eighteen years later…
“That’s it, lad, keep it up.” Belthas encouraged his eager apprentice.
Lucas committed his utmost concentration on parrying the flurry of blows from Belthas’s wooden blade. The sound of the swords clashing mingled with the rush of the Lucienne River, its waters glistening under the evening sun. The gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh earth and blooming wildflowers from the riverbank, creating a serene contrast to their intense practice. Although ripe with age, the old man could move with astonishing power and precision. After wearing down his apprentice with a few more strikes, Belthas forced him into revealing an opening and struck the sword out of Lucas’s hand.
“Relax yourself, kid. You’re tenser than a virgin at the brothel.” Belthas chided as he noticed Lucas’s struggle.
He retorted, “How else do you want me to block everything? By taking a nap?”
“Aha no, see lad, like I’ve told you, you can’t narrow down your senses to just the one thing in front of you. Let your senses go dull like that, and you’ll be on the ground the next thing you know,” Belthas answered, “Don’t worry, you’ve been improving. Now head back home to your mother. It’s getting late.”
Lucas rejected, “No. I want another shot.”
“I really don’t want an earful from Vivane the next time I…”
Lucas took a deep breath and rushed at his mentor while he was mid-sentence, wooden blade in hand. His expression was even more serious this time. As the swift learner he was, he took into account the old man’s words and observed. Belthas was a right-handed swordsman with a myriad of scars from battles of the past all over his physique. A large but old wound could be spotted on his left knee, causing him to rely on his right foot to leverage his stance. Lucas adopted a high guard, holding his wooden sword aloft with the point aimed at Belthas. He knew this stance would allow him to rush in and execute feints effectively. As he approached, he initiated a quick jab, aiming to distract and mislead his mentor. Belthas reacted to the feint, shifting his weight and preparing to counter. Lucas seized the moment, transitioning into an overhead moulinet. He stepped back with his right foot, bringing his sword over in a circular motion. The wooden blade whirled through the air, and as Lucas completed the moulinet, he stepped forward with his left foot, driving the strike towards Belthas. The overhead strike wasn't meant to deal significant damage, but it applied pressure and forced Belthas to block awkwardly.
The old man’s right foot bore the brunt of his weight, further stressing his weaker left knee. Lucas could see the strain on his mentor's face, and he knew he was on the right track. From the overhead moulinet, Lucas flowed seamlessly into his next attack. He kept the pressure on, utilizing quick, calculated strikes that targeted Belthas's weak points. The continuous assault forced Belthas to stay on the defensive, and his injured knee made it increasingly difficult for him to maintain his stance. Sweat poured down Lucas's face as he kept up the relentless assault, his wooden blade a blur of motion. Belthas gritted his teeth and struggled to keep up, his injured leg buckling under the strain. His age did no favors for his stamina, which was already used up in sparring with Lucas all day. Finally, Lucas saw his opening. He spun around, delivering a final, decisive blow to the back of Belthas's knee, forcing him to the ground.
“E-enough, enough,” Belthas exclaimed while panting heavily, filled with pride at his apprentice’s newfound prowess with the blade, “You have your father’s resolve, boy.”
Lucas felt a surge of euphoria as he reveled in it for his accomplishment. This feeling was what he thrived for, as his prowess grew while training with Belthas.
Realizing that he may have gone too far, he helped his mentor back on his feet and asked, “I’m sorry, Belthas, are you alright?”
“All good, lad. You did great. But besting me is hardly enough. Not all that you face will be an ol’ man with a weak knee like me,” replied Belthas.
Although his stamina was inferior to Lucas, he knew that it was no easy feat for the kid to best a man with extensive experience from countless battles. He recognized Lucas’s talent with a sword and understood that the sense of his strength growing drove the young man's very being. It was already dusk in the sky above Havencrest as the two made their way to Belthas’s house to drop the mentor off before Lucas headed off to his home.
Belthas proposed, “Lucas, I’m tired and hungry to make my own food at home. Why don’t we both head to your mum’s house and let me join you two there for supper, yeah?”
