The journey from Celshore to Elmathea was much shorter than Rhys had imagined: it took only four good days. Caravans typically chose to pass through the Celestial Mountains' pass, a route longer than the coastal path but safer from pirate attacks and ?ldhavian raiders. That detour extended the journey by weeks. But Vice-Admiral Parmanil's reputation in these waters offered unmatched security. His ship, the Boreal Sparrowhawk, was as feared as its captain, and Rhys was convinced this had spared them much trouble.

  The wind whipped Rhys's face as the ship sliced through the waves, its faded blue sails flapping vigorously under a crosswind. Years of sailing had marked the hull, which rose partly above the water, giving the impression it was flying rather than sailing.

  Leaning on the railing, Rhys glimpsed Elmathea's fortification walls and the towering turrets of King Fadir's fortress, proudly rising on the horizon.

  "We will dock in twenty minutes, Sage Rhys," Parmanil announced in a hoarse voice, his gaze carefully scanning the horizon. "It is time to gather your belongings."

  Rhys nodded and headed to his cabin. He opened his chest, took out a travel cloak and a leather satchel. With almost mechanical precision, he checked his robe's pockets and slipped a few gold coins inside.

  Back on deck, Parmanil handed Rhys a dagger, both elegant and formidably functional. The blade, thin and sharp, seemed designed for precision, while the dark wooden handle, delicately carved with celestial patterns, added a touch of raw beauty to the whole.

  Rhys examined the weapon with fascination, his fingers slowly tracing the intricate carvings.

  "It is superb," he murmured, almost to himself.

  "Glad you like it. It is yours now."

  Rhys looked up sharply, stunned.

  "No, it is too much… I cannot accept."

  "Consider it a simple precaution."

  Rhys lowered his gaze to the weapon, brushing the finely carved handle.

  "A precaution?"

  Parmanil crossed his arms, his expression hardening slightly.

  "It would ease my mind knowing you have it. Elmathea… is not as safe as it once was."

  Those words made Rhys hesitate. He looked up at the sailor, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

  "You think I might need it?"

  The Vice-Admiral nodded slowly.

  Rhys felt the blade's weight grow heavier in his hand.

  "Thank you, Vice-Admiral… I do not know how to thank you," he said.

  Parmanil responded with a slight nod before walking away without a word.

  When the Boreal Sparrowhawk finally reached Elmathea's port, the ropes snapped under the wind's force, and waves gently crashed against the wooden hull. Rhys, wrapped in his cloak, followed the sailors bustling to unload the cargo.

  The port, still bathed in morning calm, slowly came to life. Sailors worked on decks, hoisting sails and preparing ropes. Shops and stalls opened one by one, releasing intoxicating scents of fresh goods.

  Rhys took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs, before turning to Parmanil.

  "Thank you for bringing me here, Vice-Admiral," he said.

  Parmanil nodded and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

  "Take care of yourself, Sage Scholar."

  Rhys nodded and shook Parmanil's hand firmly. With his satchel over his shoulder, he headed to the gangway. When he set foot on the dock, he paused to regain his balance. He then turned back, his gaze lingering on the ship that had brought him here.

  Already, the sails were being raised, fluttering softly in the breeze. The ropes creaked faintly, and the hull swayed with the waves.

  Moving further along the dock, Rhys scanned the crowd for Lord Benjamin. A man stepped out from the throng and approached him.

  He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a physique built for combat. His short blond hair was neatly combed back. Scars crisscrossed his angular face, and a thick beard covered half of it. His pale complexion suggested he hailed from ?ldhavie.

  The man wore black steel armor, accented with green stripes and engraved with bear motifs. He seemed oddly at ease in the gear, as if it had always been part of him.

  Despite his imposing stature, a natural serenity emanated from him. Rhys also noticed a bear-shaped brooch pinned to his chest, a detail that left little doubt: this man likely belonged to Lord Benjamin's guard, or at least appeared to.

