Esmund trembled as the dagger pierced his flesh, shortly after growling as if to tune out the pain. His body temperature spiked, and he could barely move, sweating profusely. The blade clawed its way further with the mounting pressure from his assailant’s weight pushing forward. He winced from the pain, digging his feet into the ground below him, blood dripping onto the grass below him. Finally, the dagger was ripped out from his back, and he screamed before collapsing onto the ground. The cool air stung the fresh wound.

The cloaked man knelt, holding Esmund’s chin up, “I’d kill you myself here and now,” he threatened, “although I feel that a slower death is much more worth it. You’ll bleed out and your sister there will be the last person you see,” he snickered, pointing to the corpse laid out in front of them: Serena lay lifeless in a pool of her own blood. The particles that surrounded her moments ago had now vanished almost as if the man’s concentration had been part of their existence. He dropped the boy’s face from his grasp and made his way to Serena’s body.

“S-stay away from her!” Esmund shakily spat out, bloody saliva running down his chin.

The man turned his head, squinting at Esmund, “You dare speak to me?” He kicked Esmund in the side of his stomach, “Unruly peasant! Speaking down to me, Arwel?” he shouted.

Esmund choked for air as the impact forced the air from his lungs and blood spat out onto the grass.

“Let that be a gentle reminder of the man who has slain you for those in the otherworld,” Arwel snapped before teleporting back to Serena’s carcass.

Esmund’s vision was blurring in and out of control. He couldn’t move or speak, only breathe. It was hard to see everything, but he watched as Arwel held out his hand over Serena. The man seemed to say something, but his ears would not focus. Her body began to dissolve into a mass of purple-black bubbles and then condensed into a pure white crystal. Moments later it shattered into dust that flew into Arwel’s hand and disappeared in a soft glow.

“W-what did you do to her?” Esmund croaked, glancing back and forth between Arwel and where his sister’s body was.

“None of your concern, boy. Enjoy your death while it hasn’t happened,” Arwel laughed, and a blast of air stirred around him before exploding outward. He was gone and now Esmund was left to fend for himself.

***

The afternoon sun beamed down upon the dry parchment bound to a small leather notebook. Scratches of words and detailed drawings covered the pages. A hand turned the page over, covered in ancient rune-like symbols, revealing a map that spanned both pages with a red dot moving on its own in a span of trees before stopping.

“Hm,” questioned a curious, yet deep voice, his brow furrowing, “This forest, it has to be the right place.” The book was quickly snapped closed and stuffed into his inner robe pocket. The man paced himself a bit further into the arms of the trees before a blast of wind struck through. “What in the name of...?” He held his arms in front of his face as a shield against debris. His robe rippled behind him, and the potions strapped to his waist rattled as dust kicked itself up, choking his throat. Finally, after several seconds, the wind stopped and he lowered his guard, “Tch. That can’t be good,” he held out his palm in front of him as if gesturing for something to stop. The hand began to glow a fierce blue, as did his irises. He glanced around and noticed the particles floating around him. Surrounding him were green ones representing plant life, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. Many black-red particles were rushing past him from the north-west, which was in front and to his left. The man rushed quickly into the clearing, Particles of... a corrupted soul? What happened here?

A wounded boy lay on the ground before the man. He knelt carefully, and noticed they were breathing heavily, gasping for air. The particles from before were nowhere to be found, save for purely red ones emitting from the injured boy. The spell he cast wore off as he knelt down and placed his palm a few inches from the body.

The boy quickly turned around on his side, as if sensing his presence, clenching his teeth and swatted the man's hand away, “Stay back!” he cried.

The man stood up and watched as the boy writhed in pain as he fell onto his back, “You can trust me... er?” he asked gently.

“Esmund,” was the boy’s response, though it was more skeptical than genuine. He examined the man, “you--you’re with him, aren’t you?”

