Sion stares at the pale blue panel floating in the air in front of him. He’s been able to see it since his Rite of Bestowal five years ago, yet even after examining it daily, he cannot understand its nature or its contents. All he knows is that it is a record of abilities and that he can summon it into his vision by looking at someone and willing for it to come. No matter how often he reads his own list of skills, he cannot understand it. Written in the golden script is something he has seen in nobody else. The first three skills in his list are ones he doesn’t know the origin of. All three skills, “Temporal Magic,” “Spatial Magic,” and “Sensory Magic,” are listed at being at their maximum strength already, and all three are further marked as “locked.” Not a single person in the village even comes close to having a maximum strength skill, yet Sion has three while still a child. Beyond that, not a single person has a skill that is locked besides Sion. Sion is still confounded by it, but cannot even manage to explain it to another with nobody able to see it as he does. Sion sighs as begins to think.

“These locked skills… The only explanation must be that it’s because I’m an “Inheritor,” but if it’s an inheritance, who did I inherit it from? Temporal Magic and Spatial Magic were both last seen in the time of heroes, so why do I have it now? Did somebody from that long ago send them to me? But why did they give it to me in particular? And why in this time? They even gave me their eyes… Why would they have done that?” Sion sighs more deeply as he makes the panel vanish. “I still can’t think of anything. I hope I can find some answers at the academy. Will I even have time to look for answers, though? I need to devote myself to my studies first and foremost, so will I just have to hope an answer shows up in classes?” Sion begins to sigh again before slapping the sides of his head. He stands abruptly and begins to yell out to nobody.

“Thinking about this is pointless! What’s the point in thinking this hard about something I’ve never known the answer to! I just need to go find the answer, don’t I?!” After moralizing himself, Sion begins to walk back home.

Sion has grown well. He walks with long strides over the fields of grass that cover the village. He is impressively tall, standing above even his father now. Sion gazes at the houses of the farmers and their fields as he walks by them. He has no want for greater muscle or greater strength, although he still pursues it in training. Sion walks slowly, basking in the sunlight of a clear sky that makes pale blue strips of his hair appear to glow. His body is lean and supple, his disposition powerful. He walks by the church, quietly passing Sister Fayre’s morning lesson to the younger kids. As Sion evades the more crowded town square, he looks at the small wooden stage and reflects on the last five years.

He thinks about his friends, who he swore to protect, and prays for their future happiness. He thinks about all the younger kids, and all the time he spent teaching them, and wishes for them to grow up well. He thinks of the hunters that happily guided him after his successful return from the forest. He thinks of Sister Fayre, the first of his teachers and the one who helped all the village children the most. He thinks of the Elder, who alongside his father instructed him in how to fight and told him of the rest of the world. He thinks of Father Cynde, who alongside his mother taught him history and language. He thinks of his mother, who taught him to be kind and to never lose against injustice. He thinks of his father, who taught him to love the world. He thinks of everyone in the village— everyone who loves him dearly.

Sion reaches his home without having met another person. He grabs the metal handle on the door and pulls it open. As he steps inside, he finds his mother at work at the table. Sion is surprised to see her as she calmly stands and approaches her son. She embraces him, holding him tightly. Instinctively, Sion bends down and rests his head on her shoulder. She begins to stroke his head.

“Sion, even though we’re the ones who pushed you to do it, we’re still sad that you'll be leaving so soon.” Sion nods slightly as she continues. “Your father is waiting at the entrance to the village with your things.”

“Why did he do that?”

“He was scared that you’d try to sneak off without any noticing.”

“Why would he think that?”

“He said it’s because you two are so similar.” Sion giggles slightly. “Well, he’s right about that. You are so much like him. You’re just as kind, just as loving, and just as brave and headstrong.” She hugs him tightly before letting him go. “Fayre left a present for you. I left it on your bed, go get it.”

Sion walks to his bed to find a new outfit waiting for him. Sion quickly changes into it. The shirt covers his body and his arms with the color of the night sky. The collar, cuffs, and hem are highlighted with a bright golden color made from sunbeam lilies from Clea. The pants are a lighter, desaturated blue. Sion can feel magic woven into the clothes, a testament to the wishes Sister Fayre packed into them.