With a nod from Lucas, the two switched paths and took the road to the South District. As they made their way down the dimly lit street, market stalls were in the process of closing up shop, their wares representing goods from all corners of West Elysium. Above the mixture of wooden and stone buildings lining the cobblestone path, the royal palace loomed in the distance, its towering structure illuminated by a myriad of lights. Residents dressed in a variety of exquisite attire emerged from their homes, drawn toward the bustling palace district for an evening of lively entertainment, while the rest gradually descended into the tranquil nighttime solitude. Lucas saw the shops shuttering their windows, and the streets growing still as the evening settled in. Families gathered inside their homes, the warm glow of hearth fires visible through curtained windows. The hum of the city’s daytime activity faded, replaced by the soft sounds of the night and whispers of the wind, the distant call of an owl, and the occasional noises of laughter coming from the tavern. The gushing sound of the Lucienne could be heard from afar, the river that ran through all of West Elysium from the elven coastlines of Lorendan to the icy peaks of Warden’s Wall. Above in the skies, Lucas listened to the distant, echoing screeches as he gazed at a wild flock of garudas soaring high above the city with their majestic wings of gold and crimson toward the forests. The Devereux household, with a glowing hearth of fire seen through the windows, came into view among the tall oak trees behind the cobblestone path. The door opened as Lucas’s mother stepped outside.
“Did you not hear me when I said to send him back before dusk?” she admonished, her voice tinged with worry and frustration as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders against the evening chill.
“Oh come now, deary Vivane. He’s his father’s son. Not even the royal guard could stop him if your boy set his mind to something,” Belthas cavalierly replied, attempting to save himself from her fury as best as possible.
“And he will end up just like his father if he keeps on refusing to listen,” she retorted sharply, glaring into Belthas’s soul. “It’s getting cold. We’ll continue this later. Come in now, both of you.”
The three gathered around the table near the warmth of the hearth, enjoying a hearty feast of Vivane’s delicious cooking.
Belthas, mouth full of food, exclaimed in delight, “Your mother should be cooking for the king himself instead of running some shabby shop.”
He then turned to Lucas, nodding in approval, “You should be thankful your father had marvelous taste in women. I know I could never.”
Vivane rolled her eyes and hauled a piece of rolled up paper at Belthas, effectively closing his mouth.
As the two men stuffed themselves after a long day of swordfighting, Belthas first ensured Vivane was far enough from them and whispered to Lucas, “Perhaps now would be a good time.”
The two exchanged glances and gave a slight nod to each other. Lucas felt a sense of dread and an unspeakable level of anxiety entering his being. He had rehearsed his lines on what he would say during times of his solitude; in the shower, on the commute to school, on the bed at night. Despite this and the critical moment, words struggled to form in his mind. This was something Lucas only felt when it came to his mother. He had no problems speaking his mind against Belthas, intimidating any lout at school, talking down anyone who dared to challenge him, or even conveying his feelings to a girl. Hell, Lucas bet his father’s sword he could even speak up against the king of Midhaven if he wanted.
Be that as it may, his mother was more daunting and held power over him as opposed to all those that he deemed to be brave enough to face. All his life, the only person Lucas was agreeable towards was just his mother, as he felt he had no choice. Anything his mother said or ordered, he never was capable to muster up the courage to deny or oppose it. However, this time was different. Belthas knew of the boy’s struggle to speak his mind in front of his dear mother and he was here to stay by his side. Lucas concentrated on what he had to say and drew courage from the fact that he was no longer alone, his friend and mentor, that has always acted as his father figure, is with him now.
“M-mother, there’s something I must tell you,” Lucas began. “I know that you will never allow me to follow in my father’s footsteps.”
His mother turned her head at Lucas immediately and glared at him, eyes filled with concern, “Uh huh.”
Lucas continued with his voice shaking, “I believe the time I chose my path in life has come.”
“We already talked about this. Shut it Lucas, I do not want to hear it,” his mother interrupted, fearful of any more words that came out of Lucas’s mouth.
Lucas took a deep breath.
“I’ve made up my mind to join the Warden Defense Army, with or without your approval,” he announced.
She turned her eyes towards Belthas, her face contorted in a mixture of hurt and disappointment by the sudden words of her son.
“You. By the gods, did you put him up to this? Did Charles not die right in front of your eyes?! And you’re going to make my only son walk towards his death too?!”
