The forest had thinned, giving way to the rolling plains that stretched toward the horizon like waves of gold and green. The sun was dipping lower now, casting long shadows across the dirt path where two figures moved with steady purpose.

  After a stretch of silence, Rodan broke it with a grunt.

  “You always this quiet, or is it the road?”

  Lusei gave a half-smile. “Guess I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

  “Fair enough,” Rodan said, adjusting the satchel over his shoulder. “But since we’re walking the same path, might as well know more about the one beside me.”

  There was no malice in the question, just blunt curiosity — the kind only someone like Rodan could get away with.

  Lusei exhaled. “Alright. Ask.”

  Rodan didn’t hesitate. “Where are you from?”

  Lusei hesitated.

  Then: “Not from here. Not from this world at all.”

  Rodan stopped walking.

  He stared at Lusei, eyes narrowing slightly. “What?”

  “I’m from another world,” Lusei said again, slower this time. “I don’t know how I got here. I just… woke up in the forest. Someone brought me — someone powerful.”

  Rodan didn’t say anything at first. He just stared.

  Then he blinked once and kept walking.

  “…You serious?”

  “As serious as I can be.”

  Rodan scratched his beard, muttering under his breath. “Other worlds… that’s not something folk talk about. Not even the old sages. Only the Guardians ever—” He trailed off, then looked back at Lusei. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t expect anything,” Lusei said. “It’s the truth.”

  Rodan walked a few more steps in silence, clearly thinking it over.

  Finally, he spoke. “You don’t seem like a liar. But that’s not something people say lightly. ‘Another world’—that’s... divine stuff. Not mortal.”

  Lusei nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same.”

  Rodan gave him a sideways glance. “And this someone that brought you here... the same one you’re trying to find in Elaren?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rodan didn’t ask more, but his expression said enough — still processing it, still unsure, but willing to walk beside him anyway.

  After a moment, he muttered, “Well. I said I’d follow you. Doesn’t mean I have to understand everything right away.”

  Lusei smirked. “I’ll take it.”

  They walked a while in companionable silence, the tension from before fading with each step.

  Then Lusei glanced over, curiosity tugging at his voice. “Alright… I told you where I’m from — sort of. What about you?”

  Rodan raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

  “Yeah. You said you’re from the Durnathi. That’s a start, but not the whole story.”

  Rodan gave a low grunt — not annoyed, just thoughtful. “Fair enough.”

  He looked ahead, the sky just starting to dim toward early evening. “I was born in a high-cliff hold called Kareth’s Spine. Durnathi stronghold carved into the mountain itself. Walls thick enough to stop an avalanche, or so we like to say.”

  Lusei smirked. “Sounds sturdy.”

  Rodan nodded. “It is. We’re builders. Smiths. Fighters. My people don’t chase war, but we don’t run from it either. We’re raised to endure. To earn strength through the forge and the field.”

  “And you?” Lusei asked. “Were you a smith or a soldier?”

  Rodan gave a dry chuckle. “Both, actually. My father was one of the mountain forgers. Taught me how to shape steel before I could even lift a blade. I joined the shieldwall when I was sixteen. Fought against raiders near the Frostbelt.”

  Lusei’s brow rose. “Sounds like a hard life.”

  “It was,” Rodan said plainly. “But it was mine. I earned every scar. And I was proud of it.”

  He paused.

  “Until I left.”

  Lusei tilted his head. “Why?”

  Rodan was quiet for a beat. Then: “I lost someone. My younger brother. To sickness. The healers couldn’t save him, and I couldn’t protect him. I left the mountains after his funeral. Traveled aimlessly. Looking for… I don’t know. A reason to fight again, maybe.”

  Lusei didn’t speak, just listened.

  Rodan gave a small shrug. “Then I found the Sylari. Or they found me. Took me in. Gave me food. Shelter. Quiet. It was the first time I felt useful again.”

  He looked at Lusei with a steady gaze. “And now? I’ve got another reason. Another path.”

  Lusei met his eyes, then gave a short, firm nod. “Glad you’re walking it with me.”