Sion steps back before his mother, who presses her hands against his arms and holds him in place. She looks at him and smiles.

“Sion, you look so handsome.” She pulls her arms away reservedly as Sion thanks her and walks back towards the door. As he opens the door, she rushes up to him and hugs him tightly once more.

“Sion, make sure you eat properly, and make sure to listen to your teachers, and make sure to help out your friends, and make sure that you can come back home to us safely. I love you.” Sion wraps his arms around his mother.

“I love you too. I’ll make sure to come back.” Sion’s mother lets go of him, and he walks out towards the entrance of the village.

As Sion approaches the undecorated wooden gate, he sees five people beneath it, waiting for his arrival. Three of them break away and begin to run towards him, leaving the other two to stand stoically. Bule, Wesend, and Oure dash towards Sion, barely stopping short of tackling him to the ground. Sion smiles at them.

“I’m happy to see you guys before I leave.” Bule rebuts him.

“Then why did you try to leave without us knowing?” Sion doesn’t answer, holding his mouth closed in a smile. He walks with them towards the gate, listening to them as they levy complaints towards him. He doesn’t answer a single one. As they approach the gate, the three quiet down. Sion turns to look at them. As he begins to speak, his voice wavers for a single moment.

“I’ll miss you three while I’m gone.” The three of them give Sion quick embraces, each quietly telling him “I’ll miss you too.” As they back off slightly towards the village, Father Cynde approaches. He gives Sion an envelope with a wax seal emblazoned with a symbol of a flower, Father Cynde’s symbol.

“Sion, you’ve always been a bright and capable child, but you also have always had all of us to rely on. I don’t want to send you out into the world without any connection to speak of, so I’ve given that to you. It’s a letter of introduction for the Bishop of Clea. Give it to him and you’ll be able to count on his aid if you ever require it. I wish you well in your studies.”

Father Cynde steps past Sion and ushers the other three boys back with him. Sion takes a step forward towards his father. This whole time, he had been standing perfectly still, his arms crossed over his chest. Sion stands in front of him as he begins to speak.

“Sion, you have nothing to fear outside this gate. You’ve been trained well. You’ve been taught well. As long as you can use everything you’ve learned, you have nothing to fear. I want you to go out there and learn as much as you can. Education is the single greatest task for a person. Even if you just end up running back here, there is value in leaving first. And if you go out there and decide you never want to come back, that’s fine too. That you’ll always come back to us is our desire. If you decide something else for yourself, you don’t need to be beholden to all of us. There’s only one thing I want you to remember with all your heart. Lord Vacokenos loves us greatly, and so he protects us from the voids. You will never gain nothing for your efforts. Not a single person is truly empty inside. Whether you’re working hard towards a goal or endlessly reaching out your hand to somebody, there is no such thing as a wasted effort.”

Sion’s father hands him three things: a bag of spare clothes, a pouch with some money, and a simple dagger. After Sion receives each object, his father grabs his head and pulls it down into his chest. Cradling Sion against his chest, his father begins to rub his head gently. Sion doesn’t hear his father make a single noise, but when he looks up at him, he sees tears falling down his father’s still expressionless face. He releases Sion without a word. Sion begins to walk out past the gate. His father turns to watch as he leaves the village. As Sion distances himself from the gate, he whistles. The piercing noise travels through the air. Several moments later, a joyous and excited scalefox bounds around the wall surrounding the village, its blue-green fur and scales shimmering in the sunlight. It yips happily at Sion. Sion smiles at him.

“Regn, let’s walk a bit.”

Sion looks up at the cloudless sky above his head. It stretches out forever, completely unbound, so far from his home. Sion watches the sky, vigilant for any sudden storms.

Sion cries.

Regn lifts Sion in his maw, tossing Sion onto his back. Sion buries his face into Regn’s blue fur. Regn begins to dash across the dirt road, gently shaking Sion. After several minutes, Sion begins to raise himself once more. He grips Regn’s fur, careful not to pull on it, and pulls his body up. With his upper body now raised, Sion pushes himself back, causing him to fall on Regn’s back, now seated. Sion looks out at his surroundings as he rises and falls from Regn’s large bounds.