Tears began to drip down her cheeks.
Belthas raised his hands and attempted to diffuse the aggression, “Woah, woah, settle down, Vivane. Please. You remember I told you he went missing. Believe me, I tried to convince him otherwise as well, but I told you your son cannot be stopped once he’s set his mind. Your boy has grown, Vivane. Please, just let him finish speaking, alright?”
Vivane turned her teary eyes back to her son. Lucas was already surprised by his own progress and felt emboldened to continue speaking his mind. His voice was no longer shaking.
Lucas continued, “I am sorry, Mother, but I am doing this for you. For the both of us, and for my father. We both know that with the loans you took to pay for my education, you cannot pay off all that debt yourself. With my salary and perhaps the spoils I receive from the WDA, we could handle it together. Now that I’m done with school, I wish to decide my own path in life. I’ve learned a great deal from Belthas, and I only hope that you find it in your heart to trust me. I know you wanted me to be an artisan, a blacksmith, a tailor, or a merchant. But I know for a fact that I have no will to pursue these paths and will regret with certainty for not following my heart’s desire. Although you may not, I still believe that my father is out there somewhere. And I wish to see him.”
His mother did not reply, and instead, she slowly sank to the ground. Her sobs echoed throughout the room as Belthas watched the scene with a heavy heart. Despite slightly agreeing with Vivane for the sake of her son’s safety, deep down as a soldier, he understood and felt for Lucas.
Lucas got out of his chair and kneeled beside his mother on the floor.
He put his hand on her shoulder and promised, “Do not worry, Mother, I will be alright, and I will find him. And I will bring him right back to this very house. This, I promise.”
“I-if he was still out there,” Vivane whimpered, “T-then they’d have found him already. If you wish to die that much, at least do it without chasing a fool’s dream.”
She wiped the tears she could as she run up up the stairs into her bedroom, the door slamming behind her.
“Give it some time, lad.” Belthas reassured Lucas, “Let her sleep it off. She’ll come around tomorrow.”
Lucas’s body trembled as he buried his face into his arms. Tears leaked out as he began to sob quietly, the first time he had cried in a dozen years.
Belthas came towards Lucas, put his hand on the boy’s back and said, “Hush now boy, you have the heart of a warrior to have done what you just did. Why don’t you go up and sleep it off as well, yeah?”
The next day…
The Colosseum of Havencrest roared with cheers and anticipation. Lucas was panting heavily while covered in sweat and dirt, gripping Soulrend, his father’s sword in his hand. In front of him was a hooded human mage with a red robe adorned with black patterns, commanding the power of fire and earth. He grinned, savoring the thrill of the upper hand he had over Lucas, his eyes gleaming with a mix of arrogance and sadistic delight as he prepared to unleash his next devastating spell. Lucas had just expended most of his energy just to barely dodge his projectiles of metal, a form of element achieved through the combination of earth and fire magic, while he had no means of returning fire.
“How long are you going to keep this up? Are you somehow hoping that I miraculously run out of mana?” The opponent mage asked with a conceited smirk as more shards of metal formed around his hands.
Frankly, Lucas knew that he was cornered. He saw no opening, no weaknesses, and no way to close the gap between himself and the mage that he was unfortunate enough to face. Mages in this world only originate from the upper class for a reason and all of them hold significant prestige in society. The brightest of minds and the wealthiest of individuals could only hope to become one. Lucas had no magic of his own and solely relied on his sword and physical ability to maneuver against his daunting opponent. Another volley of conjured metal shards the size of arrows launched in Lucas’s direction. He used his remaining reserves of breath and stamina to leap to the side, receiving a cut on his side as one of the projectiles managed to graze him.
“Gods, finally, I hit something,” the mage sneered, relishing his minor victory as he prepared another spell, clearly enjoying the growing desperation on Lucas's face.
The next wave of metallic missiles formed around his hands once again. Lucas felt helpless, his breath coming out in pained wheezes.
“Finish him!” A voice could be heard from the bleachers of the Colosseum.
“Shred him to pieces!” Another voice echoed.