  Rodan grinned. “Just don’t get yourself killed too quick. Makes it hard to keep up.”

  Lusei smirked. “No promises.”

  The road evened out as the hills gave way to open grasslands, a vast sea of gold and green swaying under the afternoon sun. The breeze was steady, carrying with it the distant sounds of wagons, voices, and something else—movement. Civilization.

  Lusei shifted his satchel and looked toward Rodan. “You ever been to Elaren before?”

  Rodan nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. “Once. A long time ago. My father took me when I was still young. We delivered forged blades to the royal guard. I remember the gates… and the heat. Place was loud. Bigger than I could wrap my head around.”

  He paused, scanning the horizon.

  “Should be close now.”

  Then he stopped walking and pointed ahead.

  “There,” he said.

  Lusei followed his gaze—and stopped in his tracks.

  Elaren stretched across the flatlands like a declaration. Massive. Ordered. Powerful.

  From a distance, it looked like a city carved into layered rings — stone walls encircling it in tiers, each one higher than the last, rising toward the heart of the kingdom. The outer walls were fortified and angular, manned by sentries whose armor caught the light. Banners bearing the crest of Elaris — a silver lion crowned in flame — rippled in the wind.

  But as Lusei looked closer, he began to notice something else.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Not just steel and stone.

  Magic.

  Faint trails of light shimmered between some of the towers — sigils that pulsed with energy, woven into the city’s defenses. Floating lanterns drifted between watchtowers, suspended in air with no chains. The tallest spire at the heart of the city — the Citadel — glimmered faintly beneath the sunlight, as if its walls held more than just brick and mortar.

  Elaren wasn’t built on magic.

  But it had learned to use it.

  “This isn’t what I expected,” Lusei said, breath low.

  Rodan crossed his arms, squinting at the skyline. “Not what I remembered either. Last time I saw it, fewer wards. Less stone. More wood. They've built up… and they’ve called in mages.”

  “Because of the war?”

  “Or something worse.”

  Lusei stared, quiet. The city was a world apart from the forests, fields, and border villages he’d seen since arriving in this realm. This—this was civilization. This was power. It looked nothing like the city he came from… but it felt no less heavy with purpose.

  “Feels like a place that’s trying to keep something out,” he murmured.

  Rodan gave a short grunt. “Or trying to hold something in.”

  Lusei’s eyes traced the path to the Citadel.

  “And somewhere in there,” he said, “are the answers I’ve been looking for.”

  Rodan adjusted the strap on his back and rolled his shoulders. “Then let’s get them.”

  They started forward once more, the walls of Elaren growing larger with each step — the gates no longer just an entrance, but a challenge waiting to be faced.

  The streets of Elaren bustled around them, alive with the sounds of clinking metal, voices bartering, and the low thrum of magical conduits embedded in the city’s main avenues. Lusei and Rodan walked with no real destination, eyes scanning the rows of taverns, inns, and shops lining the stone-paved roads.

  The gates of Elaren had barely faded behind them when Lusei spoke.

  “Before anything else… I want to find a library.”

  Rodan raised an eyebrow. “Not food or rest?”

  Lusei shook his head. “I need to know more. About the Moonbornes. About her. If there’s any place in this world that might hold answers… it’s here.”

  Rodan didn’t argue. “Then lead the way.”

  They asked around, made a few wrong turns, and eventually stood before it — the Great Archive of Elaren.

  It was massive. Regal. Ancient.

  White stone towers rose skyward, their tops glinting in silver and blue. The archways were marked with glowing runes, and the air near the entrance hummed faintly — not with noise, but with presence. Like the building itself was alive with memory.

  Lusei paused at the bottom of the stairs, taking it in. “It’s… incredible.”

  Rodan crossed his arms, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Doesn’t even look real.”

  They climbed the wide stone steps together.

  But before they reached the doors, two guards stepped forward and crossed their halberds, blocking the way.

  “Halt. State your names and business.”

  Lusei blinked. “I’m looking to enter. I need access to the records inside.”

  The guard frowned. “And your seal?”

  “Seal?” Lusei asked.