The sorcerer tilted his head, confused, “--Esmund, was it? My name is Zaikel. I’m a sorcerer who travels the land,” he pointed off into the distance behind him, “My next stop is the capital, Arten. I have no idea who you might be referring--”

“The man... Arwel, I think his name was... He was here before! There was a scar on one of his eyes, he was dressed in an all-black cloak, h-he...” Esmund choked on his words.

Zaikel looked at Esmund with concern, “Alright. Calm down. Take a moment and tell me: what happened?”

Esmund took a moment to collect his thoughts, flinching as he felt the pain in his back flare up, “My sister, Serena, and I were going to forage and hunt together earlier. Someone named Arwel found her. I couldn’t save her and now she’s gone. Forever.”

Zaikel shuffled in place, unsure how to respond. “I can sympathize; I had no family growing up whatsoever, so I know the pains of loneliness.” He tilted his head sideways before briefly shaking away the flooding emotions. The man once again placed his hand on Esmund, preparing to cast a spell. He looked at the boy in a pondering motion, “You need some medical assistance. Magic might be able to help some, but I can’t do anything about your stamina.”

Esmund was still doubtful but growled as he nodded, the wound taking its toll; he was bathed in warm sunlight emanating from Zaikel’s palm. He could feel his flesh stitching itself back together—slowly. It felt as if a spider were weaving a web using his own skin.

“Can you stand, Esmund?” Zaikel asked plainly.

Esmund felt unsure, but slowly got up off the ground—or so he attempted. The wound on his back turned into a scar, he felt, and the pain still lingered. He heard Zaikel sigh for a moment before feeling his own weight hoisted upright; Esmund quickly scraped his feet up and on the ground. He then wrapped one arm around Zaikel to balance himself. Esmund stared back at the ground with his vision blurring slightly, the ground bloodied from where Arwel had made him suffer. The boy looked back at the other spot where Serena had been held captive, tears running down his cheeks.

“I know it hurts, kid, losing someone like that. Unfortunately, I feel like we’re both in danger if we don’t get moving.” Zaikel had a stern look on his face.

Esmund nodded, wiping the tears away, “That bastard. I can’t forgive what he did!” He choked.

“Don’t go losing your head now. You’re in no condition to take on whoever it was. My concern now is getting you somewhere safe.”

The duo trudged through the way that Zaikel had come from initially. Animals glared at them for several brief moments before darting away hurriedly. Soon enough they made it to a bigger clearing in the forest.

“So, what brought you in here?” Esmund muttered, his voice still shaky.

“Tch. Not entirely your concern, honestly. Here—hold on a bit longer,” Zaikel said before taking out his small, leather notebook.

Esmund watched as Zaikel perused it rather quickly, with symbols and sketches flashing before his eyes. None of it made any sense to him. The pages stopped shuffling and he could hear Zaikel begin to say something to himself. His voice was quiet, making it nearly impossible to determine anything that was said. The glyphs on the page began to move about slightly and take on the form of readable letters and words, though never actually making it there. His eyes darted to the bottom of the page. Part of Zaikel’s hand covered the sketch that was there. It appeared to be a drawing of a person surrounded by trees. There was an arrow. The other end seemed to mean something like a destination, if Esmund had to guess.

The book was shut and dissolved away almost immediately after Zaikel had finished speaking. The wind began to pick up, “Hang on, Esmund. Let’s hope I did this right. For once.”

“What? For once? What do you mean?” Esmund shouted as the wind grew louder, circling around them. The outside world fell into darkness with the wind still swirling about. Small particles began to float about through the air. It didn’t take Esmund long to realize his body was dissipating. His body wanted to panic, but a voice came through, don’t worry, this is a teleportation spell. He watched as his hands began to fade into nothing and he closed his eyes. This can’t be real. There’s no way! His body felt weightless as more of the particles drifted off from him. Shortly after, there was a loud explosion of air. He opened his eyes to the view of a dirt path. A sign next to his head showed that Arten was still quite a distance away. It wouldn’t be a long trip; they could make it just before nightfall at least.