Sion had only ever left the village for the forest. The landscape before him was brand new. The plains expand out in each direction. Everywhere he looks, Sion sees the green grass before him. A soft breeze rustles throughout the plains. No matter how far he and Regn go, the view Sion sees remains the same. Sion looks back and sees the gate of his village shrinking into a smaller and smaller dot. His heart is still heavy with his newly dawned loneliness as the village recedes from view. Regn never stops running straight ahead as Sion takes in the sight around him.

Sion looks out coolly as his tireless companion continues to run. As Sion gazes out into the plains, he notices something. He sees an ornate carriage stopped along a branching road and swarmed with a throbbing mass of green figures. Sion quickly pats Regn’s head and points in the direction of the carriage. Regn slows as he turns, then dashes at breakneck speed. Sion crouches on Regn’s back as the winds rush around him.

Protecting the carriage is a single young man. He has short pale blonde hair and dark, pointed eyes. Behind him, staring at him from the window of the carriage with disinterest and boredom, is a young woman with long silvery pink hair and a soft face. From within the carriage, she speaks to him.

“Scima, just let me fight! All you’re doing is tiring yourself out right at the start of our journey!”

“No. My duty is to protect you. Being able to protect you is my pride, so I can’t let you fight.”

“Hah… Fine, do whatever you please.”

Scima plunges his blade into a goblin’s chest. He forces it all the way through the goblin as blood spurts out, covering the blade. As the rest of the horde draws closer, Scima swings his sword, not bothering to remove the corpse of the goblin from its tip. He slams the goblin’s body into its companions with a gruesome crunch of bones. The goblins begin to back away in fear, yet do not retreat in full. Scima swipes his sword through the air, splattering blood on the ground as he cleans his blade. As Scima finishes removing the blood, the goblins begin to encroach on the carriage once more.

Scima dashes forward and drops his body near to the ground, lowering himself beneath the small bodies of the goblins. He thrusts his sword up at the nearest goblin. The blade pierces the throat, emerging from the nape on the other side. As Scima begins to rise, light collects in his palm. He waves his hand out at the rest of the goblins. Scima’s hand dims as light begins to flicker on the grass between him and the goblins. Light sparks, flying above the goblins’ heads like firecrackers. Although silent, Scima’s light show is enough to ward off the goblins momentarily as he retrieves his weapon. Scima does not look away from his next opponents, never being distracted by the sound of the burbling blood. He reaches out and grips the hilt of his blade without missing a beat. Scima begins to pull his sword from its bloody sheath, but feels something amiss.

Scima now turns his head to examine his withdrawn weapon. The tip has melted away, leaving globs of metal puddling at the goblin’s feet. As Scima shifts his attention to the sword, he notices that along its entire length there is a faint sizzling. The metal has become flaccid, bending towards the ground as half melted chunks fall to the ground from their own weight. Scima takes a strong step forward and plants his feet to the ground. He twists his body, drawing back the hand holding his deteriorating sword. He then jerks his arm forward as he twists his body back the other way. Scima releases his grip on the hilt. The sword goes flying straight ahead, leaving a line of metal strewn in its wake. It collides with the chest of another goblin. The metal of the blade splatters, leaving a large silver stain on the goblin’s green skin. As the hilt smashes into the goblin’s chest, it is knocked back and falls to the ground. As the goblin begins to recover, Scima mutters to himself, expressing all his thoughts aloud.

“Damn it all. What was that? Was it that goblin’s blood? I’ve never heard about that before. What caused it? Who do we need to go to? Is just Lord Rihtwis fine? Can I handle this whole horde without a weapon? Probably, but that’s assuming the rest of them are normal. What do I do about a new weapon? How quickly can it get prepared? Are there spares somewhere? We really need to turn back this soon?” Scima clicks his tongue.

