. 'So much for a peaceful ride home.'

Emberfist leapt from the cart, her flames igniting fully as she landed. 'Let’s give them a proper welcome,' she said, her voice gleeful.

As the attackers emerged from the shadows, I tightened my grip on my sword.

Training's over. Time to fight.

The attackers poured out of the tree line like shadows given form, their faces hidden by dark hoods and masks. At least six of them, armed with bows, short swords, and daggers that gleamed faintly with an oily, magical sheen.

Poison, I guessed. Of course.

The draven reared back with a hiss, its scaled legs stomping the ground as it tried to break free from the cart’s reins.

Emberfist was already moving, flames bursting to life in her hands. She hurled a fireball at the nearest attacker, and the explosion lit up the evening like a second sunset. The man screamed as the fire engulfed him, his bow clattering to the ground.

'Stay with the cart. Protect the farmer!' Emberfist shouted at me, already lunging toward the next attacker. Her molten gauntlets flared as she closed the distance, her movements precise and relentless. She was enjoying this far too much.

I stayed put, but not because I intended to follow her orders. The cart was a perfect defensive position, and I needed to assess the situation before diving into the fray.

One of the attackers—a woman with twin daggers—leapt onto the cart’s side, her eyes locked on me. I brought my hand up just in time to deflect her strike, the clang of steel on steel ringing out. An advantage to [Ancient Scales] I had discovered.

'Nice try,' I said, shoving her back gently to me — but to her felt like an enormous burst of strength. She stumbled but recovered quickly, circling me like a predator. Her movements were sharp and calculated, and I could see the glint of magic on her blades.

I didn’t give her a chance to strike again. With a quick step forward, I feinted to the left before bringing my fist down in a slightly more powerful arc. She barely managed to block, but the force of the blow sent her tumbling off the cart and onto the dirt below. She scrambled to her feet, her confidence visibly shaken.

Before I could press the advantage, an arrow whizzed past my shoulder, embedding itself in the cart’s wooden frame. Another assassin was perched in a tree above us, nocking another arrow.

I raised a hand. A magic barrier almost instantly sprung up. The results of training were starting to show. It was a golden barrier composed of interlinking [Mage’s Hand]’s. It protected the farmer who knelt on the ground, cowering behind the cart.

‘Your aim needs work.’ I yelled. I sharpened the edge of my hands and used it to cut the drawn loose. The creature let out a guttural roar, charging towards the tree with a surprising amount of speed for something its size. Not so easy going huh.

The archer barely had time to leap from the tree before the draven crashed into the trunk, its powerful tail lashing out to send him sprawling.

Emberfist was holding her own, obviously. Only two attackers had made the mistake of engaging her at once, and they paid the price. One of them screamed as flames ran up his legs. The other tried in vain to block her relentless strikes. Her gauntlets glowed white-hot, each punch leaving scorch marks on the ground or her opponent.

‘Having fun?’ I asked. Stepping over the fallen archer and deflecting a dagger strike aimed at my side.

‘Always!’ she replied. Her grin wild and feral. ‘How about you?’

‘Getting there.’ I ducked under a wide slash from a short sword, countering with a fast hit that caught my attacker’s arm. He yelped in pain, dropping his sword.

I finished him off with a swift kick to the chest that sent him flying.

Another arrow zipped past me. I turned to see the archer from earlier now back on his feet. He was lining up another shot, his movements smooth.

I didn’t wait for him to fire. I raised my hand. Condensing several half finished [Mage’s Hand]’s into an orb of crackling energy.

With a flick of my wrist I sent it flying towards him. It struck his bow. Shattering it into worthless splinters, sending him back with a cry of surprise.

‘Down to the last few!’ Emberfist shouted, her flames dimming slightly as she surveyed the battlefield.

‘Good.’ I said, stepping over the bodies. ‘I’m getting kinda hungry.’

The last assassin — a wiry man with a scarred face — realised he couldn’t win. He turned and bolted towards the tree line. Before he could disappear, Emberfist raised a hand.

