I leaned back in my seat, the smooth fabric of the uniform tight against my shoulders as I crossed my left leg over the right. The train rumbled beneath me, a constant hum that almost lulled me into a trance. I could feel the subtle vibrations, a steady reminder that I was far from home, heading deeper into unknown territory.
The boy’s school uniform I wore was neatly pressed, the dark blue fabric contrasting against my brown skin. A silver crest was embroidered on the blazer, a mark of the academy I was bound for. My tie, a shade darker than the blazer, hung perfectly straight, its knot tight against my collar. I glanced down at my reflection in the window, noting how the uniform added an air of formality to my appearance that I wasn’t quite used to. My dark hair, usually a bit unkempt, was somewhat tamed, though a few rebellious strands fell over my forehead.
My gaze shifted from my reflection to the landscape outside. The city of Endreas was slowly fading into the distance, giving way to the wild outskirts of South Alkeban. The tall buildings and crowded streets were being replaced by rolling hills and dense forests. The sky, a pale shade of blue, stretched endlessly above, with only a few wisps of clouds to break the monotony.
I watched the trees blur past, their leaves a deep green, almost black in the early morning light. The sight stirred something in me, a longing that had been buried beneath the excitement and anxiety of leaving home. I closed my eyes, letting the rhythm of the train take me back.
Flashbacks of home came rushing in. I could almost smell the familiar scent of pine that always lingered in the air, mixed with the faint aroma of earth after rain. I remembered the towering mountains that surrounded our small town, their peaks often hidden by mist. The quiet streets, the friendly faces of people I’d known all my life, and the warmth of my family’s home.
I could see my mother in the kitchen, her hands deftly chopping vegetables while she hummed a tune that always made me smile. My father, sitting by the fire, a book in his hand, glancing up every now and then to ask about my day. The familiar creak of the old wooden floors as I moved through the house, the sound of laughter echoing through the halls during dinner.
A pang of homesickness hit me, sharp and sudden. I opened my eyes, blinking away the memories as I forced myself to focus on the present. The train, the uniform, the distant city of Endreas – these were my reality now.
But no matter how far I traveled, no matter how much time passed, home would always be a part of me. The memories, the love, the warmth – they were etched into my very being, a constant reminder of where I came from and what I was leaving behind.
I sat back in my seat, my left leg crossed over the right, feeling the gentle sway of the train as it moved steadily through the countryside of South Alkeban. The uniform I wore was crisp and new, the deep blue blazer fitted perfectly to my frame, its silver buttons glinting subtly in the light filtering through the train window. The school crest was proudly displayed on my chest, a reminder of the new chapter I was heading toward. My tie, a darker shade of blue, was knotted neatly at my throat, resting against the white of my shirt. My reflection in the window caught my eye—a boy with dark, slightly unruly hair, combed into place, and a serious expression that didn’t quite match the youthfulness of my face. The uniform made me look older, more mature, but there was a tension in my posture that betrayed the nervous excitement I felt.
As I leaned back, the train’s vibrations running through the seat, I turned my gaze to the window, watching the world outside blur by. The outskirts of Endreas were a stark contrast to the bustling city I’d passed through earlier. Here, the landscape opened up into rolling hills, with patches of dense forest breaking up the greenery. The sky was wide and clear, a pale blue stretching endlessly above, and the early morning sun cast long shadows across the fields.
I traced the outline of a distant mountain with my eyes, its peak barely visible through a thin layer of mist. The sight reminded me of home. The sharp, clean air of the mountains, the familiar scent of pine trees, and the way the sun would rise slowly over the peaks, bathing everything in a warm, golden light.
My mind drifted back to those mornings when I’d sit on the porch, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, watching the world wake up. I could almost hear the soft rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant chirping of birds, and the gentle murmur of the nearby stream. It was a peaceful, quiet life, one that I’d taken for granted until now.