The frustrated goblin rises to its feet and charges at the now unarmed Scima. Scima lunges forward towards the goblin. He places his large palm around its skull. Scima tightens his grip and lifts the goblin into the air from its head. It flails its body around and tries to grab at Scima’s arm, but is powerless in the face of his might. Scima holds his arm out parallel to the ground, looking out into the crowd of goblins. The goblins shuffle around dumbfounded, again neither approaching nor retreating. Scima begins to press his fingers deeper into the goblin. The goblin’s panicked defense increases in intensity as it feels pressure against its skull. Soon a loud snap and crack fills the area. They are drowned out by the pained screams, rough and raspy, of the goblin. The goblins freeze in fear for a moment, then become wildly agitated as the sounds come to an end.

Scima, stone faced, tosses the body of the goblin into the horde. As it leaves his hand, he begins to shake off the blood. The goblin body falls to the ground, leaving its crushed head to rest there, as Scima looks out coldly. The goblins fall quiet once more. They begin to approach Scima uneasily.

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As they inch closer, Scima feels a powerful presence creeping up on him. It is far more powerful than the small goblins or even the larger hobgoblins, still far in the back watching the battle unfold. Suddenly, close to Scima’s head, a loud, shrill bark erupts from the maw of a scalefox. Upon seeing the large frame of the beast and feeling its pressure bearing down on them, many of the goblins begin to flee. Their survival instincts have finally won over with the new arrival, with every muscle in their body screaming out that they will never be able to win. Simultaneously, the hobgoblins now step forward, cutting down any deserters that cross their path.

As the hectic flight from the carriage ends, only six goblins are left behind in addition to the three hobgoblins that were commanding them. Sion slides off Regn’s back, landing next to Scima. While the goblins remain wary, Scima begins to talk to Sion.

“Who are you? Why did you come?”

“I’m Sion. I saw you were getting attacked.”

“Alright, Sion, each of the three of us can take on two goblins and a hob?”

“Got it. Regn, you got it?” Regn yelps in response.

“Don’t get careless just because they’re goblins. Something’s up with them. One of their blood melted right through my sword.” At this remark, Sion begins to scan Scima’s body. The translucent panel appears between the two, unbeknownst to Scima. Sion skims through it, paying little mind to either the name, Scima Yslende, or the class, “Gleamblade.” At the current moment, Sion cares only about the skills. Scima has a varied list of martial skills ranging all kinds of weapons. Although Scima’s skill with martial arts is superior to Sion’s, his skill with blades is even more so. Sion grabs the dagger at his waist by the covered blade and hands it to Scima.

“Take this. I think you’ll use it better than I could.” Scima grabs the hilt and moves the dagger around in his hand.

“Thanks. I’ll return it when we’re done here.”

With the plan settled, Sion, Scima, and Regn close the distance between themselves and the goblins. The first to reach them is Regn. Regn swiftly closes his maw around a goblin, crushing it. As he lifts the dead goblin, he swipes at the other with his claws. Regn spits out the goblin as the other falls to the ground, blood streaming from its chest. The hobgoblin approaches Regn, brandishing in his hand a rusted saber.

The hobgoblin slashes at Regn’s foreleg. The blade sinks into the fur, but cannot cut through. Although it is only against fur, the blade is stopped by the tough, clumped fur closer to the leg itself. The hobgoblin withdraws its blade and tries to step backwards. However, Regn seizes the opportunity. Regn paws at the hobgoblin, knocking it to the ground. He leers down at it as he opens his jaw. Regn begins to rip the hobgoblin apart. He rips skin from muscles and rends muscle from bone as he bites into the torso of the hobgoblin. As the hobgoblin stops writhing under Regn, he sits calmly and watches Sion and Scima’s own battles.

Scima thrusts forward with the dagger. He plants it deep into a goblin’s chest before it can react. Scima twists the dagger inside of the goblin, boring a hole gushing with blood. He then pulls the dagger through the goblin’s side. The goblin’s chest is ripped open, the dagger leaving a long bloody line across its chest. As Scima pulls the dagger from the goblin’s body, he starts splattering the blood that collected on the blade. As he wipes away the remainder, the other goblin swings its club at him. Scima catches the wooden club with the dagger, cutting into the wood as it stops. Scima grabs the club and begins to push it away, attempting to free his blade. As he does so, he hooks his foot around the goblin’s leg and strikes its calf. As the goblin flinches from the pain, Scima sweeps its leg and forces the goblin to the ground. As the goblin falls, Scima looses the dagger from the club. In a single motion, Scima follows the falling goblin. As it slams into the grass, Scima plunges the dagger into its eye. The goblin grabs Scima’s arm, but it quickly loosens its grip as its arms fall slack at its side.