A flaming whip shot out from her gauntlet, wrapping around his ankle and yanking him to the ground.

‘Not so fast,’ she said, walking towards him. He flames burned brighter, casting long shadows on the ground. ‘We’ve got questions and you’re gonna answer them.’

The man struggled against the whip. The sound of his burning flesh could be heard. His face twisted in pain and panic.

I approached. Crossing my hands as I loomed over him. ‘Start talking,’ I said, my voice cold and laced with [Intimidation]. ‘Who sent you?’

He hesitated. Sweating. [Intimidation] causing his mind to crumble a little.

The loss probably got to him as well. I looked at his stats earlier. [A-Class]. At all of the assassins stats.

They were all A-Classes.

More than enough to take out two A-Classes, a newly minted one like myself and a semi-famous one like Emberfist. If we both weren’t so abnormal.

He hesitated. His eyes darting between Emberfist and myself. ‘You don’t scare me,’ he spat, his trembling said otherwise.

‘Really?’ Emberfist tightened the whip, the flames climbing higher up his leg. He screamed. The scent of burning fabric and skin filling the air.

‘Wait! Wait!’ he cried. ‘It was the Red Veil! They hired us!’

‘The Red Veil?’ I frowned. That was new.

Emberfist glanced at me, her flames flickering lower. ‘Looks like we’ve got more digging to do.’

‘Yeah.’ I said stepping back. ‘You can deal with him.’

The man’s eyes widened as Emberfist’s Flames grew hotter. I turned away, leaving her to finish the job. We had some answers at least. The situation continued to be come complicated.

I dragged the last of the bodies into a pile near the edge of the forest, wiping my brow as the adrenaline finally began to fade. The farmer stood next to the draven. Calming it. Its scaled legs stomping nervously, but it had calmed down after the fight.

Emberfist leaned against the cart, her gauntlets dim now, though faint wisps of smoke still rose from her hands.

'Messy,' she said, gesturing at the bodies. 'But effective.'

I nodded, looking at the pile with a mix of frustration and weariness. 'The Red Veil, huh? You ever hear of them?'

She shook her head. 'No, but I know their type. Assassins, mercenaries, probably hired by someone with deep pockets and a grudge.'

***

The ride back to Vallenport was quiet. Emberfist occasionally glanced at me, as if expecting me to say something, but I kept my thoughts to myself. The farmer and the draven pulled the cart steadily, oblivious to the tension that lingered between us.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

I wasn’t sure if I was more annoyed by the attack or the fact that we still didn’t have any clear answers.

By the time we reached my manor, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the city in a soft twilight glow. The sight of the place immediately set me on edge. The front gate was slightly ajar, and the windows on the ground floor were dark.

'That’s not right,' I said, walking in.

Emberfist was right behind me, her gauntlets flaring to life once more. 'Think they beat us here?'

I didn’t answer, pushing the gate open and stepping into the courtyard. The air felt heavy, like the aftermath of a storm. My boots crunched on something as I approached the front door. Looking down, I realised it was shattered glass.

'Someone’s been here,' Emberfist said grimly.

The door creaked open under my hand, revealing a scene of chaos. Furniture had been overturned, books scattered across the floor, and scorch marks marred the walls. My heart sank as I took it all in.

'Luneth?' I called out, my voice echoing through the empty halls.

No answer.

Emberfist knelt by a dark stain on the floor near the stairs. She touched it briefly, then pulled her hand back. 'Blood. Not much, but enough.'

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my frustration in check.

'They took her.' Emberfist said, standing. 'Whoever it was, they tore through this place fast. They weren’t looking for a fight—they wanted her.'

I turned, surveying the damage. My study, my reading room, even the kitchen—it was all in shambles. The bastards hadn’t just taken Luneth; they’d made a point to destroy everything in their path.

'This is deliberate,' I said. 'A message.'

Emberfist nodded. 'And a distraction. They don’t want you focusing on who did it—they want you angry.'

'Well, it’s working,' I growled. The temper wasn’t mine — it was an inheritance from old Tavalor.