The two of them stood motionless for a minute. Zaikel appeared exhausted and Esmund released his arms from around his shoulders. The afternoon breeze brushed past them both.

“Well, I was hoping for a bit closer. Can’t complain I guess.” Zaikel said. He glanced back at Esmund, “You alright?” he inquired.

Esmund shook his head in disbelief before answering, “Yeah.” The boy’s hands shook with fear as he patted himself down.

“Don’t fret. You’re in one piece,” Zaikel reassured, “Let’s get going. It shouldn’t be more than maybe two hours of walking if you can manage.”

“Speak for yourself,” Esmund muttered.

Zaikel didn’t pay the comment any mind and urged the two move forth.

***

Some time passed as the clouds began to group together. The evening sun was obscured. Silence was the only thing given between the duo, save for Zaikel flipping pages and scribbling thoughts into his leather-bound tome. The dusty gravel-laid path kicked up dust as they travelled.

Esmund was staring down at the path half-mindedly when Zaikel handed him a flask, “Here. Drink some water, we both need to hydrate.” The boy grabbed onto it, a euphoric rush emanating from the ice-cold water against his hands. Esmund began to drink the water, quenching his thirst. He stopped for a moment to take a breath before pondering how the flask hadn’t been emptied.

Zaikel scoffed to himself, taking out a curved wooden pipe. He bit down on the mouthpiece and snapped his fingers over the bowl, generating a spark. He inhaled whatever it was before blowing it back out to the side through gritted teeth. A swift movement later and he was lost in thought once more.

Esmund fiddled with the bandages on his wrist as if digging to itch the skin underneath, I wonder how much longer it will take to get to the city. Walking all this way in silence was awkward for him. He’d always be chatting with Serena amid, well, anything. Laundry, cooking, or even foraging. The boy sighed at the last thought and opened his mouth to speak. He looked up at Zaikel to once again see the scribbles on the pages of that tiny book. Esmund could barely make out what he was looking at, as the words were incomprehensible. The drawings, however, showed some insights. There was a map—what appeared to be a path taken and stopping at a forest. Esmund couldn’t see the other page, but that only furthered his curiosity. He slowly worked his way around Zaikel’s back to get a good glimpse of the other side before seeing the book snap closed and then getting struck in the back of the head by it.

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“You know, it’s quite rude to stare. Even more so to read over one’s shoulder,” Zaikel scolded. The sorcerer drew back his hand and unfolded his notes.

Esmund held his bandaged hand against his head, recoiling at the pain. He tried to avert his gaze from looking back at Zaikel’s notes, but still caught himself looking. Zaikel hadn’t said anything yet, but the page he looked at seemed to write itself. The path he saw on the other page continued onto this one. The strangest part about it was how the drawings of the surroundings shifted around. The page turned and a new set of illustrations presented themselves. A giant mythical-looking creature with scales, fangs, claws, and wings. It was partially finished, though, making it hard to guess, but perhaps it was a dragon. It was all made up, though, he thought. He recalled how his father would tell Serena and him about dragons as these magnificent things. They would fly into the sky with their shimmering scales and people would look up in wonder. This sounded too good to be true to Esmund, but he believed it all the same as a child. Next to the beast was a scribbled mess with eggs in it, perhaps these dragons laid eggs? He wondered.

Zaikel let out a puff of smoke from his pipe, “I guess your curiosity is too much for your own good?” The sorcerer didn’t sound all that surprised. He looked down at Esmund, “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you something. Just so you get off my back about it,” he chuckled. Zaikel picked up the pipe from his mouth and cleaned its bowl, stuffing it back into his cloak pocket. “To start—there’s not too good a place for it to begin with. Hm,” he thought for a moment, “I guess for starters, I study dragons primarily.”

Esmund’s expression turned into confusion, “Wait, actual dragons? But aren’t they—” he was cut off.