  "Sage Scholar Rhys?" the stranger asked in a voice striving to be both polite and authoritative.

  Rhys gave a slight nod, his fingers tightening around the handle of his chest.

  "To whom do I have the honor?" he replied, somewhat wary.

  "Einar, captain of Lord Benjamin's guard," the man answered, locking eyes with Rhys. "Unfortunately, Lord Benjamin is occupied elsewhere."

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  A silence settled.

  "I have orders to escort you to Lord Benjamin's stronghold," Einar continued, clearing his throat. "The lord had hoped to welcome you in person, but… an urgent matter requires his attention. He tasked me with accompanying you."

  "I appreciate your offer, Captain Einar, but I prefer to make my own way to Lord Benjamin's stronghold," Rhys replied with measured politeness, gripping his chest tighter as it dug into his shoulder.

  The captain cleared his throat, seemingly searching for words.

  "I insist, it would be safer to have company. Elmathea can be… well, it is… full of surprises, let us say. The streets can be dangerous, and if you crossed paths with ill-intentioned individuals…"

  "Thank you," Rhys cut in, striving for a neutral tone. "I have no need of an escort, Captain."

  The man looked taken aback, as if these repeated refusals caught him off guard.

  "But… I mean… you are not from here, and… and the people here stop at nothing when they sense an opportunity. At least let me accompany you…"

  "I was born here, and I will go alone," Rhys repeated, carefully avoiding the captain's gaze.

  "Very well," Einar conceded, his jaw tightening, before giving a brief nod.

  Rhys did not linger and turned on his heels, his steps softly thumping on the damp wooden dock. His senses stayed alert, catching every sound around him: the snap of sails in the wind, the creak of taut ropes, and, behind him, the steady crunch of Einar's boots on the wood.

  "What are you doing?" Rhys asked, spinning around abruptly.

  "Absolutely nothing," Einar replied, impassive. "I am going to Lord Benjamin's stronghold."

  Rhys clenched his jaw, struggling to contain his irritation, then resumed walking, doubling his vigilance. Yet he could not ignore the captain's imposing presence following him through the morning mist.

  Through the city, Rhys moved, weaving through bustling alleys and colorful market stalls, his gaze scanning every turn with heightened caution.

  Einar stayed on his heels, walking heavily on the same wet cobblestones. Each time Rhys changed direction, the captain followed without hesitation. The few passersby, laden with grain sacks or fish cages, cast glances mixing curiosity and suspicion. Barefoot children with empty stomachs timidly extended their hands, hoping for coins.

  Rhys quickened his pace, trying to lose the man stubbornly trailing him. For a moment, he thought he had shaken him in an alley, but Einar reappeared almost immediately, feigning an infuriating indifference. Rhys found himself gripping the dagger Parmanil had given him, aware that caution trumped courtesy.

  The rickety buildings lining the alley seemed on the verge of collapse. Grime oozed between the disjointed stones. The gaunt silhouettes of residents threw them jaded glances, as if poverty left no room for surprise. Yet, far in the muffled bustle of the streets, faint echoes of laughter and music could be heard. Rhys realized he had no choice but to accept Einar's presence, whether he liked it or not.

  The captain, without a word, moved ahead, and Rhys found himself following despite himself. They ventured into even narrower districts. Elmathea, despite its past grandeur, bore the scars of time and war. The people they passed looked wretched, clad in rags. Little greenery brightened the streets, dominated by filth and despair.

  The shops they passed offered poor-quality goods, and stray dogs rummaged through trash for food. The city seemed to be dying a slow death, suffocated by poverty. Rhys barely remembered his life in Elmathea, but he was certain the city had not been this poor and dilapidated in his time.

  As they progressed, the decrepit slums gave way to wider, cleaner streets. The buildings, pristine with slate roofs and painted facades, were lined with well-kept gardens dotted with marble statues and fountains. Rhys could not help but note the stark contrast with the previous districts. Here, people exuded opulence and elegance, dressed in bright, sophisticated attire.