She placed a hand on my shoulder, her grip firm. 'We’ll find her, Tavalor. But first, you need to pull yourself together. This place is a wreck. You’re not going to get any answers standing around.'

She was right, of course. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. 'First things first,' I said. 'We need this place secured. And repaired.'

Emberfist smirked. 'You got a guy for that?'

'As a matter of fact, I do.'

***

Brolin arrived early the next morning. The stout dwarf trudged through the front gate mumbling as usual with a toolbox slung over one shoulder, his braided beard swinging as he surveyed the damage.

'By the Forge,' he muttered, shaking his head. 'What in the blazes happened here?'

'Thieves, again,' I said, leading him into the main hall.

Brolin shook his head again.'They tore through the place like a pack of rabid wyverns.' He looked around. ‘Didn’t you get barriers installed?’ He asked.

I smiled, sadly. ‘I did. But they weren’t enough.’

'Assassins, eh?' Brolin grunted, crouching to inspect the bloodstain Emberfist had pointed out earlier. 'Well, you’ve got yourself a real mess here, lad. Broken doors, shattered windows, furniture smashed to bits. This is gonna take some work.'

'I need it done fast,' I said. 'Money’s no object.'

Brolin snorted, standing. 'That’s what they all say. But fast costs extra, and if you want it done right—'

'Brolin,' I interrupted, meeting his gaze. 'Money. Is. No. Object. I’ve got to deal with all this as well. Can I leave it in your hands?’

The dwarf’s expression softened slightly. ‘Aye, I understand. I’ll do what I can.’

He set to work immediately, muttering under his breath as he examined the damage more closely. Emberfist and I stood off to the side, watching him measure door-frames and test the sturdiness of the walls.

'Your dwarf’s got a sharp eye,' Emberfist remarked.

'He’s the best,' I said. 'And he doesn’t ask too many questions.'

'Good,' she said. 'Because we’re going to need more than just repairs. We’re going to need answers.'

I nodded, my mind already racing. The Red Veil, Luneth’s disappearance, the ruins beneath Vallenport—it was all connected somehow. I just had to figure out how.

Brolin called out from the other room. 'Oy! This wall’s enchanted, but the runes are faded. Want me to fix ‘em while I’m at it?'

'Do it,' I said. If we were going to use this place as a base of operations, it needed to be secure.

As Brolin worked, I turned to Emberfist. 'We need to figure out our next move. If Luneth’s in danger, we don’t have time to waste.'

She nodded, her expression serious. 'Agreed. Let’s start digging.'

***

The scent of Enchanted brews and warm pastries greeted me as we stepped into the Gilded Hearth. The cafe was bustling, filled with the hum of morning conversations and the occasional clink of enchanted teacups floating to tables. The golden hearth in the corner gave the place its name, casting a warm, inviting glow that made the chaos of the outside world feel like a distant memory.

Someone had taken my usual spot. I looked at it sadly.

Emberfist snorted as she watched. 'You really are a creature of habit, aren’t you? Same cafe, same seat. You’re like an old man trapped in a young body.'

We ordered and went upstairs.

It was much quieter and cosier. Still the same wooden walls with carvings of mythical creatures. Lanterns lighting the space mostly. The windows being too small. There were four smaller tables, each tucked into cosy nooks, with plush red felt chairs and lower lighting. It offered a more serene atmosphere. But I preferred the hustle and bustle downstairs.

'Consistency is the foundation of a good life,' I replied, pulling out a chair. 'Besides, why change a winning formula?'

It was supposed to be quieter but were interrupted. A noblewoman’s voice, perfectly enunciating every word ‘—absolutely divine! I’ve never tasted tea like it. The Jade Court imports are all the rage now. Everyone at court is switching to tea. Coffee is so… common these days.’

I heard steps. 'It’s not the tea,' I said, glancing at the staircase. 'It’s the status. If the Jade Court started importing enchanted water, the nobles would be bathing in it by week’s end.'

Emberfist leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes. 'Tea? Don’t they have better things to talk about.'

