If you’ve made it this far, let me take a moment to thank you sincerely. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey so far or, at the very least, found it intriguing.
Your continued trust and interest mean the world, and I’m excited to share what lies ahead.
Happy reading, and thank you for staying with the story.
Chapter 25 - The Anchor
The boat slowly approached the dock, the worn wooden planks soaked with salt water creaked under the weight of the waves lapping at them.
Caronte rowed calmly.
The night fog enveloped everything, making the outline of the continent a vague image that only took shape as they neared.
Frostheim, the northern continent, revealed itself as a cold and austere place. The air had a metallic and sharp taste, and the wind carried with it a whisper of ice.
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Valruna was the name of the port city, shrouded in darkness, dotted here and there with faint flickering lights.
The lanterns swayed, hanging from wooden buildings, casting dancing shadows on facades whitened by snow and ice.
The cobbled streets, still wet from recent rain, reflected those glimmers, creating a melancholic and unsettling atmosphere.
Caronte pulled the oars and secured the boat with a rope tied to a post on the dock. He calmly rose and offered a hand to Love to help her down. His eyes, tired yet kind, observed her intently.
> "From here, the path is yours, girl. Don't forget what you've left behind, but don't let it trap you."
Love didn't answer, simply nodding. She felt a tightening in her throat, but it was not the moment for emotions.
She turned and began walking along the wooden walkway, her steps echoing in the silence like solitary echoes.
She wore only a light robe and walked barefoot, the cold showing no sign of releasing its grip.
Turning once, she saw Caronte watching her leave, motionless beside his boat.
> "Thank you."
Then she vanished into the mist.
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The first impression of the city was a mix of smells: saltwater, stale alcohol, and the faint scent of smoke.
The streets were narrow and winding, flanked by tall, slanted buildings made of dark wood and rough stone.
Some had sloping roofs, covered by a thin layer of snow that sparkled under the lantern light.
The windows were small and protected by iron shutters, almost as if to keep out the relentless cold.
Love moved slowly, pulling her robe tighter to protect herself from the icy wind that seemed to creep through every crack.
The sound of her footsteps was the only noise in the empty streets, occasionally interrupted by the squeak of a hanging sign.
As she crossed a wider alley, her gaze was captured by a tavern.
The hand-carved sign, visibly worn by time, bore the name of the inn, "The Anchor."
Faint sounds came from within: hoarse laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the roll of dice on a wooden table.
Love opened the heavy door and was immediately struck by a wave of stifling heat, the contrast with the outside chill almost dizzying.
The interior was bathed in a reddish gloom, illuminated by a series of poorly arranged candles.
The air was thick with smoke, a mixture of seren leaves and burning wood that scratched at her throat.
Around the crude wooden tables, men of all kinds were engaged in different activities: some slept sprawled on the tables, others played dice or drank in silence.
The raucous laughter of a group of drunks filled the room, while a pair of towering figures argued animatedly in a corner.
Love moved slowly, hugging herself, embarrassed, her eyes wandering between unfamiliar faces.
The tavern's walls were decorated with old fishing tools, nets, and harpoons hung like trophies.
Some barrels were stacked in a corner, probably full of local alcohol.
Behind the bar, a handsome man was drying a glass with a rag.
His black hair, perfectly combed, and his eyes of icy blue contrasted with the disorderly clientele.
When he saw Love enter, his expression changed from boredom to a subtle curiosity.
Love approached the bar, her steps uncertain and slow, as though every movement was a small effort.
She sat on a wooden stool without a word, her hands nervously clasped in her lap.
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> "Welcome"
the man said in a low, clear voice, placing the glass he was drying down. "You don't seem to be from around here."
Love looked up, her eyes full of a mix of fatigue and tension.
> "One place is as good as another," she replied softly, almost a whisper.
The man studied her for a long moment, as though trying to decipher her thoughts. Then he nodded and turned toward a barrel.
> "What can I offer you, strange creature?"
Love made a face, almost a pout of a disgruntled child, and looked at the man with angry eyes.
> "I'm not a 'creature,' my name is Love, and I am a woman."
She then quickly turned her head, checking the innkeeper's expression from the corner of her eye.
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With a slight smile, he turned and grabbed a bottle from the shelf behind him.
> "My name is Zeydran, and I am the owner of this tavern."
He paused briefly, then turned again, placing the bottle on the table.