“Extinct, yes,” Zaikel finished the thought for him. He looked at the boy, who was even more confused.

“So, dragons… aren’t fictional? My father spoke of them when I was a kid. It seemed unreal that they could exist.”

“Ah, I see. No, there was a time when they flourished—a long time ago. It was a whole golden era for them, so-to-speak. Dragons are the most powerful creatures in existence. It’s likely that the story your father told you was passed down for many years. Although... the reason they no longer exist is due to a deadly clan war,” he shook his head, “Nobody has figured out why it happened. What is known is that their magical essence was absorbed into the world around us after dying, allowing a select few to be born with the ability to control magic themselves.”

“If they’re extinct, where did the drawing come from then?” Esmund inquired.

Zaikel sighed, though he enjoyed the chatter. It was beneficial to fill the silence and share his passion. “This was one of the last remaining ones.” He held up the tome to Esmund’s face, pointing to the drawing. “Much like many of the dragons at their peak, their scales were beautiful. Her scales were a magnificent emerald color. Perhaps more of a lighter teal. She had a single egg remaining in that nest. Wouldn’t let me near it, of course. She herself looked rather worn and tired though, as if she hadn’t slept or eaten in weeks...” He took a deep breath. There was a moment of silence for him to reflect before continuing, “…I understood her pain. I kept my distance, made a polite bow, and introduced myself. She growled at first, but I reassured her I was there as a friend. It took some time, though she began to trust me. When she did, she then bowed, telling me her name, and I began to sketch her for my notes.”

“I… so then why hadn’t you written the name down? And where is that egg now? Surely you couldn’t leave it there!” Esmund questioned.

Zaikel moved his notes back to himself, “To answer the first question: that was an agreement we had made. I was allowed to know her draconic name but writing it down was forbidden.” He scratched his face, unsure how to answer the second. “The short answer about the egg, is of course, is exactly that: I couldn’t leave it there. She allowed me to take the egg in the end, but it cost her life. During my sketches I had noticed many scratches and bruises hidden away on her scales and wings. Seems that people were attempting to steal her prized scales as even some were missing. In the middle of it, she passed away.” The weight of the last sentence hung heavily over Zaikel’s shoulders.

Esmund also felt the pain that Zaikel was feeling. He didn’t know what to say, so he let the silence engulf them.

Zaikel broke it a moment later, however, to keep things in a positive mood, “Don’t fret. The egg is safe with me. I can’t elaborate too much, but… essentially, I do always have it with me, even though you can’t see it.”

“Some kind of magical spell I take it?” Esmund asked.

“Yes, precisely. Although, it already is protected in some manner by its own power. Normal people can’t detect the egg’s magical aura. Even if you did have magical powers, it would be difficult to find the egg as it currently is,” Zaikel said confidently.

The boy gave a sign of relief, knowing the egg was safe, “So then what of the capital?”

“Ah Arten—” Zaikel trailed off. “Truthfully—I went to that forest before to find the gravesite of one dragon. It would have given me more insights into the clan war, but something clearly felt off and that’s how I found you. I still intended to go to Arten, of course.”

Esmund glanced down at his bandaged arm, unsure if he should tell Zaikel about it.

“The main reason to go there is to further my studies. There’s a library in the castle that houses a restricted section. It has more details about magic and dragons.” Zaikel excitedly said.

“Do you think it’ll tell you more about the clan war that happened?” asked Esmund.

Zaikel pressed his forefinger and thumb against his chin. He hummed to himself, pondering about the possibility. The sorcerer finally dropped his pose and replied, “I’d like to believe that, although I’ve not been to the library yet. The city itself, however, is remarkable.”

Esmund listened intently as Zaikel went on to detail the vast, open streets laid out in cobblestone and the bustling marketplace. The spacious housing and welcoming taverns. Lanterns that would light the city to keep the darkness of night at bay. Speaking of taverns—he was getting hungry and the sun itself was halfway set on the horizon as well.