Instead of a tray floating up with my order, Brenna the cafe’s owner had brought it up personally. My usual order—a steaming cup of enchanted calming brew and a starfruit muffin.

Brenna glanced at me with a knowing smile. 'Enjoy it today, Lord Tavalor. We’re closing tomorrow for the Lantern Festival.'

I blinked. 'Lantern Festival?'

'You must be new to town,' she said. 'It’s a big deal here. Lanterns, light shows, gondola parades. The canals will be packed. You should go.'

'Noted.' I sipped my coffee, glancing at Emberfist. 'What do you think?'

She shrugged. 'Could be fun. Or it could be a nightmare if we’re still dealing with assassins.'

***

As I walked, I couldn’t help but marvel at the city’s layered existence. I was searching for an obscure bookstore I’d heard about from one of Emberfist’s contacts. Vallenport was an old city. You could tell because it was a labyrinth. It had grown to what it was. Buildings leaned against one another as though sharing secrets. Balconies met randomly, draped with vines or tattered banners from forgotten festivals. The air carried a peculiar mix of damp stone, sea brine, and the faint tang of magic.

As I stepped deeper into the alleyways, a soft grunt and the clatter of falling items drew my attention.

An old woman, hunched and frail, had stumbled over the uneven cobblestones, her basket of shopping spilling across the ground. Brightly coloured fruits—golden oranges, pale green pears, and an odd spiky yellow one—rolled in every direction.

'Here, let me help,' I said, kneeling to gather her scattered items.

'Oh, bless you, young man,' she wheezed, brushing off her hands on her faded apron. 'These stones have a mind of their own, I swear.'

I scooped up the peculiar spiky fruit and paused, turning it in my hands. Its surface was like a miniature fortress, with ridges and points that didn’t seem entirely natural. 'What’s this?' I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

The woman chuckled, her toothless smile warm and genuine. 'That’s a starfruit. Imported from the southern isles, where the sun always shines. Sweet as honey, it is. Haven’t you seen one before?'

So this is what a starfruit looks like. I would have thought it was blue since it tasted like blueberries.

'Can’t say I have.' I handed it to her, but she pushed it back into my hands.

'Keep it,' she said, winking. 'For your trouble. A little sweetness goes a long way.'

I kept the fruit. 'Thank you.'

We swapped pleasantries and the old woman left.

As I straightened, an old man with a long white beard sitting on a stool outside a nearby shop caught my eye. He was smoking a pipe, the smoke curling lazily into the air like whispers of old tales. His gaze lingered on the starfruit in my hand, and he gave me a knowing nod before turning back to his pipe.

The sign above him read Aurum Tomes. Its lettering so faded it seemed like it might disappear entirely with the next rain.

I pushed open the shop’s creaky wooden door. A small bell chimed softly, and the scent of aged paper and something faintly metallic enveloped me.

The space was dimly lit, with narrow aisles formed by towering bookshelves that threatened to topple under the weight of their contents. Every surface seemed to hold something—scrolls spilling from baskets, tomes stacked precariously, and jars of strange artefacts gleaming faintly in the light of a lone enchanted lantern hanging from the ceiling.

'You’re new here,' came a raspy voice from behind me. I turned to see the pipe-smoking man step inside, closing the door behind him. He pulled off his cap, revealing a head of sparse white hair. 'Not many people wander this far into the alleys unless they’re looking for something.'

'Maybe,' I replied. 'You run this place?'

I appraised him. [S-Class].

Damn. What the hell? An S-Class is running a bookstore?

'Owner, keeper, and occasional finder of lost things,' he said with a dry smile, his pipe now tucked into his shirt pocket. 'Name’s Jorik. And you?'

'Tavalor,' I said, offering a nod. 'I’m looking for information on magical wards. Magic builds. And maybe… history. Old Vallenport.'

'Ah, you’re the digging type,' Jorik said, rubbing his chin. 'This city’s good for that. Built on ruins, as they say. Layers upon layers. The deeper you dig, the darker it gets.'