> "Usually, those who sit in that spot end up telling me a story while they console themselves with the barrels."
> Love (looking down, responded): "I have nothing to tell."
>
> (A moment of silence, then she added) "But who are these barrels?"
Zeydran laughed heartily, then poured the contents of the bottle into the girl’s glass, saying:
> "I guess I was right, you're not from around here."
Then his tone suddenly grew serious.
> "And I think you do have a story to tell."
Love felt threatened by those words.
She looked around as though searching for a threat in the tavern, but no one was paying attention to her.
They were all engrossed in their own business.
> Zeydran: "Don't worry, I don't mean you any harm," he said, placing the bottle back on the shelf. "But I don't think the others, in this place or any other, will show you the same kindness."
> Then, placing the rag he was holding on his shoulder, he added, "Drink what I've poured for you, it will warm you."
> Love (her voice trembling): "I'm not cold, I don't need your charity."
Zeydran turned toward a man sweeping the floor, snapping his fingers at him, then turned back to the girl.
> "Come on, drink up, Silly head," he said, patting her on the head.
>
> "Come with me, I'll get you some clothes fit for this place."
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Zeydran approached a dark wooden door in the farthest corner of the tavern, almost hidden by the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight.
He gestured for Love to follow him, opening the door with a slight but decisive creak.
Behind them, the muffled chatter of the tavern faded as the door closed, isolating them from the rest of the world.
The staircase ahead was steep and narrow, made of rough wood, worn by the years and countless steps.
Each step creaked under their feet, a sound almost intimate in the silence.
The wall beside them was decorated with simple oil lamps, casting dancing shadows on the uneven surfaces.
Love noticed small details as they climbed: a row of worn nails where old hats and cloaks hung, a painting of a ship in a storm, probably a reminder of Zeydran's past, and a series of notches carved along the handrail, marks left by those who had climbed those stairs before her.
At the top, Zeydran pushed open another door that led into a simple but cozy room.
The ceiling was low, with exposed wooden beams that gave the room a rustic and homely feel.
A large window overlooked the port, revealing the lights of the moored ships gently swaying on the waves.
A lit fireplace spread a soft warmth, and next to it was a wooden chair with a worn but clean cushion.
The furniture was sparse and functional: a solid wooden table with a couple of chairs, a bookshelf with some dusty books and rolled-up maps, and a bed against the wall. Above the bed, an old tapestry depicted a lion and a dragon in battle.
Zeydran turned to Love, pointing to a chair near the fire.
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> "Sit," he said with a kind but firm tone. "You must be exhausted."
While Love settled into the chair, Zeydran opened a wardrobe near the window and began rummaging through a series of neatly folded clothes.
He pulled out a simple gray linen tunic and a dark blue cloak.
> "These should do," he said, placing them next to her. "They're nothing special, but they'll keep you warm."
Love nodded in silence, still shaken by recent events.
The fire's warmth began to thaw her face.
Zeydran sat down across from her, resting his elbows on the table and interlacing his fingers.
> "I need to tell you something,"
he began, looking at her with piercing but non-judgmental eyes.
> "Valruna is anything but safe. People here are unreliable. They drink, gamble, and will do anything for a few fragments of Aeternum. You need to stay alert."
Love raised her gaze toward him, her eyes filled with questions.
> "I didn't know where else to go," she whispered. "I just... ran away. I couldn't stay there anymore."
> "I understand," Zeydran said with a slight nod. "But now you need to tell me everything. What happened? Why are you here?"
Love took a deep breath and began to speak. She told him of Terra and Sky, the impending clash, the weight she felt on her shoulders, and her desperate flight.
Zeydran listened carefully, his face serious and thoughtful.
When she finished, Zeydran stood up, walking slowly to the window. He gazed outside, where the winds were blowing stronger, making the sails of the moored ships ripple.
> "The winds," he murmured. "That's why they're so restless. The clash between Terra and Sky... it's shaking everything."
He turned back to Love.
> "You can't stay here," he said firmly. "Valruna isn't safe for you. It's never been safe for anyone. You need to go to Port Fidelis. There you'll find a man who goes by the name Requiem. Tell him I sent you."
Love stared at him with wide eyes.
> "And if he doesn't accept me? And if he doesn't help me?"
Zeydran moved closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.
> "Requiem owes me more than one favor. He will take you in, trust me. But you need to leave immediately, before the chaos reaches here too."