  The second guard gave a dry laugh. “You’re joking, right? Look at you — common boots, travel-worn cloak. You think this place is open to just anyone?”

  Lusei tried to keep his voice calm. “This is a library.”

  “This is the Archive of Elaren,” the first guard snapped. “Not a village reading house. Access is restricted to those with recognized credentials — scholars, Veylans, court members, or noble blood.”

  Rodan frowned. “We didn’t come here to cause trouble.”

  “Then don’t,” the guard replied sharply. “Move along.”

  The halberds remained crossed.

  Lusei stared past them at the doors, jaw clenched. For a moment, he didn’t speak.

  Then he turned.

  Rodan followed him as they descended the stairs again in silence.

  When they reached the bottom, Rodan gave a low sigh and clapped Lusei lightly on the shoulder. “Hey. It’s just a door. We’ll find another way.”

  Lusei didn’t answer at first.

  Then, quietly, “No… it’s fine. This must really be how things work. Even in another world.”

  Rodan didn’t know what to say to that.

  So he nodded. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere to stay the night. We can figure things out in the morning.”

  Lusei nodded once.

  Together, they walked away, the guards and the glowing Archive fading behind them — just another locked door in a world that demanded status before answers.

  Rodan paused outside a modest-looking inn tucked between a baker and a scribe’s shop. A carved wooden sign creaked above the door.

  “This place looks decent,” he said. “Should be cheap.”

  He stepped toward the door, but then stopped and turned. “You got any coin on you?”

  Lusei blinked. “Coin?”

  Rodan raised an eyebrow. “Gold. Silver. Anything that shines and can pay for a bed.”

  Lusei reached into his satchel — just bandages, herbs, a waterskin, and a few dried fruits the villagers gave him. No coin. He checked his cloak pockets. Nothing.

  Rodan sighed, already knowing the answer. “Right. Should’ve guessed. I was a slave. You’re from another world. We’re broke.”

  They stepped away from the door and drifted down a narrow alley, away from the main traffic. The sounds of the city dimmed slightly, replaced by the occasional cat's yowl and clatter of a tossed crate.

  Lusei leaned against the wall. “I didn’t even think about it. Everything I’ve used so far was given to me. I forgot places like this need… money.”

  Rodan chuckled. “Civilization’s always got a price. Doesn’t matter what world you're from.”

  They sat for a moment in silence, both quietly thinking. Lusei rubbed the back of his neck. “We need to earn something. Fast.”

  Rodan nodded. “Well… we’ve got strength. You’ve got magic. I’ve got fists. Maybe it’s time we used them for something other than survival.”

  Lusei glanced at him. “You thinking mercenary work?”

  Rodan smirked. “But you can fight. And I’m no stranger to a blade.”

  He looked up at the dimming sky, then back at Lusei.

  “What if we joined the Veylan Orders?”

  Lusei tilted his head. “What’s that?”

  “A network of sanctioned mercenaries — explorers, hunters, escorts, problem-solvers. Old as the kingdoms, maybe older. Not tied to any throne, but respected by all. You take contracts. You get paid. And if you’re good, you rise.”

  Lusei raised an eyebrow. “So… like adventurers?”

  Rodan nodded. “Yeah. But with rules. And pride. The Veylans don’t deal in coin alone — reputation’s everything. You wear the sigil, you earn your keep. Fail too many contracts, and the Orders cut you loose.”

  Lusei thought about it for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Sounds like what we need.”

  Rodan grinned. “Then let’s find the nearest Veylan branch. Hopefully they don’t mind a Moonborne and a Durnathi showing up unannounced.”

  Lusei smirked. “As long as they pay in coin and not riddles, I’m in.”

  The two stepped from the alley back into the bustling street, shadows at their backs, opportunity ahead.

  Together, they walked away, the guards and the glowing Archive fading behind them — just another locked door in a world that demanded status before answers.

  Rodan paused outside a modest-looking inn tucked between a baker and a scribe’s shop. A carved wooden sign creaked above the door.

  “This place looks decent,” he said. “Should be cheap.”

  He stepped toward the door, but then stopped and turned. “You got any coin on you?”