He moved with surprising swiftness for his age, weaving through the shelves until he stopped at a section marked by a faded sign that read Arcana: Foundations. He pulled out a brittle manuscript bound in fraying leather. 'This one’s about wards,' he said, handing it to me. 'A little outdated, but the fundamentals don’t change much.'

I took the book carefully, its pages crackling faintly under my touch. 'Thanks. What about the history?'

Jorik squinted at me, his eyes sharp despite his age. 'Why the interest? Most people are content with the city’s surface—markets, canals, the festivals. You looking for something specific?'

I hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. 'Just curious,' I said finally. 'People talk about Vallenport like it’s alive, like it has secrets worth uncovering.'

Jorik chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. 'Alive, eh? That’s one way to put it. This city’s like a phoenix—always rising from the ashes of whatever came before. You’d be surprised how much of it’s still down there, waiting for someone brave—or foolish—enough to find it.'

He shuffled to another shelf, pulling out a slim book bound in faded red. 'This one’s about the ruins beneath. Mind you, it’s more rumour than fact. But rumour has a way of leading to truth, if you follow it far enough.'

I took the second book, already feeling the weight of unanswered questions pressing on me. 'Thanks.'

He recommended me four books. I left them at the counter.

I took a look around for myself. Looking at different books. Mostly biographies on successful mages.

I was thinking about what spells I was gonna pick.

He had a good selection of books, lots of old and rare books. A good bookstore.

I found a few that I liked. Eventually bringing them to the counter. Jorik sat in a worn chair behind the counter, the faint creak of the wood blending with the ambient hum of the shop.

When he saw me bring my books over he gestured for me to take a seat across from him, his sharp eyes scanning the books I’d chosen.

'You seem like someone looking to put together a plan,' he remarked, tapping his pipe against a brass ashtray. 'Judging by those books, I’d wager you’re thinking about magic—real magic, not the parlour tricks some people try to pass off.'

I was surprised at his observation skills. How the hell could he tell that from a bunch of magic biographies?

I nodded, leaning back. 'You could say that. I’m… thinking about my approach. I’m sure you know all about the limits. I need to pick wisely.'

Jorik puffed his pipe, the smoke curling upward like a question mark. 'Ah, so you’re at that crossroads. Let me guess—power, versatility, or survival? Those are the usual dilemmas for a mage picking their spells.'

'Something like that,' I admitted. 'I’ve got five slots to fill, and every choice feels like committing to a long-term strategy. Too much offence, and I’ll be useless in a support role. Too much defence, and I won’t have enough firepower when I need it.'

Jorik grinned, revealing surprisingly sharp teeth for someone his age. 'That’s the eternal problem, lad. Every mage has faced it. Let’s start simple. What do you already have?'

I rubbed my chin, thinking. I lied a bit about [Fireball]. 'So far, I’ve relied on fire magic for combat. It’s raw power, and it’s what I’m best at. But I’m starting to see the gaps. Fire isn’t always the answer, especially when subtlety is required.'

Being a dragon, fire spells were instinctual. Beyond the limits of spell slots. They gave me a 7th permanent spell slot.

He nodded approvingly. 'Good, you’re not one of those who think fire solves every problem. Though, truth be told, there’s a lot you can do with the right flame. But you’re right—magic is about balance.'

'What would you suggest?' I asked. 'If you were in my boots, building a spell repertoire?'

Jorik tapped his pipe again, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. 'Well, first, I’d think about your core philosophy. What do you want your magic to do? Do you want to dominate in battle? Protect those you care about? Explore the unknown? Each goal shapes your build differently.'

I considered his words. 'Exploration, definitely. But I also want to be self-reliant—able to handle threats on my own.'

'A self-sufficient explorer, eh? That means you’ll want utility spells as much as combat power. Something for movement, something for information, and, of course, something for defence.' He leaned forward, ticking off points on his fingers. 'If it were me, I’d pick one spell for each of the four pillars of magic: offence, defence, utility, and support. Keep the fifth slot flexible—a wildcard for experimentation.'