“This is it.” The thought echoed in Lucas’s mind as he felt the blood dripping through his armor, “I can’t dodge this one anymore. Out of everything else, why does it have to be me that has to face a damned mage? Curse my luck. Perhaps Mother was right. Perhaps she really knew what was best for me.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
With no options remaining and as he was backed into a corner, Lucas decided to try something perilous, although his past attempts during his practices resulted in failure. He remembered the basics of how wielders of magic began their training. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and neglected all senses that perceived everything occurring around him. He stopped thinking about his dire circumstances, the sight of the arrogant mage, the smell of the dirt, the sounds of the cheering audience, and the taste of his sweat dripping through his face into his mouth. Lucas focused only on the singular air flow he took in, the feeling of it entering his lungs, and the outflow. No thought or image came into his mind, and finally, he achieved a brief stability. It felt extraordinary to Lucas as all his past attempts at unguided meditation to gain awareness of the atoms and manipulate them to his will never worked, as there were always an endless number of thoughts that would not escape his mind: his dream of lifting him and his struggling mother out of debt, worrying that he will disappoint Belthas, the curiosity of the true fate of his father, how he should convince his mother, and countless more but a particular thought clouded Lucas’s head the most. If he can endure without regretting the path he chooses.
“Good of you to close your eyes, boy. This will hurt.” Declared the mage with a sinister smile.
However, this time, it was no longer a session of practice. It was a life-or-death situation where nothing else mattered other than Lucas’s success in his desperate attempt, which gave the young man a moment of clarity amidst the heat of battle. With his unwavering focus, Lucas sensed the atoms that Soulrend was made up of. He could not only sense them, but he could also feel them as if they were an extension of his right hand. He held up his sword in a defensive stance as he concentrated on the newly discovered connection, harnessing the particles within the blade to turn the tide of the duel in his favor.
“Lucas.” The voice of a mysterious man echoed inside his head.
Perplexed by who on Aetheria just called his name, he opened his eyes, which revealed the mage staring at Lucas with a shocked expression, his mouth wide open.
“W-what? How did you do that?” The bewildered mage asked while gasps of disbelief could be heard from the surrounding audience.
Lucas looked at his sword and saw the intricately carved runes around the hilt and blade glowing with a radiant silvery-blue color. The mage had already unleashed his attack, seeing that the freshly formed shards of metal floating around his fingers were gone. Furious by the occurrence, Lucas’s impatient opponent began to blast a barrage of flaming missiles and chunks of rock, not even bothering to combine them into the element of metal any longer. The runes glowing vibrantly on his sword have now faded, returning the sword to its previous state. Lucas was too baffled to repeat the same technique, which required stability of the mind, as his mind was now too disturbed due to his intense confusion about what had just happened and what exactly he had heard. As he attempted to deflect as many of the projectiles as possible, quite a few impacted his body, inflicting burns and bruises all over. There was no end to them as they were launched at Lucas, desperate and overwhelmed by the sheer difference in power between them. Amidst the excruciating pain, Lucas noticed and realized something. Rocks and fire did not hurt as much as metal. He realized he’d be dead already if he had been taking in hits like this from the shards of metal before, but this was different. He could take it.
Lucas looked straight ahead at the mage, sword pointing forward. He mustered all his remaining stamina and willpower to close the gap between him and the opponent. Lucas charged straight to the mage with alarming speed, deflecting as many missiles as he could that were fired his way. His mind had recently just discovered a newfound state of calm and stability, helping him to withstand all the pain inflicted by the grazing of rocks and searing burns.
“Would have been really nice if I had just brought a shield,” Lucas thought to himself.
The mage, caught in surprise, attempted to leap back to maintain his safe distance. It didn’t matter, Lucas was too fast. The next thing the frantic mage knew, Lucas was right in front of him, swinging his blade that gleamed in the air with a swift, controlled motion. The blade slashed across the mage's upper right shoulder in a fluid arc, then continued downward in a decisive stroke, cutting diagonally across the mage's lower left torso. The mage screamed in agony as he fell flat on the ground, writhing in pain.
“Oh shut up, you’ll be fine,” Lucas scoffed at his now-defeated opponent.