I remembered the narrow streets of our small town, lined with old houses that seemed to lean on each other for support. The neighbors who knew everyone by name, who would stop to chat even if they were in a hurry. The warmth of my family’s home, where the fire was always burning, and the kitchen always smelled of something delicious. My mother, her gentle smile as she set the table, my father’s voice as he told stories by the fire—these were the images that filled my mind, making my chest tighten with a bittersweet ache.
The train continued to carry me further away from all of that, toward something new and uncertain. I knew this journey was important, that it was a step I needed to take, but the further I got from home, the heavier the weight of those memories became.
The outskirts of Endreas faded into the distance, the last traces of civilization giving way to the wild, untamed beauty of South Alkeban. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the melancholy that had settled over me. This was my path now, and no matter how much I missed home, I had to keep moving forward. But as I looked out at the unfamiliar landscape, I couldn’t help but wonder what lay ahead, and if I was truly ready to face it.
The outskirts of the bustling village were a patchwork of contrasts, where the remnants of nature and the encroachments of human ambition mingled in uneasy harmony. The road weaved like a thread through the uneven terrain, splitting the village into two distinct sections: the neatly arranged farms and the sprawling informal settlements.
The farms were an odd mixture of the familiar and the fantastical. Fields of golden grain stretched out in neat rows, while orchards with fruit trees, their branches heavy with glowing, enchanted fruit, dotted the landscape. The magical livestock, known as Wheiteres, roamed these fields, their wings—large and feathered like those of a giant eagle—glistening in the sunlight. Their bodies were a curious blend of equine and avian, with the sturdy build of a horse but with the agility and grace of a bird. They were used for everything from plowing fields to carrying goods, their strength matched only by their loyalty.
The Wheiteres' barns were towering structures that seemed almost out of place in the rustic setting. Built from a combination of stone and wood, these barns stretched high into the sky, their spires piercing the clouds. The towers were designed to accommodate the creatures' natural inclination to nest at higher altitudes. Each tower was adorned with intricate carvings, runes glowing softly along the edges, likely to ward off predators and protect the valuable livestock within. The barns were connected to the ground by long, spiraling ramps, wide enough for the Wheiteres to glide down gracefully when it was time for them to work the fields or be herded back in for the night.
In stark contrast to the organized farms were the informal settlements that sprawled across the landscape like a chaotic maze. These settlements were a tangle of narrow, winding paths lined with makeshift homes, each one a patchwork of different materials—wood, metal, stone, and even bits of cloth. The roofs were often thatched or covered with mismatched tiles, while the walls leaned at odd angles as if hastily constructed to withstand the relentless march of time and weather. Despite the disorder, the settlements buzzed with life, as if the very air hummed with the energy of the people who lived there.
The village center was a hive of activity, with traders and craftsmen peddling their wares from colorful stalls. Magic-infused lanterns hung from every corner, casting a soft, warm glow that made the entire place feel alive, even at dusk. The sounds of hammers on anvils, the chatter of merchants, and the laughter of children playing in the streets blended into a symphony that was both comforting and overwhelming. The scent of roasting meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the sharper smells of metalwork and the earthy aroma of the farms.
Yet, it was the backdrop of the village that held Griffin’s attention. Perched on a hill overlooking this bustling world was a modest two-story house, its wooden fencing framing the yard where he now stood. The house, with its weathered wooden panels and ivy-clad walls, looked out over the village like a silent sentinel. The garden was simple but well-tended, with rows of herbs and flowers that added splashes of color to the scene. Beyond the fence, the village sprawled out, a living, breathing entity that stretched as far as the eye could see.
In the backyard, the sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows across the landscape. Griffin stood by the fence, gazing out at the view he had grown up with. The sky was painted with hues of orange and pink, the colors bleeding into one another as the day slowly gave way to night.
As Griffin stood there, two distant voices broke the tranquil silence. One voice, warm and familiar, called out to him. "Griffin, darling," she began, her tone filled with the kind of pride only a mother could possess, "I was just talking to Isabel about your recent achievements. You've made us all so proud."
