I scowled at the incessantly ringing phone, its shrill tone cutting through the early morning stillness. With a resigned sigh, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, silencing the alarm with a deft tap. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I went through my usual morning routine, slipping into comfortable sweats and stealing a glance at myself in the mirror.

Standing at just over 6 feet tall, I towered over most, my frame imposing yet unassuming. My long, dark brown hair fell in unruly waves, a stark contrast to the neatly trimmed beard that framed my angular jaw. I quickly tied my hair back into a ponytail, a habit born out of convenience rather than vanity. My eyes, a curious mix of green and blue, seemed to shift with the changing light, a trait I had inherited from my mother.

As I ran a razor over what little stubble had managed to sprout overnight, my thoughts drifted to the day ahead. It was another routine morning in the bustling city of Draiocht, where magic permeated every corner and alleyway. Yet, amidst the enchanting allure of the floating city, there was an ever-present sense of unease—a reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond its shimmering wards.

Stepping outside, I was greeted by the sight of Greg, the towering Orc who had become a familiar presence in my daily routine. Greg had been sent to Draiocht by his tribe, tasked with negotiating an alliance between our city and his kin. Despite his imposing stature—standing just under 7 feet tall—Greg's gentle demeanor belied his formidable appearance. His bald head glistened in the morning sunlight, adorned with intricate tribal tattoos that spoke of his status as a shaman among his people.

"Morning, Greg. How's the thin air treating you?" I greeted him, a hint of amusement in my voice.

Greg grunted in response, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I still feel like I'm climbing a mountain every time I take a step," he admitted, his voice tinged with resignation.

I chuckled, clapping a hand on his massive shoulder. "You'll get used to it eventually. Besides, it's good for building stamina," I reassured him, gesturing for us to begin our morning run.

As we set off down the familiar path, the rhythmic pounding of our footsteps echoing in the crisp morning air, I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer audacity of Draiocht—a city suspended in the sky, tethered to the whims of magic and the shifting currents of mana. It was a place of wonder and danger in equal measure, where every day brought new challenges and opportunities.

As Greg and Victor pounded the cobblestone streets of Draiocht in their morning run, they passed beneath the shadowy embrace of towering spires and intricate archways. The city loomed above them like a Gothic masterpiece, its architecture a blend of medieval grandeur and exotic influences from distant lands.

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As they jogged through bustling squares and labyrinthine alleyways, the sights and sounds of Draiocht enveloped them—a vibrant tapestry of cultures converging in a harmonious cacophony. Beneath Moorish arches adorned with Celtic knots, merchants hawked their wares, their stalls overflowing with treasures from across the known world. Teutonic banners fluttered alongside a variety of heraldry, while the facades of ancient buildings bore intricate motifs, each contributing to the city's rich mosaic of diversity.

As we continued jogging, I turned to Greg and asked, "So, are your family members making their way up here, or are they still holding off?" Greg found himself in a unique position. His arrival in Draiocht was part of a broader effort to change his tribe's traditional way of life. The orcs had long been nomadic, evading monsters and other threats by constantly moving and occasionally raiding opportunistically. However, with increased security in travel, raiding became less viable, prompting a shift towards seeking peace. Given their history, Draiocht was one of the few places willing to offer them a chance, in exchange for insights into their unique form of magic.

"I'll be bringing my wives up here to join me, but it's more about showcasing our magic than anything else," Greg replied. "Having more of my tribe present will allow me to demonstrate more potent spells, which the mages here can study and analyze. It's fascinating to see how different races harness magic."

"It's not that the fundamental theory behind magic differs, but rather the specific spectra of the weave they interact with," I explained. "What's intriguing for us humans is understanding why certain races seem more attuned to particular aspects of magic than others."

"Exactly," Greg nodded. "For the longest time, humans were unable to detect or train many potential mages because they couldn't sense their abilities. Do you think we could be overlooking potential mages within our clan as well?"

As we jogged along the winding paths of Draiocht, the morning sunlight casting long shadows across our path, Greg's words lingered in the air, prompting me to consider the broader implications of our conversation.

"Greg, about your assignment here," I began, "I'm afraid I'll have to step back from guiding you around Draiocht for a while." Greg's expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and concern crossing his features.

"What do you mean, Victor?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"I've been reassigned," I explained, "to investigate some suspicious murders in Kamehb. It's part of my job as a Magical Security Agent."

Greg nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I see. That sounds serious."

"Yeah," I replied, "and it means I won't be able to continue accompanying you around the city."

Greg's gaze hardened, his resolve evident. "I understand, Victor. Your duty comes first."

"I'm glad you understand," I said, relieved. "But don't worry, they'll assign you a new guard and guide soon."

With a shared nod, we continued our jog, the weight of our conversation lingering in the air. As we reached the gym, it was time to conclude our morning routine and bid farewell to this miserable run. I detest running.