The crowd surrounding the arena roared with cheers and applause, their excitement palpable in the air as they stood up to now suddenly root for Lucas. He felt the euphoria again from the savor of his victory and testament of his growth in strength, this time even greater. He did not care for the attention or adulation from the crowd, only that he had grown stronger and emerged victorious. A step closer to finding his father. Despite the pain, he could feel the power that was flowing throw his veins. Lucas thrived on this feeling, confirming that the path he had just chosen, despite his mother’s opposition, was the correct one. A moment later, he fell to the floor and lost consciousness as the exhaustion and anguish finally caught up to him.
“He’s awake,” heard Lucas, a faint and familiar voice as he slowly opened his eyes.
By the bed, his mother’s face was etched with relief. She leaned in to embrace him, careful not to press on his wounds.
“Thank Selara,” Vivane whispered with a trembling voice as tears welled in her eyes.
“Welcome back,” Belthas said as he sat near the bed on the other side of Lucas. “It’s a good thing you focused on not letting that magic of his hit your vitals. The look on his face when you showed that bloke the might of steel isn’t something ya get to see everyday.”
Lucas asked as he sat up, feeling the weight of his wounds, “How long was I out?”
“A few days,” his mother answered. “How are you feeling? Are you hungry? I’ve got some of the cherry pie you like.”
They continued to chat as Lucas devoured his mother’s food, satiating his raging hunger after days in bed.
The creaking of wheels interrupted their conversation as a cart of potions and tonics rolled into the infirmary. A woman dressed in a white and red robe, the uniform of a certified Midhavian cleric, followed behind it.
“He’s awake, I see,” the cleric said to Vivane, fiddling with the bottles as she applied a variety of them on Lucas’s injuries and changed his bandages. “I’ll let him off by the morrow.”
“Did I pass the trial? Did they say I can join the WDA?” Lucas asked Belthas and Vivane as he realized the entire reason he had to go through with the grueling ordeal.
Belthas answered, “Relax kid, they’ve been waiting for you to wake up. If you’re ready, I’ll go get them.”
“Of course I’m ready, I need to know if I passed,” Lucas replied impatiently, his voice eager but anxious of his pending result. “Wait, what about the bill? Mother, you know we can’t afford to be treated by a cleric.”
Vivane put her hand on Lucas and reassured him, “It’s fine Lucas, we handled it using your share of the spoils from your duel at the Colosseum. There’s nothing to worry about.”
As Belthas went out the door, Vivane immediately turned to a serious expression and locked eyes with her son. Her eyes showing that she had a lot to say.
“Listen to me very carefully,” Vivane began. “I know they’re letting you in, you’re the type of young man that their group is always searching for. Even if you say no to them now, it’s too late. They’ve got their eye on you. Once you get there, always wear the sweaters I’ve packed for you once you’re up in the mountains. Warden’s Wall is nothing like the warmth and peace that you’re used to here in Havencrest. It is chilling cold at any time of the day, and you will freeze if you do not stay indoors at night. Take good care of your father’s sword. If it gets dull or chipped, do not hand it to some second rate smith at wherever you got sent off to. You need to look for a dwarven smith and they’ll know what to do. By all means, do not go into the Abyssal Wastes. Even if your father was still out there, there is no hope of finding him. You know that only the Royal Reconnaissance Corps are allowed to go past Warden’s Wall and even despite being the strongest of West Elysium, even they do not dare go too far out. Forget about looking for your father, Lucas. He’s gone, and the two of us have held our own just fine without him. When he disappeared, they told me that even the RRC agents stationed out there found no trace of him. You know what that means right, my son? You’ll just share his fate if you chase a fool’s dream by going after him. Lead your own life, do your own thing, do not let your father control your destiny. Promise me this, please.”
Lucas pondered her words deeply, reflecting on how profoundly different his life might have been if his father had always been there. The stories told by his mother and the tales of friendship between Belthas and Charles convinced him that life would have been more fulfilling with his father by his side. He was the one man Lucas looked up to the most despite having never met him. In his moments of solitude throughout his entire childhood, he conjured up imaginative memories of him and his father. The teachings he might have received, his father's support for his passions, and the simple joy of a complete family. Yet, more than even his own satisfaction, he yearned to see his mother happy. He imagined how much easier her life would have been had she raised him with her loving husband, the memories they could have shared with all three of them, and the genuine smiles she would have worn more often. These reflections strengthened Lucas's resolve. This was his driving force, his dream.