Scima stands tall as he once more wipes the blood from the blade of the dagger. The hobgoblin steps forward, brandishing a woodcutter’s ax in its hands. Scima does not move, instead allowing the hobgoblin to approach as he awaits it. The hobgoblin walks slowly. After several steps, Scima is in the path of the ax head. The hobgoblin takes a strong step forward, bracing itself for the mighty swing of the ax. The attack is startling fast compared to the slow movements preceding it. Scima stabs at the handle across his body. The tip of the dagger plants itself into the wooden shaft as Scima feels a jolt of force travel through his arm. The hobgoblin keeps pushing the ax forward regardless. Scima continues to resist with his own overwhelming force as a counter. He soon realizes, however, that it will only prolong the fight to his opponents favor. Scima slides the edge of the dagger about the handle, deftly twisting his own hand around to maintain his grip. As the tip of the dagger pops out from the shaft, Scima slashes. The ax head falls to the grass as Scima holds the dagger at his hip. The dagger begins to glow with a bright light. As the hobgoblin moves to cover its eyes, the light coalesces and solidifies around the blade. It stretches farther, creating a blade of light molded of steel. As Scima swings the sword, the light swells. As the light collides with the hobgoblin, the blade slices through its stomach, cutting it in two. As the blood fountains out, Scima gasps for air.

Sion slams his fist into a goblin as the light erupts. From his own body, wispy pale blue light flows into the goblin. The goblin staggers back. It stares at Sion defiantly. The strike left a bright red mark on the goblin’s body. As the goblin takes a step forward, the red mark glows with faint blue light. The goblin shudders and collapses to the ground, a blue mist rising from the wound and dissipating still near to the ground. Sion whips his body around, striking his foreleg into the other goblin’s head. The goblin shakes off the blow as blue light begins to emit from it too. As with its comrade, this goblin falls to the ground unceremoniously. Both goblins lay on the ground dead, eyes pale and hazy.

The final hobgoblin now approaches Sion. The sclera of its eyes has turned jet black as mist the same color spills from its mouth. It charges Sion, no weapon in hand. It swipes at Sion’s chest, but he dodges the attack with a hair’s breadth. Sion breaths in as he launches a punch towards the hobgoblin’s shoulder, blue mist emitting from his body. The hobgoblin throws itself into Sion’s blow. As it crashes its shoulder into Sion’s fist, the blue mist shudders and fades away ineffectually. The hobgoblin scratches at Sion’s side with its clawed hand. Sion quickly steps back and begins to breathe deeply. The blue mist begins to gather around his body once more. The hobgoblin slashes towards Sion. As he dodges, the mist leaks from his body and fizzles out. Again and again, Sion tries to breathe and is stopped by the hobgoblin. With each swipe its attacks grow more rapid. The color of its skin darkens as it attacks, more and more black mist billowing from its mouth as the seconds go by. Soon it becomes a struggle for Sion to breathe properly at all. His layer of mist becomes little more than a whimper as he tries to recover from the hobgoblin’s onslaught. As Sion evades the hobgoblin, it begins a crazed snarl. Sion drops to one knee and begins to breathe, holding his fist at the ready. As the blue mist flickers around him, the hobgoblin lunges towards Sion’s neck, maw open wide. Sion breathes resolutely, the only movement in his body the air in his stomach. The hobgoblin leans over Sion, falling down onto him. Sion exhales sharply and drives his fist into the hobgoblin’s stomach. Black mist puffs out of its mouth and is soon replaced with pale blue. The hobgoblin falls to the ground, any sign of the strange dark mist disappearing from its body.

As Sion looks back at the carriage, he sees Scima speaking to the girl inside. Sion does not approach. Soon, Scima turns from the carriage and steps in front of Sion.

“Sion, we would like to thank you properly for your aid. We request that you come with us to Clea.”

“That’s great. I was going to Clea anyway.”

“Also, My Lady would like to speak with you until we return, so please join us in the carriage.”