Zeydran immediately went to work, moving around the room with meticulous efficiency.
He opened a wardrobe near the window and began pulling out essential items, arranging them neatly on the table.
Love watched him in silence, her heart still heavy, but finding some comfort in the way he seemed to know exactly what to do.
Zeydran took a sturdy leather bag, light enough to carry easily, and packed it with care:
Fragments of Aeternum, gathered in a small linen pouch.
"Don't waste them," he told her. "They're precious, but they can also attract unwanted attention."
A map, carefully rolled up and tied with a red ribbon.
> "It will guide you through Frostheim and beyond. Port Fidelis is west of Drakoria, beyond the mountains."
Leather gloves, perfect for protecting hands from the sharp cold of the north.
> "The nights in Frostheim can be merciless."
Dried food, wrapped in waxed cloth: dark bread, aged cheese, and a piece of dried meat.
> "It's not much, but it will keep you going until you find a tavern or a market."
A small metal flask.
> "It contains Radra liquor," he explained. "It's not just for warming you up; it could serve you for disinfecting or negotiating."
As he packed the items, Zeydran began to speak in a firm and reassuring voice.
> "Listen carefully, Love. This journey will be long, but not impossible.
>
> Port Fidelis is west of Drakoria, near the equator.
>
> To get there, you first have to cross all of Frostheim.
>
> The main road will lead you through the capital, Helgard, a city as imposing and cold as the ice that surrounds it."
He paused for a moment, placing his hands on the table and looking at Love.
> "After Helgard, you’ll continue toward the mountains.
>
> They're difficult to cross, but there's a known pass, the Raven Pass.
>
> It's narrow but well-marked. Beyond the mountains, you'll head south, towards warmer lands, those that border the waters.
>
> There you'll find Port Haven."
He took a deep breath, studying the girl's face to ensure she was following.
> "At Port Haven, look for a ship. The sailors are a bit rough, but money speaks.
>
> With the Aeternum fragments I've given you, you'll find a way to Port Fidelis."
Zeydran closed the bag and handed it to Love, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.
> "Trust your wits, but be careful.
>
> Don't blindly trust anyone you meet.
>
> Travel discreetly and don't reveal who you are.
>
> Port Fidelis is your goal, but the journey itself will be a test."
Love nodded, clutching the bag to her chest.
> "Thank you,"
she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Zeydran nodded and opened the door leading back to the rear of the tavern.
> "Don't linger too long anywhere, and remember: Requiem.
>
> He's the name that will open doors for you.
>
> Tell him I sent you, and that will be enough."
The night air was fresh, with a light breeze carrying the salty scent of the sea.
Zeydran stood still by the tavern door, arms crossed, his gaze thoughtful as he watched Love 's figure.
The girl, her travel bag tightly in her hands, seemed hesitant, as though something still held her there.
Love turned to him, her gaze uncertain but determined.
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> "Why?"
she asked, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the night.
> "Why are you doing all this for me? You don’t know me."
Zeydran was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on her, as though searching for an answer within himself.
Then he spoke, his voice calm and deep, containing all the wisdom of the world.
> "Since you stepped into this little tavern, I've been wondering that myself,"
he said, a slight smile grazing his lips.
> "Your eyes shine, little one. And eyes like those... yes, I'm sure, they're not made for crying."
His words landed on her like a caress, and Love stood still for a moment, feeling the weight of that gesture of kindness and understanding.
Then, without thinking, she took a step forward, then another.
She stood on tiptoe, leaning toward Zeydran’s face.
He didn’t move, didn’t avert his gaze, receiving the gesture with the same calm with which he had guided her thus far.
Her lips brushed against his in a brief, instinctive kiss, as though it was the only way to express the gratitude she couldn't put into words.
Then, without saying anything, she turned and began to walk away.
Zeydran stood watching her walk away, hands in his pockets, the melancholy smile now more pronounced.
He didn’t say a word, but a tear fell down his cheek.
The only sound that remained was the fading echo of her footsteps, until they disappeared.
If only he could see her face... she was leaving with the pride typical of children, but she was crying, her face streaked with tears, though she said nothing.
She didn’t look back, and he didn’t chase after her. Both with a blade in their hearts, they cried in the silent night of Valruna.
Neither of them yet understood the extent of those feelings.
Thank You for Reading!
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Until next time,
Teo