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Griffin turned to face his mother, a gentle smile on his face. She stood in the doorway of the house, her apron still tied around her waist, the scent of freshly baked bread lingering in the air. Her eyes, filled with a mix of joy and nostalgia, met his. "You've come so far, and now... well, now you're free to make your own choices," she said, her voice carrying a note of both encouragement and concern.
As if on cue, the second voice chimed in, this one belonging to Isabel, his younger sister. She emerged from the house, her long, dark hair cascading down her back. "So, big brother," Isabel teased lightly, a playful grin on her lips, "what are you going to do with all this freedom? Have you decided yet?"
Griffin hesitated, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. He looked back out at the village, his mind a whirl of thoughts. "I’m... not sure," he admitted, his voice betraying his internal conflict. "There’s so much I could do, but I just don’t know where to start."
Isabel, always the practical one, stepped closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Why don’t you work at the family shop for a while? It’s not a bad place to figure things out, you know." Her tone was light, but there was an underlying sincerity to her suggestion.
Griffin nodded slowly, the idea of working at the shop offering a comforting sense of familiarity. Yet, the horizon beckoned, the promise of a future yet unwritten. "Maybe," he replied, his gaze still fixed on the distant fields and the bustling village below. "Maybe that’s exactly what I need."
Sitting in the warm, slightly worn seat of the train, I leaned back, crossing my left leg over the right. My reflection in the window was obscured by the passing landscape, but I could still make out the dark green blazer of my school uniform, the gold crest of Endreas Mage Academy emblazoned on the chest. The crisp white shirt beneath it was neatly tucked into matching trousers, the whole ensemble giving me a polished, almost too-proper look. But there was a looseness to my posture, a casualness that contrasted with the formality of the uniform. The way I leaned back, one hand resting on the armrest while the other toyed absentmindedly with a strand of my short-cropped hair, made it clear that I wasn't entirely at ease.
Outside the window, the outskirts of Endreas came into view, and the scenery pulled me away from my thoughts. The village, bustling with activity, sprawled out in a chaotic blend of old and new. Farmhouses with tall, spired barns rose above the landscape, their structures almost defying gravity. The barns, made of stone and wood, towered over fields where magical livestock like the Wheiteres grazed. These creatures, a blend of horse and bird, were a common sight in South Alkeban, yet they never failed to draw my attention.
The houses closer to the city center were crammed together, forming a labyrinth of narrow alleys and uneven rooftops. The informal settlements, with their patchwork of materials, stood in stark contrast to the neatly arranged farms. Everything was alive with activity—the clang of metal, the shouts of traders, and the distant laughter of children. It reminded me of home, though home was a place I hadn't thought of much until now.
As I stared out, a memory surfaced—a flashback to a scene that seemed worlds away from the bustling outskirts. I was standing in the backyard of our house, perched on a hill that overlooked our own small town. The two-story house was modest but sturdy, with wooden fencing that outlined the yard. From that vantage point, the town below seemed peaceful, almost picturesque, with its rows of neat houses and the distant hum of daily life.
"Griffin, darling," my mother's voice broke the silence of the memory. She stood in the doorway, her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and something else—something that made my chest tighten. "I was just talking to Isabel about your recent achievements. You've made us all so proud."
Before I could respond, another voice chimed in—Isabel, my younger sister. She stepped out from behind our mother, her expression one of playful curiosity. "So, big brother, what are you going to do with all this freedom? Have you decided yet?"
I remembered the uncertainty that had washed over me then, the way I’d hesitated. "I’m... not sure," I had admitted, my gaze fixed on the horizon beyond our town. "There’s so much I could do, but I just don’t know where to start."
Isabel, ever the practical one, had placed a hand on my shoulder. "Why don’t you work at the family shop for a while? It’s not a bad place to figure things out, you know."