Sion and Scima climb into the carriage. As the carriage begins to move along the road, Regn walks slowly beside it. The seats are soft and plush, higher quality than anything Sion had seen in the village. Scima quickly begins to introduce himself and the girl.

“This is Lady Eva. And I’m her guard, Scima.” Sion smiles, trying to hide the fact he had already learned Scima’s name before.

“I’m Sion. It’s a pleasure to meet you two.” Eva begins to speak with an energetic and cheerful tone that does not match her distinguished figure.

“Sion, where are you from? What’s your class? Why are you coming to Clea? How long have you trained? What was that blue mist you used?” Sion is almost overwhelmed by the rapid questions, speaking slowly as he answers.

“I’m from a small village around Clea. I’m going to Clea to enroll in the Academy. I’ve been training with my father and the village elder for the past five years. The blue mist comes from Soul Magic. My class… I’d rather keep a secret.” Eva looks at him with bright eyes.

“Soul Magic? That’s quite a rarity. Even my father has met only a few proficient users. How did you train in it? Does your father also possess Soul Magic?”

“No. I had to learn all on my own inbetween training, lessons, hunting, and babysitting. I’m still only good enough to do well against monsters as weak as goblins. I could barely handle the hobgoblin and I was mostly using what I was trained in.” Sion laughs half-heartedly.

“Interesting. Soul Magic is typically tied to bloodlines, is it not? Did you inherit it from your mother or your ancestors?”

“We don’t know where it came from. My father never even knew his grandparents, much less anyone before then. And the village doesn’t keep family records like that so we couldn’t find out for my mother. They were both surprised the first time I used it and the priest decided we might as well just take it as divine providence.”

“I see. How interesting. Next question, then. I saw your approach, and you were riding along the road leading away from Clea. If Clea is your destination, why was that?” Although her tone hasn’t changed, Sion feels a chill from Eva.

“I noticed you were being attacked, so I decided to help.” Eva leans over and whispers something in Scima’s ear. Scima nods, then whispers something back to her. She nods as her shoulders relax slightly. Scima begins to ask his own questions, speaking bluntly.

“So what’s with the fox?” Scima vaguely gestures towards Regn’s direction outside the carriage.

“His name is Regn. I met him when he was a kit. He’s very tame, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“Didn’t know scalefoxes could get tame like that.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know either until the villagers told me some old stories. They’re very intelligent and very loving, even though they're reclusive and powerful.” Scima nods slowly.

“So he just follows you out of loyalty?”

“I guess you could put it that way.” Scima looks deep in thought before he suddenly reaches for the dagger at his waist. He sticks the hilt out towards Sion.

“I almost forgot about this. Thank you for loaning it to me, it’s a good weapon.” Sion takes it in his hand.

“No, I just thought it’d do better in your hands.” Scima looks intrigued.

“So you haven’t trained with weapons much?” Sion shakes his head.

“Not really. Both my father and the elder only knew how to use weapons too heavy for me, so they didn’t know how to teach me. The dagger was more insurance than anything I think.”

“That’s interesting. I can tell you’re real strong just from that fight, but they used weapons too heavy for you?”

“I mean, I was ten. I’m as strong as I am now because of their training. By the time I was strong enough they decided they wouldn’t have enough time for proper training.”

“So why martial arts?”

“My friend is a “Brawler,” so I just sparred with him and picked it up. And then I figured that it worked well with my Soul Magic.” Scima clicks his tongue and looks out the window. Eva looks at him, then continues talking.

“Well, I feel like we’ve been asking all the questions. If you have any questions for us, feel free to ask.” Sion looks contemplative.

“The only thing I’m wondering is where you were going before you got attacked.”

“Ultimately, our destination is Sagax Academy in Saturgranum. We were first heading to the border city Ecg, where the city lord would provide an entourage to Messis.” Sion looks lost.

“Sagax Academy? Sorry, I only know much about Dracabana.”

“Sagax Academy is the most prestigious academy on the continent. Each nation sends some students there each year to show off to the other nations.” Eva’s voice drops. “Although we’re the first students Dracabana has sent in several years.”

“If it’s that important, why is it just the two of you?”

