Cael awoke a few hours later, the sharpness of his fatigue dulled to a manageable ache. The small shack he shared with Lyros felt more cramped than usual as he sat up, surveying their humble living quarters. The shack was a patchwork of salvaged wood and metal, barely shielding them from the elements. Inside, it held only the essentials: a couple of threadbare mats that served as beds, a rickety table with two mismatched chairs, a few pots and pans scattered around a makeshift fireplace, and little else. It was a stark reminder of their meager means.
His eyes, no longer reflecting the cosmic hues of last night, had returned to their usual vivid green. Lyros, sitting beside him, looked equally drained.
"Mana fatigue," Lyros explained with a weary sigh. "They don't warn you about how exhausting it is to channel so much power, especially when you can't control it yet."
Lyros sighed heavily, the weight of their recent ordeal etched into the lines of his face. "Hey, Cael, we were two of the 13 people that passed the trial this year. 37 didn't make it," he said, his voice somber.
Cael frowned, a hint of confusion in his expression. "Again, each year, fewer and fewer people are making it out alive. What's causing this?"
Lyros shrugged, his gaze distant. "Who else survived?" Cael asked, trying to shift the heavy atmosphere.
"Just a couple of rich snobs who've been training their whole lives for this moment. No one who'd want to mingle with us," Lyros replied dryly.
Cael responded with a touch of mock arrogance, "Maybe not a lowly rat like myself, but maybe they'd like to be friends with a new shining star," he teased, nudging Lyros playfully.
Lyros cracked a smile, playing along. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I kinda am a big deal now," he chuckled. Then, remembering something, he brightened. "Hey, I heard old man Garrick is keeping the bar open late tonight. He said if we passed the trial, the meal's on him. Let's celebrate."
"Like I'd ever turn down a free meal," Cael replied with a grin.
Together, they made their way to the bar, their spirits lifting slightly with the prospect of a familiar and welcoming environment. The streets of Ember's Edge were quieter now, the earlier tumult of the day having settled into a calm evening. Lanterns hung outside the homes and shops cast a warm glow, guiding their steps.
As they approached the tavern, the muffled sounds of laughter and music greeted them, promising a respite from their worries. Inside, the atmosphere was lively. Garrick, the grizzled old bartender and a retired adventurer, was serving drinks behind the bar. His rough exterior and battle scars spoke of a life filled with peril and adventure, yet his eyes twinkled with kindness, especially for Lyros and Cael.
Garrick spotted them as they entered and raised his voice over the clamor. "There they are! The heroes of the hour!"
The patrons turned, and a cheer went up. Cael felt a flush of warmth spread through him—not from mana this time but from the genuine affection and admiration of his fellow townsfolk. Despite the dangers they'd faced, this moment of camaraderie felt like a true reward.
Tis tavern, located in a rougher area near the town's border, was one of the few places in Ember's Edge where they weren't looked down upon. It felt like a sanctuary. Nestled on the fringes of the settlement, where the cobblestones began to blend with the wild, untamed paths leading into the surrounding wilderness, the tavern drew a crowd as rugged and weathered as the landscape itself. Here, every patron shared a bond sculpted through hardship—be it struggling shop owners barely keeping their businesses afloat or adventurers who lived with the constant uncertainty of whether each day could be their last. In this space, close to the edge of both the town and the vast unknown, differences were set aside, and shared struggles united them, providing a rare, comforting sense of equality and acceptance.
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Lyros led the way to the bar, clapping Garrick on the shoulder. "Hey old man, You better have something special lined up for us, Garrick," he said with a grin.
Garrick grunted, feigning annoyance. "Call me 'old man' again, and you'll be drinking water the rest of the night," he retorted, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Despite his words, it was clear he was pleased as he reached under the bar, pulling out bottles of a rare vintage with a proud flourish. "For you two, only the best," he added, setting the bottles down with a clink.
Garrick, the tavern keeper, was more than just a barman to Cael and Lyros. A retired adventurer whose face was carved with the lines of countless battles, his broad shoulders and brawny hands spoke of years wielding sword and shield rather than mugs and bottles. Known among the locals simply as Garrick, he had settled in Ember's Edge years ago, his past life as a formidable warrior cloaked in modesty.
The old man had been a steadfast supporter of Cael and Lyros. During their leanest times, Garrick often slipped them meals when they were too proud to ask for help and too broke to pay. He had seen something of his younger self in their determined, often reckless spirits, and their struggles had softened his gruff exterior. Occasionally, he had even trained them in the basics of combat, imparting techniques that were not commonly known to casual fighters, ensuring they knew how to handle themselves in a scrap.
The jovial atmosphere was briefly interrupted by a raucous adventurer who, emboldened by too much drink, began to cause a stir. Garrick's response was swift and direct. Standing up, he grabbed the troublemaker by the collar with one hand, his grip firm and unyielding. With a strength that belied his age, he escorted the unruly patron to the door and tossed him out with an ease that left the rest of the tavern in no doubt about his capabilities. "We're here to celebrate, not to brawl," Garrick declared as he returned to the bar, wiping his hands as if he had just disposed of a minor inconvenience.
This display served as a reminder to all present: Garrick was no ordinary old man but someone who had once lived a life filled with danger and adventure, possessing strength and skills that far surpassed the average human.
As the night progressed, plates of food were cleared and drinks continued to flow until only the dregs of the evening remained. One by one, patrons nodded their thanks to Garrick and made their way out into the cool night, leaving only Cael, Lyros, and Garrick in the dimly lit tavern.
The clink of empty glasses being collected filled the brief silences as Garrick moved around, tidying up with a practiced ease. It was during one of these quiet moments that Lyros turned to Cael, his expression a mix of excitement and uncertainty.
"Hey, Cael, that woman from the capital, she's staying a few extra days. She's offering to help the newly Blessed learn to control their new powers," Lyros started, his voice lowering slightly as the topic shifted. "She also mentioned she's interested in bringing me back to the capital. My gift, she said it has rare and amazing potential. And—I asked if you could come along. She agreed, though not without some reluctance."
Cael shifted uncomfortably, his eyes tracing the grain of the wood on the table. "I don't know, Lyros," he admitted, his voice tinged with hesitation. "People around here tend to steer clear of those from the capital. They're... different. They have this air about them, like they're better than us because we're not from any significant background."
Lyros nodded, understanding the depth of his friend's concern. "We don't have to decide right now. We've still got a few days to think it over."
At this, Garrick, who had been listening while wiping down the bar, chimed in. His eyes, wise and slightly clouded with memories, looked back at them as he leaned on the counter. "I've been to the capital a few times in my younger days," he began, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia mixed with caution. "It's a grand place, full of opportunities, but it's also a tough place, especially for those not born into their circles. The politics, the power games—it's all a bit much if you're not used to it."
Garrick paused, his gaze distant as he reminisced about his adventures. "The people there can be generous, but they can also be cruel. And they respect strength—both the kind you show in the arenas and the kind you wield in quieter, darker rooms. If you go, just... just watch your backs and remember where you came from."
His tone grew more serious, "the capital isn't Ember's Edge. People there... they play a different game. It's a place where power and greed often go hand in hand. Be careful. Trust is a currency not often spent freely."
Lyros nodded thoughtfully, taking in the advice with a sober expression. Cael, still absorbing the evening's events and the old man's words, felt a mix of excitement and apprehension about what lay ahead. As they returned to their celebration, the gravity of Garrick's warning lingered in the air, mingling with the tobacco smoke and laughter, a poignant reminder of the challenges and changes awaiting them beyond the familiar confines of their small town.