“I’m sorry Mother, but I will not make a promise I can’t keep.” Lucas replied with eyes filled with determination. “I promised you that I’ll be fine and that I’ll bring Father home. I am never going back on this. But hey, I can do everything else. Soulrend is in good hands and yes, Mother, I will take care of myself and you’ll see me again in one piece.”
Vivane let out a sigh and replied, “Did you just listen to a word I… Fine… There’s no stopping you, is there?”
Lucas attempted to embrace his mother once again, sharing what he felt was one of the final heartfelt moments with her before he embarked for his new duty.
Interrupting them, the door swung wide open as a tall beastwoman with the head and bodily features of a grey feline marched inside in heavy footsteps with a decorated black and silver uniform of an official of the Warden Defense Army. The grey fur of her feline features was sleek and well-groomed, contrasting sharply with the stark black and silver of her attire. Her stride was confident and purposeful, resonating with the disciplined bearing expected of a high-ranking officer. Her eyes analyzed Lucas.
She began to announce, “You must be Lucas Devereux,” she stated with a gesture of authority. “I am Lysandra Iceclaw, sergeant of the 79th regiment in the Warden Defense Army. You chose to be tested in trial by combat at the Colosseum to gain a headstart to join our ranks rather than start as a fresh recruit in bootcamp. I was your evaluator and I must first ask you one thing before I let you know of our verdict.”
Lucas gulped with anticipation.
She continued, “What form of magic do you use?”
Startled by the unexpected question, Lucas attempted to answer, “Uh, none of them? Do we look like we could afford to go to the Havencrest University of Magic?”
“Do you think I came all the way here to listen to you be a smartass, boy? I could have you sentenced for being untruthful and disrespectful to an officer of the WDA.” Her voice hardened as she asserted her authority against Lucas, whom at the present was no more than a commoner to her. “Do not lie to me and reconsider your answer.”
“Give the kid a break, you furry twat. Nobody’s sentencing anyone under my watch. If you won’t rid yourself of your superiority complex, how about you kindly sod off before I yank your little tail out the room?” Belthas interrupted her as he got into a protective stance for Lucas, his voice laced with irritation.
She growled in defense, “I may have once served with you, Belthas, but do not test me.”
If any average townsperson that was not a seasoned war veteran said anything along those lines to her, they’d be locked behind a cell in the dungeons, the gallows, or worse by the next few minutes.
“I humbly apologize for my uncle’s behavior and my lack of manners before, Madam Lysandra.” Lucas attempted to break the tension. “Please, pay him no mind. I swear by the name of the holy father Thalric and on my father’s sword that I speak nothing but the truth. I have not ever learned magic nor used it.”
Lysandra glared at his eyes as if she was staring into Lucas’s soul. She took a moment to carefully assess his eyes.
The sergeant then eased her expression and before making her exit, she instructed, “Very well then. You are now hereby accepted to the Warden Defense Army. Head to one of our offices at the Havencrest Skyport once you’re discharged by the cleric. I’ll be waiting for you there.”
As the beastwoman left, Lucas’s face was seen to be filled with pride and excitement. He could not wait to serve under the Warden Defense Army and slowly but surely work towards his goal.
“She asked that question for a reason, lad. Now, tell me what you did back there.” Belthas urged at Lucas, determined to understand.
The apprentice replied in confusion, “Did what?”
Belthas began to recount, “Back at the fight. When you were at your limit as that metal hurling bloke was about to finish you off, I thought you were done for. But as I saw you closing your eyes like an idiot and holding up your sword, the metals he threw in your way just seemed to have… vanished. As if you wielded some sort of magic of your own. One that I’ve never seen before.”
“I had absolutely no idea I did that. All I did was try the breathing thing that mage apprentices do and somehow, when I opened my eyes, I was unscathed and he was staring at me as if he’d seen a ghost.” Lucas explained himself.
While he was recalling the details of the event, Lucas’s eyes widened as he remembered what he experienced.
He continued, “And while I was trying that meditation thing, I heard a strange voice of a man calling my name.”