“We’re almost there. Just a bit further,” Zaikel announced to the boy.

***

The city of Arten finally came into view after what felt like an eternity of walking. Its walls were as grand as the sorcerer had claimed them to be. Lanterns lit the front gate and two guards stood at the ready. Above them on the pathway between the front towers, Esmund himself could barely make out the defensive archers. Their bows were slung across their shoulders and quivers bristling with arrows. They carried torches while pacing back and forth along the entire way. The guards before them carried long spear-like weaponry, their ends holding a metallic and claw-shaped blade.

One of the guards stepped forth with their hand out, signaling the duo to stop, “What business do you have?” The voice was loud and commanding.

Zaikel stepped in front of Esmund, “We are just travelling to visit.”

The guard seemed confused, but let it pass. He then remembered the orders given to all of them, “Visiting, eh? Unfortunately for you, we cannot allow visitors at this time.”

This guard had a smug look about him that frustrated Zaikel, though he wasn’t sure why. “Did something happen?” was all he could ask, almost sounding accusatory.

“Nah, we were given orders. We follow ‘em. You’d be lucky that with that attitude we don’t cut you to pieces,” said the guard. There was laughter erupting from him, “You could also pay a fee.” He stopped his momentary laughter and made a gesture towards the sorcerer that looked like he had been juggling coins in his fingers.

Zaikel’s posture changed, and he squinted down at the man. “Your orders don’t matter to me. The boy here needs to see a doctor. That’s what’s important.”

Esmund peeked around Zaikel, showing his bandaged arm. It still itched from earlier. However, the guard’s tone quickly changed before the boy could even show him. He saw Zaikel was giving a rather strained look on his face. What did he do just now?

The guard before the turned about and waved to his fellow sentry, telling him to open the gate.

Esmund and Zaikel proceeded past the guard as the massive crossbeam door was hoisted up from the inside of the city walls. Once through the entryway, Zaikel exhaled a sigh of relief. The two of them walked along the cobblestone pathway, kicking rocks to the side as they came across them.

It had been a long, tedious day for Esmund. He had lost his sister and now he was in the city. Furthermore, dragons weren’t just fairytales or fiction. Hell, even magic was real.

“Let’s stop and get something to eat, shall we?” Zaikel asked. He gestured towards the nearest tavern. It had a wooden sign hanging off the wall, The Drunken Elf in fancy, curved lettering. He opened the door and was met with loud chatter.

The fresh outside air was replaced with an overbearing stench of ale and Esmund could barely breathe. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath each step. It was an odd feeling that he wasn’t used to. He became weary as the two of them drew further into the establishment. The atmosphere was a joyous one, regardless of all the patrons within. Esmund took note of the grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center. The candles danced to the music that came from a small group with varied instruments. Esmund had never seen such things before, but the sound they produced was beautiful and harmonious.

Zaikel made his way to the barkeep. There was a light conversation, a chuckle, and finally the toss of a few silver coins onto the tabletop. The man behind the counter nodded and without hesitation filled a glass mug with a cream-colored, foamy liquid. The sorcerer smiled as he grasped onto the handle. The bartender then handed him another glass filled with water. He gestured a thank you and headed back towards Esmund.

Once Zaikel had made it back, the two found a table to sit down at. It was worn and had scratches, showing its age for the numerous patrons that had sat here over the years. There wasn’t much to discuss, although it appeared that the man was plotting out their next course of action. His hands folded into one another, propped up against his chin.

Several minutes passed and Esmund began to grow ever more anxious. When he thought that Zaikel was about to speak up, a large platter with golden brown, marvelously cooked chicken was placed between them. The heat was still emanating from its body. Next to it was a loaf of bread, not quite as fresh, but still appetizing. The boy looked up to see a rather gorgeous elven waitress: her long, silvery hair cascaded down her back, catching the flickering candlelight and shimmering like a waterfall of moonlight. Pointed ears peeked through the strands, a hallmark of her eleven heritage. She wore a simple yet elegant dress in forest green, cinched at the waist with a leather belt, and adorned with intricate embroidery that resembled delicate vines and leaves. She gave both him and Zaikel a wink from her emerald-colored eyes before going off and tending to the other customers.