  Einar pointed to large stone walls in the distance, where armored guards patrolled stiffly.

  "Lord Benjamin's stronghold is just past this street," Einar finally said.

  Rhys nodded and followed Einar. Soon, they arrived at a massive fortress, surrounded by a thick wall topped with battlements and watchtowers. The large wooden gates, reinforced with iron, were flanked by guards in the same armor as Einar, their lances ready to repel intruders.

  Einar signaled the guards, who opened the gates with a creak. They crossed an inner courtyard lined with stone buildings and barracks, under the curious gazes of armored soldiers. Einar led Rhys through corridors to a large door adorned with carvings.

  "This is it," Einar said, knocking.

  The door opened to a richly decorated room, with lavish tapestries, crystal chandeliers, and elegant furniture. At the far end, several men sat around a large table. A middle-aged woman with short black hair and piercing blue eyes approached. Her simple yet elegant black dress accentuated her upright posture.

  Her face, marked by stress, betrayed a difficult life. Yet she exuded an aura of authority, inspiring respect and perhaps a hint of fear, Rhys noted, seeing how Einar looked at her.

  "Hello, Einar," she said in a voice that brooked no argument. "Who is this?"

  "This is Sage Scholar Rhys, the man Lord Benjamin summoned," Einar replied. Then, turning to Rhys, he added, "Sage Scholar, I present Olirya, the stronghold's steward."

  "Hello, Lady Olirya," Rhys said, bowing respectfully.

  "Ah, finally someone who knows good manners," she replied with a satisfied air, before narrowing her eyes to examine Rhys. "But what happened to you, my poor child? You reek."

  Einar let out a rough laugh.

  "That is what happens when you travel by sea, Olirya."

  The steward, however, did not share his amusement. She took Rhys by the hand and led him with determined steps. He heard Einar call out before disappearing around a corner, "You are in good hands. I will come for you when Lord Benjamin returns."

  Rhys followed Olirya through a series of richly decorated corridors, admiring the artwork and sculptures adorning the walls. Guards and servants watched them as they passed.

  Finally, the steward led him to a room and gestured for him to set down his chest. Then, without a word, she left the room.

  The rough stone walls were adorned with colorful tapestries, lending warmth to the atmosphere. A large canopied bed with white sheets and embroidered cushions dominated the center. A small dark wooden desk, a cushioned chair, and a wardrobe completed the furnishings. A large arched window let in soft light.

  Shortly after, Olirya returned, carrying a clean towel, scented soap, a sponge, and a hairbrush.

  "The bathroom is right there," she said kindly. "I will return in half an hour to ensure you have everything you need."

  Rhys thanked her politely before heading to the bathroom, a small but well-appointed space with a copper tub, a mirror, and a shelf of toiletries.

  After undressing, he bathed, savoring the comfort of warm water after his trek through the city. Once dried, he donned a clean Scholar's robe, appreciating the fabric's softness against his skin. He then methodically arranged his books on the desk and stored his Adept robes in the wardrobe, pleased with their impeccable condition after folding them meticulously. Rhys found a certain tranquility in order.

  When Olirya returned, Rhys politely asked her to provide all available documents on the war. The steward nodded and left to gather what she could from the library.

  Soon after, she returned with several maids carrying stacks of books. She directed each where to place the volumes before turning to Rhys.

  "Here are the books you requested, Sage Scholar. These are the most relevant I found in the library."

  Rhys gazed in awe at the mountain of books before him. The steward and maids had clearly shown remarkable zeal in gathering such a quantity of documents.

  He settled comfortably at the desk, the books piled before him, and dove into reading with eagerness. But the day's fatigue and hours of reading eventually took their toll. He fell asleep, his head resting on a book titled The Wrath of the Empire.

  very first chapter of the story.