“The area around Clea is meant to be safe. That’s why we’re returning. We need to report the goblins.” Scima groans.

“I still can’t believe that damned thing melted my damn sword!” Sion speaks up.

“Oh, actually, if you’re reporting that too, I should tell you about the hobgoblin I fought. It had this weird black mist coming out of it and it kept getting darker and going feral.” Scima groans again. He looks out the window.

“Well, at least we’re in the city.” He looks at Sion. “Let’s get you all thanked up.”

As the carriage moves through the city, Sion can only hear the bustle just beyond the doors of the carriage. As he sits and listens, the sounds fall away, then the carriage slows, then stops. A butler opens the door of the carriage. He looks at Sion then jerks his head towards Eva. She answers him before he asks.

“I’m bringing him to my father; he’s my guest.” The butler looks derailed, but begins to usher the three of them through long hallways decorated with armor, weapons, and paintings. After passing several such hallways, they enter a large hall. Against the far wall is a raised platform and several steps, an ornate throne atop it. Along the walls are crimson flags flying a golden dragon head crest. Red carpet covers the floor. Soon after they walk into the hall, two knights enter from another door. They move to stand at either side of the throne, planting their sheathed blades towards the ground and gripping the pommel in both hands. At their arrival, Eva, Scima, and the butler drop to one knee. Sion quickly follows suit and kneels beside them.

Two aged men then walk into the hall. The leading man has a stern countenance and graying facial hair. He wears silken clothes and a mantle bearing the colors of the flag. Atop his head is a short golden crown adorned with bright red dragon’s eye gems. Behind him is an older man wearing fine robes and glasses, a white beard falling from his face. The older man walks very intentionally, maintaining a certain distance from the other man. The crowned man looks at Eva and speaks in a measured and dignified manner in his deep voice.

“My darling Evangelina, what has occurred for you to return so soon?”

“Father, I believe Scima is better suited for the report.” The man gives a slight nod as Scima continues.

“Your Majesty, we were attacked by a horde of goblins led by three hobgoblins. Beyond that, there was something strange to them. One goblin seemed to have blood capable of melting metal and one hobgoblin spewed black mist and grew mad as it fought. I could not tell if there were any other such anomalies.”

“I see. I will get the knights to launch an investigation posthaste. I suppose that the matter of your attack is why you have brought this young man to me?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. He came to our aid when he saw us endangered.”

“Young man, stand before me.” Sion rises to his feet and steps forward. “Name yourself, young man.”

“My name is Sion, sir.” The crowned man examines Sion from his throne.

“Young Sion, you have my gratitude for protecting my daughter. Name an item I can give as a token of my gratitude.” Sion looks slightly uncomfortable in the hall.

“I’m sorry sir, but I refuse. Just your thanks are enough, there’s nothing else I want.” The man laughs, filling the hall.

“Young Sion, surely there must be something my men or I can provide for you while you are in Clea.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I really can’t think of anything.” Scima interjects quickly.

“Your Majesty, may I make a suggestion?”

“Very well.”

“Sion will soon attend Clea Academy—” the crowned man interrupts and asks Sion directly.

“Young Sion, is that correct? Why have you decided to come to our Clea Academy?”

“Yes sir, that’s right. My father wanted me to go beyond our village and learn all I can, so he sent me here.” There’s a glint in the man’s eyes.

“I see. Then I have a proposition. I will send you alongside Evangelina and Scima to Sagax Academy as a representative of Dracabana.” Both Sion and the older man are taken aback. The older man regains himself first.

“King Rihtwis, what are you suggesting?”

“Geard, we can send three students to Sagax. Although we found no others that met our standards, both Evangelina and Scima have decided he should be brought before me. I believe he shall be the third.”

“My Lord, although we do indeed have one unfilled representative role, is it truly wise to send a boy who knows not of decorum and formality as our dignitary.” King Rihtwis looks down at Sion.

“Geard, I believe in my judgment. Young Sion, will you accept this august role for our kingdom?” Sion collects himself enough to speak.

“Yes sir. I’ll accept your offer with gratitude.” King Rihtwis smiles.

“Very well! Rest for today. For the next week you shall be instructed in the ways of a proper dignitary!”