  Lusei blinked. “Coin?”

  Rodan raised an eyebrow. “Gold. Silver. Anything that shines and can pay for a bed.”

  Lusei reached into his satchel — just bandages, herbs, a waterskin, and a few dried fruits the villagers gave him. No coin. He checked his cloak pockets. Nothing.

  Rodan sighed, already knowing the answer. “Right. Should’ve guessed. I was a slave. You’re from another world. We’re broke.”

  They stepped away from the door and drifted down a narrow alley, away from the main traffic. The sounds of the city dimmed slightly, replaced by the occasional cat’s yowl and the faint clatter of dishes being cleaned nearby.

  Lusei leaned against a wall, eyes on the dirt between his boots. “I didn’t even think about it. Everything I’ve used so far was given to me. I forgot places like this need… money.”

  Rodan chuckled. “Civilization’s always got a price. Doesn’t matter what world you’re from.”

  They sank into silence, the kind that comes when hunger, exhaustion, and reality start weighing down hope.

  Lusei rubbed his temples. “We need to earn something. Fast.”

  Rodan nodded. “Well… we’ve got strength. You’ve got magic. I’ve got fists. Maybe it’s time we used them for something other than survival.”

  Lusei glanced over. “You thinking mercenary work?”

  Rodan smirked. “Something like that.”

  He straightened up, cracking his knuckles. “There’s a network in this kingdom — the Veylan Orders. They don’t serve the crown. They serve the contract. Monster hunts, ruin escorts, protection jobs, missing persons — if there’s coin in it, they handle it.”

  Lusei tilted his head. “Like adventurers?”

  “More organized. They’ve got standards. Codes. You join, you get access to resources, gear, pay. And people start noticing. You don’t need noble blood — just a good reputation and guts.”

  Lusei’s expression shifted — from tired to intrigued. “Status, money, and maybe even leads. Sounds like exactly what we need.”

  Rodan grinned. “Then let’s make our way to the local hall. It’s probably near the central ward. Hopefully they don’t mind a Moonborne and a broke Durnathi walking in uninvited.”

  Lusei pushed off the wall and stood straight. “As long as they’re not asking for a seal at the door, I’m game.”

  They stepped out from the alley and into the city’s heart again — the lights brighter, the path clearer, and the weight of purpose slowly returning to their stride.

  The city shifted as they walked — the buildings grew grander, the streets wider. Laughter and shouting from nearby taverns mixed with the clatter of carts and the barked orders of guards. But one structure, just beyond the main square, rose above the noise.

  The Veylan Orders’ local hall.

  Lusei blinked. “Is this it?”

  Rodan gave a low whistle. “Bigger than I remember hearing about. But this is the capital. Makes sense.”

  The hall stood like a fortress carved from dark stone, its surface smooth and solid, towering with silent authority. Unlike the pristine marble of the palace quarter or the spired towers of the Archives, the Veylan hall looked built for trials, not ceremony — square-cut, broad-shouldered, and unyielding.

  Two massive iron-banded doors marked the entrance, each engraved with faintly glowing sigils — old protection magic, subtle but strong. Braziers on either side burned with blue flame, casting flickering light across the walls like restless spirits.

  Above it all, a heavy banner rippled in the breeze.

  The sigil of the Veylan Orders.

  A black circle, edged in silver, broken at the top by a jagged crack like a shattered blade. In the center, a lone figure — split between shadow and light — held a downward-curved sword in one hand and a scroll in the other. Encircling the image, a wreath of thorn and flame, bound in eternal tension.

  Not a mark of peace.

  But of purpose.

  Rodan nodded toward the banner. “Justice and survival. That’s what it means.”

  Lusei stared up at it, the firelight glinting in his eyes.

  Then he stepped forward, each footfall steady against the stone.

  Rodan followed, his broad frame casting a long shadow beside him.

  As they climbed the steps, Lusei spoke — not loudly, but with the kind of certainty that only comes from pain, choice, and change.

  “This time, I walk into the unknown… but not alone.”

  The great doors loomed before them.

  And as Lusei pushed one open, golden light spilled out — warm, alive, and waiting.