I had nodded, more out of habit than agreement. But before I could say anything more, my mother had spoken up again, her tone gentle but firm. "Given that he’s pursuing higher education, I’m going to apply for you too as well."
The memory faded, leaving me with a hollow feeling in my chest. I knew why I was really going to Endreas—because he was. It wasn't a decision made out of a burning desire to pursue higher education; it was a decision made out of necessity, out of obligation. I would have preferred to stay home this year, figuring out what I really wanted to do. But then again, maybe there would be hunting clubs in the city. At least then I could have some fun.
The landscape blurred as the train picked up speed, and I found myself lost in thought. The rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks was almost soothing, lulling me into a trance-like state. That was when a shadow fell over me, pulling me out of my reverie.
A strange man, tall and slightly disheveled, stood before me. He had a peculiar look about him—nothing immediately alarming, but there was something in his eyes that unsettled me. He greeted me with a nod, and before I could react, he took a seat across from me.
“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, though it was clear he wasn’t really asking. His tone was casual, almost too casual.
I blinked, surprised by his sudden appearance. “Go ahead,” I replied, my voice more neutral than I felt. There was something off about this situation, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
He leaned back in his seat, mirroring my own posture. “What’s your name?” he asked, his tone light, conversational.
“Griffin,” I answered, resisting the urge to ask for his name in return. I didn’t expect to run into him again, so what was the point?
As the train rumbled on, I began to feel a strange pinching sensation in my head. It was subtle at first, barely noticeable, but it grew in intensity with each passing moment. My senses, usually sharp and overwhelming when danger was near, were behaving differently this time. This wasn’t the rush of adrenaline or the heightened awareness I was used to; it was something else—something unsettling. But I shrugged it off, convincing myself it was just nerves about moving to the big city.
The man noticed my distraction and pointed out the window. “Look there,” he said, directing my attention to another magical beast farm we were passing. “Those are warhogs. They’re primarily used for their meat—rich in protein and fats. Best meat you’ll ever taste.”
I glanced out the window, noting the large, tusked creatures roaming the fields. The warhogs were massive, their thick hides covered in bristly hair. I had always wondered why they were called warhogs if they only served for human consumption.
“Why are they called that?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
The man leaned forward slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Seven hundred years ago, during the War in Heaven, these beasts were domesticated by humans. They were used to defend territories from magical creatures. Strong, fierce, and loyal—perfect for battle.”
The pinching pain in my head intensified, spreading through my body like a ripple through disturbed water. It was no longer just a mild discomfort; it was something more, something that set my nerves on edge. My instincts were screaming at me, telling me that something was wrong.
I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the growing unease. I could feel the man’s eyes on me, watching, studying. I considered telling him to leave, to go away so I could focus on whatever was happening. But I hesitated, not wanting to make a scene.
Instead, I forced myself to stay calm, to push the pain and the strange sensations to the back of my mind. I could handle whatever was coming. I had faced worse before, and I would face worse again.
But as the train continued its journey, the feeling of impending danger only grew stronger. And I couldn’t shake the sense that whatever was coming, it was something I wasn’t prepared for.
As the train rumbled closer to Endreas, the pinching pain in my head finally began to subside. I was left with an uneasy sense of calm, a quiet anticipation for whatever might come next. My gaze remained fixed on the passing landscape, but the view was rapidly changing.
The city of Endreas emerged from the haze, sprawling out before me like a living tapestry. The buildings were a haphazard blend of styles, some ancient and regal, others starkly modern with sharp angles and glimmering glass facades. The streets below buzzed with activity, a constant ebb and flow of people, magical beasts, and market stalls. The skyline was dotted with the occasional tower, their spires piercing the sky, a testament to the city’s rich history and ambition.
As the train began to slow, the horn blaring a long, piercing note, I glanced over at the man sitting across from me. “Looks like we’re reaching Endreas,” I said, using the announcement as an excuse to end our conversation.