Zaikel had already begun to rip off pieces from the bird before him and put them onto his plate, “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

“Definitely better than I was earlier today, that’s for sure.” Esmund replied, fetching some of the meal for himself. He tore off a hearty leg from the chicken and cut a slice of the bread, which was cut rather smoothly and evenly even though it seemed stale. The man across from him was looking over the other patrons as he casually ate the meat from his plate.

“Hmph,” was the noise that Zaikel had produced, “Seems there’s nobody here that’d be able to help your current condition. We’ll have to check the town in the morning, then.” The sorcerer took a swig from the mug before him.

The two of them sat in silence for the remainder of their time, save for the sounds of the patrons around them.

Esmund stretched his limbs and yawned. The man before him sat with a blank expression on his face. He was surprised that Zaikel could hold his liquor. Esmund glanced around the room, the candles in the chandelier beginning to dwindle down to mere specs at this point. Suddenly a small leather bag, tied tightly with a piece of string, was tossed onto the table. The maiden who came to take their order came by and collected the fee.

“Alright here’s the plan for now,” Zaikel finally broke, tossing another small pouch towards Esmund. The coins inside clanged together and the boy stared back and forth between Zaikel and the bag. “I want you to go and reserve us a spot at an inn. The coins inside that pouch should be enough. I will head over to the castle at the far end of the city.”

“You’re going to that library you spoke of, aren’t you?” Esmund inquired.

“Precisely. I don’t expect us to be in the main city of Erlain for long.”

“Eh? Erlain?” Esmund asked, puzzled.

“Hm,” Zaikel let out a confused noise, “I’m surprised you didn’t know. Ah, well, a simple geography lesson.”

Esmund scratched his head, “I’d heard about the city before, but not its name. My father used to take my sister and I here on occasion, but—” he trailed off as Zaikel waived his hand.

The sorcerer reached into his inner cloak pocket, withdrawing his notebook. He placed it in front of Esmund gingerly and turned its pages to reach a section with a series of sketches. He tapped the markings thrice, the runes on his hand glowing momentarily, and the two felt their surroundings melt away.

Esmund watched as Zaikel pointed towards where they currently were. There was a rectangular shape filled with dots, though one stood out.

“This is our current location; the glowing dot is where this book is.” Zaikel, using his index and middle fingers, spread them away from each other while pressing against the paper. The details began to erase, redrawing a new view showing the entirety of the city on the right-side page. The sorcerer then gestured to the boy to look towards the bottom left of the lefthand page.

“That’s where I live!” Esmund whispered.

“Anyhow—aside from showing you this—” Zaikel’s voice trailed off, trying to collect his thoughts. “—this here,” he pointed back at the massive sketch that seemed to be the city, “is the capital of the kingdom. It’s known as Arten.” He pondered for a moment, “there’s multiple cities within the kingdom, as it has been standing for centuries. Although I’ve been to more of the small towns than major cities.” There wasn’t much left for him to say, as he wanted to keep it brief. Zaikel then proceeded to close the booklet and the surrounding noise from everyone around them came pouring back in.

Esmund nodded his head, taking in the information that Zaikel had just provided. He stood up from the chair and swiped up the small pouch before him.

Zaikel chuckled and got up as well, the chair screeching against the hardwood floor. He led Esmund outside to the front of the tavern and waved him off, signaling the temporary parting.

Esmund began to walk away, pouch of coins in hand. The city’s street lanterns let off an intense glow in the dark night. His arm stiffened up for a moment. It had been like that for the past hour, and he would simply grab hold of it and apply some pressure to nullify the pain. The nearest inn, as he recalled, Zaikel and himself had passed on the way over. He quickly made his way towards the building.