'Experimentation?' I raised an eyebrow. 'Isn’t that risky?'

'Sure is,' he said with a chuckle. 'But magic grows stale if you stick to what you know. A little risk keeps you sharp. You’ll learn more from experimenting with one wild spell than you will from mastering another fireball.'

'That’s an interesting approach,' I said, mulling it over. So, if I stick to your pillars, here’s what I’m thinking: [Fireball] stays as my offensive spell. For defence, maybe a [Barrier] spell?'

'Smart choice,' Jorik said, nodding. 'You’ve got the books for it now. Learn to layer your defences. A good barrier isn’t just a wall; it’s a net, a reflector, sometimes even a weapon.'

I rubbed my chin, thinking.'For utility, I’m thinking I need something to help me see better, especially in dangerous or unknown situations.'

'Observation, eh?' Jorik said, his eyes gleaming with interest. 'Good. A wise mage knows that knowing is half the battle. What kind of ‘seeing’ are we talking about? Detecting magic? Reading the future? Or are you thinking of something more practical, like seeing through walls or finding hidden foes?'

'I saw the [Watcher’s Eye]—at the Mage’s Guild,' I said. 'I keep thinking about how useful that could be in ruins or during an ambush.'

'A good choice for an explorer. It’s versatile—scouting ahead, keeping watch while you rest, spotting traps before you step on them. It won’t help you read the flow of ley lines or identify ancient enchantments, though. For that, you’d need something like [Arcane Sight]'

'[Arcane Sight]?' I asked.

'Aye,' he said. 'Think of it as opening your third eye to the magical world. It lets you see spells in action, trace enchantments, and spot magical traps. It’s a little more specialised than [Watcher’s Eye], but if you’re going into old ruins or dealing with powerful wards, it’s invaluable.'

A bit redundant. I already have [Dragon’s Sight]. Plus I could probably stack it with [Watcher’s Eye]. But I played along. '[Watcher’s Eye] for versatility, [Arcane Sight] for magical details. Both sound useful. Do I need both?'

'Depends on how paranoid you are,' Jorik said with a chuckle. 'If it were me, I’d pick [Watcher’s Eye] first. It’s simpler to use and works in more situations. Save [Arcane Sight] for when you start delving into places thick with magic—or if you’re planning to tangle with powerful mages.'

'Huh, I hadn’t thought of that.' I made a mental note. 'What about support?'

'Support’s the one most adventurers overlook,' Jorik said, leaning back. 'I’d say go for healing if you’re often alone. If you’re in a group, maybe something like an area buff or debuff spell. But here’s my personal favourite: [Illumination]. A light spell that reveals what’s hidden. Perfect for ruins, traps, even sneaky enemies.'

'And the wildcard?' I asked.

Jorik grinned slyly. 'That’s up to you. Maybe an elemental summoning spell to keep you company. Maybe a time-dilation spell to give you an edge in combat. Pick something that makes you smile when you think about using it.'

I laughed. 'A spell that makes me smile, huh? That’s an unusual criterion.'

'It’s the most important one,' Jorik said seriously. 'Magic isn’t just about power. It’s about who you are. The spells you pick say as much about you as the clothes you wear or the way you speak. Don’t forget that.'

I sat back, staring at the books on the counter. Jorik’s advice had given me plenty to think about. 'I’ll keep that in mind.'

He puffed on his pipe, smoke curling lazily in the air. 'Don’t thank me yet, lad. Wait until you’ve faced something that magic can’t fix. Then we’ll see if you’ve picked wisely.'

I paid. As I turned to leave Jorik interrupted my exit. ‘A word of advice, kid. Vallenport doesn’t give up its secrets easily. And some secrets are better left buried.’

He gave me a strange look.

I left the shop. Books tucked under my hand. Outside, the sun was setting, casting long shadows through the alleyways. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of water lapping against the canals mingled with the faint hum of distant music.

I took the starfruit out of my pocket and bit into it. It skin was waxy. The texture was crunch reminded me like a ripe pear.

It tasted sweet.