The man nodded, his expression unreadable. He stood up, offering me a short wave before making his way to the exit. I watched him go, feeling a strange mix of relief and lingering unease. The pinching pain in my head had faded, but the sensation of being targeted remained.
Stepping off the train, I was immediately enveloped by the sights and sounds of the bustling city. The streets were alive with energy, filled with the clamor of vendors hawking their goods, the chatter of passersby, and the occasional bray of magical beasts. The air was thick with a blend of scents—freshly baked bread, spices, and something distinctly earthy.
Street vendors lined the sidewalks, their stalls brimming with an array of items from trinkets to exotic foods. I noticed a vendor enthusiastically calling out, urging people to try his kabobs made from warhogs. “Best kabobs in town! Freshly grilled, only a few coppers!” His voice rose above the din, trying to catch the attention of every passerby.
Despite the vendor's persistent shouting, I remained stoic, my apprehension growing as I took in the chaotic scene around me. I had hoped to avoid further interaction, but my stomach growled in response to the rich aroma wafting from the vendor's stall. I decided to approach, intrigued by the man’s earlier comments about the warhogs.
“Excuse me,” I said as I reached the stall, trying to keep my voice steady despite the lingering unease. “I’d like to try one of those warhog kabobs.”
The vendor, a burly man with a bushy beard and a gleaming apron, grinned widely. “Excellent choice! You’re in for a treat.”
He went to work with practiced ease, the sizzling sound of the meat hitting the grill filling the air. He seasoned the kabobs with a dazzling array of spices—bright yellow turmeric, smoky paprika, and something deep red that shimmered like crushed ruby dust. The aroma was intoxicating, making my mouth water as he expertly turned the skewers over the flames. The scents of the spices blended into a mouth-watering symphony, and I felt my hunger intensify.
As I reached into my bag to retrieve my wallet, my heart sank. The usual weight of my money was missing. My fingers fumbled around in the bag, but it was unmistakable—I had been robbed. A surge of anger flared up inside me, but I maintained my stoic exterior.
“I’m afraid I can’t pay for the kabob,” I said calmly, turning to the vendor. “I’ve been robbed.”
The vendor’s jovial expression faltered, and he scowled. “No money, no kabob. You’ll have to pay another way.”
My anger flared, and I began to emit a thin stream of steam, my aura intensifying. The vendor’s eyes widened in fear, and he took a step back, his bravado melting away. The laughter that erupted from me was loud and unexpected, a sound that echoed down the street.
“Is that so?” I said, my voice booming. “And who exactly gives you the authority to dictate how I pay? You have no claim over me.”
The vendor’s face paled, his previous threats now hollow and ineffective. He stammered, trying to regain his composure. “Look, I didn’t mean—”
I cut him off with another burst of laughter, loud enough to be heard at the end of the street. “You’re nothing but a city thug,” I said, shaking my head. “Now, tell me—have there been others like me who were robbed?”
The vendor’s eyes shifted nervously. “It’s been a popular topic among the vendors. New mage students traveling to Endreas by train have been targeted. Most realize it when they try to buy food.”
I pressed on, “How did the others pay?”
The vendor tried to hide a sly smile. “I’m not here to discuss the details. If you’re not buying anything, then you should move along.”
I glared at him, my patience wearing thin. “This guy is nothing but a city thug,” I thought to myself.
I remembered my original purpose for coming to Endreas and decided to press further. “Even though I can’t buy anything, I need information on a particular student. Have they passed by here?”
The vendor’s stern look hardened. “I don’t give out information for free. Now piss off.”
With a final glare at the vendor, I turned and walked away, my anger simmering beneath the surface. My thoughts were a chaotic swirl—fury at the stranger on the train, frustration at the vendor, and a growing sense of determination to track down the con artist who had robbed me. The city around me buzzed with energy, but my mind was focused on finding answers, on seeking out the thief who had disrupted my plans.