The old man laid his chin on his hand and took a second to ponder about what Lucas had told him.
He then replied, “That’s most definitely interesting… Well lad, I myself have never dabbled in nor cared for magic, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out yourself sooner or later.”
Lucas stepped onto the wide, cobblestone platform of the Havencrest Skyport, the air buzzing with the hum of rune-powered airships and the cawing of garudas. The sky above was dotted with these magnificent flying mounts, their vast wings casting fleeting shadows over the bustling port below. Everywhere he looked, there was a flurry of activity. Merchants haggled over exotic goods from distant lands, their stalls overflowing with wares from the elven kingdom and the beastfolk clans. Travelers in richly adorned clothing mingled with rugged adventurers, their conversations blending into a symphony of languages and dialects.
The air was thick with the scent of spices and the sound of creaking metal as airships docked and departed from the numerous piers extending out into the sky. Each ship was a marvel of engineering and magic, their hulls glowing softly with intricate rune carvings that pulsed with ethereal light. Dockworkers scurried about, loading and unloading cargo with practiced efficiency, while sky captains barked orders to their crews. Above the din, the majestic form of the Royal Palace loomed in the distance, its spires glinting in the sunlight.
Lucas, Vivane, and Belthas hurdled across the port with the young man’s belongings in hand, heading from the WDA office building to their designated airship. They were to search for an airship with the sigil of the Warden Defense Army: a large, round shield emblazoned with a stylized mountain range representing the Warden's Wall, its highest peak prominently featured in the center. At the center of the mountains were a hammer, scythe, spear, and a staff, symbolizing the union between all races under the Alliance of Unity. As they passed by several vessels amidst the bustling sky port, Lucas’s eyes widened in awe at the sight of the WDA airship. The majestic vessel loomed ahead, its sleek hull glinting in the sunlight. The envelope, or balloon, above was a massive structure made of shimmering fabric that seemed to ripple like liquid silver. The sergeant Lysandra was right beside it, conversing with others that were wearing similar uniforms as her before Lucas approached them.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” Lysandra asked Lucas as they both admired the airship. “We call her the Garuda’s Talon.”
Before he was to board the ship, Lucas turned to his mother and Belthas one last time before his voyage to the mountains. The air at the skyport was brisk and invigorating as gusts of wind swept through the port, brushing past their face and tousling their hair.
“Listen kid, no matter what you imagined the Abyssal Wastes to be, it is always far worse than you think. Never underestimate it.” Belthas began, his voice carrying the weight of experience and wisdom. “Tread carefully. Think before you do something, and whatever it is, see it through if you set your mind to it. I know you will.”
Lucas nodded solemnly as he processed the last words of his mentor before his departure.
Belthas concluded, “I’ll see you around, Lucas.”
Vivane put her hands on the shoulders of her son, “Heed my words and be well, my dear boy. Know that whatever path you take, I will never resent you. I love you with all my heart.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She held her son’s face in her palms and locked eyes with him, giving a slight but genuine smile.
Lucas embraced her and replied, “I love you too, Mother. The next time you see me, Father will be with us again.”
“Don’t you come crawling back for my cherry pie once you’re there,” Vivane jokingly added.
Lucas hauled his belongings onto the airship, giving his mother and Belthas one last look and a wave of farewell. The rune-powered engines of the vessel hummed to life as it prepared to lift off. The city of Havencrest grew smaller as Lucas looked down from aboard the Garuda’s Talon. He stood frozen in awe, gripping the railing as the ground beneath him receded rapidly. The familiar streets and buildings of Havencrest shrank, and the people became tiny dots moving in the bustling city below. The view was breathtaking, unlike what he imagined the city to be before. The towering spires of the royal palace gleamed in the sunlight, and the expansive market squares looked like intricate patterns from his elevated perspective. As the airship climbed higher, Lucas marveled at the horizon stretching out before him. The vast expanse of Midhaven, with its rolling hills, fertile farmlands, dense forests, and sparkling rivers, unfolded like a grand tapestry. He never realized the place he lived and grew up in all this could look so beautiful from above. A strange sensation occurred within Lucas as he knew he will not be seeing his home, his family any time again soon. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the beginning of a journey far greater than he imagined.