Alvion was not as impressive as he had expected. He hovered high in the sky with the Sovereign, the First Elder, and Nyx, looking down at the city. Its tall towers were a novelty, however.

  “Infrastructures like these are a rarity in this world,” he muttered. “It’s nice to see that humans are quite capable of doing whatever they set their hearts to.”

  “The House of Masonry and Construction outdid themselves with them,” the First Elder said proudly. “The eight towers are some of the wonders of humanity in this world.”

  “I’m guessing the climate of Farryn is another?” Jerome asked, looking at the First Elder, who smiled smugly at him. “Of course…”

  “I would like you to take the twins, Elina and Elaine with you,” the Sovereign said, startling him.

  “Huh?” Did he hear that right?

  “I’m sure you have noticed they are different from other Sprouts.”

  “Hmm. They sensed a spatial tear in the air. Something no normal Sprout should be capable of… but why?”

  “They shall explain better to you, Jerome,” the First Elder said. “For now though, you should join the rest of your team. Someone from the Royal Family will contact you.”

  He threw something to Jerome and they vanished instantly. Jerome caught the item and held it up to observe it.

  “A Royal Sigil,” Nyx said. He wasn’t sure Vorthe called it that.

  The sigil was carved out of high grade pure crystal to look like a circular medal that fit in the palm of his hand. It bore the crest of the House of Vorthe — a golden sun with an open eye in its center, carved out expertly. And the eye was brimming with the Force of Light, giving the sigil two distinct colors: the white blue color of pure essence that took up a third of the sigil on its outer frame, and the golden color of the afternoon sun shining out of its center and taking up two-thirds of the sigil.

  “It’s an expertly made sigil,” he said. “Merging both light force and pure essence in one crystal without blending them. The level of skill it would have taken to keep the balance is insane.”

  The ajanai on it was also a little more complicated than that on the crystal coins used as Vorthe’s monetary currency.

  “I’m sure you can do it.”

  “Oh, I can,” he replied. “But only because I have fae knowledge. Is it just me, or did you notice they didn’t mention that during the meeting with Madam Mari and the dragoness?”

  “Yes,” Nyx said. “They probably wanted to keep it a secret. For whatever reason that might be, I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

  “You don’t have to be so disgruntled, Nyx,” he said, petting her on the head. “There is such a thing as enjoying the moment.”

  She growled at him.

  “You know what?” Jerome folded his arms and faced her squarely. “You don’t know how to be happy.”

  “I’m a dragon, Jerome. Happiness wouldn’t bring me fulfillment.”

  “Then what will?” he asked.

  She stiffened her back and glared at him before shooting down toward the city. Jerome sighed, shook his head, and shot down after her. But she was too fast to follow so he didn’t bother trying to catch up to her. Through his ring, he was able to locate the rest of his team members.

  The infrastructure of the city was actually brilliant in its simplicity. Three different dust-colored walls were built to segment the city into consecutive rings, the aged stones giving the walls solidity and dominance over the city. Like they had and will always stand the test of time.

  But he could tell it was a strategy to separate the ‘haves’ from the ‘have nots’. As he dropped down into the third ring, looking for Nyx, the inhabitants of the city gave him a wide berth. They looked away but couldn’t help but steal glances his way. But unlike the mortal populace of the town of Nandene, they showed no fear of him. Probably because security was better here, as he could sense a few sacred artists heading his way. The people on the streets were also sacred artists — Blanks a few of them, but money and status always boosted confidence.

  “This is the Noble District of Alvion, Xerae. Of course, there’s better security. Look at their attire.”

  Everyone was quite well dressed, with one or two attendants behind every nobly dressed individual.

  At least they take good care of their attendants, he thought. The attendants were dressed decently and looked like they at least got some comfort in life. Jerome glanced around before using the pod of Hezvar to scan the whole city.

  What he found out surprised him. The city hid beneath it a secret, probably the secret to why it hadn’t fallen yet. The outer ring had fallen at one point but it seemed to have been taken back. There were a lot of destroyed properties and buildings but there were also people organizing themselves and rebuilding. And it was the most populous section of the city. Exaggeratedly populated.

  It’s quite large. The city should have roughly seven hundred thousand inhabitants.

  “Yes, due in part to the war.”

  A little over forty-five square miles; that’s huge.

  Achilleia gave him a mental shrug. The Sprouts flying towards his direction were closer now. He could see they didn’t fly higher than fifty feet, probably due to the laws of the city. But there were only four of them — most definitely because of the war. If they wanted to apprehend him, however, they would need a bigger number.

  Jerome prepared himself to meet them, standing straighter and hardening his countenance. It was time to throw around his status as a Royal disciple. He was heads and shoulders above everyone around, a good thing in the draconian society he lived in.

  “Don’t forget you’ve also been contracted by the Ancients of two Great Houses to arm Vorthe’s sacred army.”

  Is there a title for such a job?

  “Royal Engineer…?”

  He snorted. Almost sounds lame.

  “And who do you think you are, flying into the city like you own it?” a Sprout said in a deep voice as he hovered midair above him. The rest surrounded him as they landed, putting half a dozen paces between him and them.

  Jerome looked up at him and the Sprout reared back at the sight of his eyes, shocked at what he was seeing. Jerome held his gaze for a while but he looked away, unable to maintain the staring contest. The hovering Sprout soon regained his wit and dropped out of the sky, landing with a heavy thud, an attempt to intimidate. His musculature matched his voice perfectly.

  He was reminded that the Sovereign, the First Elder, Madam Mari, and even the dragoness and her dragonkin daughter hadn’t looked at him differently or commented on his eyes. Like they already knew what to expect.

  Jerome looked the Sprout up and down, taking his measure. He was older, probably in his fifties or sixties, even though he looked to be in his mid-twenties. Jerome was a good two heads taller than the Sprout but said Sprout was wider, with broad shoulders, big muscular arms, and a little belly fat that filled the waistline of his leather pants and cuirass.

  From the way he was dressed to impress in gold-plated armor, Jerome could tell he was from a well to do family. His trim beard and shoulder length chestnut-colored hair were also kept neat.

  “And who might you be?” Jerome asked.

  “Such effrontery!” The Sprout laughed a deep throaty laugh. “I am the Son of the Mountain, the dew that falls upon this land, showering it with my mercies, ‘tis because of I you are able to partake of the essence this land brims with!”

  Jerome could sense that the earth-attribute essence in the earth was abnormally high. This would be a haven for earth-attribute essence wielders. If he had never gone to Terra Praeta though, he would have never known something better than this existed.

  He looked around noticing that the douchebag was drawing a crowd. There were at least twenty passers-by who had stopped to watch what was going on, perhaps his demise.

  “I am Illan Ullysius!” The douchebag continued with his theatrics. “Son of Ismethil Ullysius! And heir to everything you see around you. From the mountainous terrain behind you to the edges of the jungle ahead. Every quarry and every mine belongs to me! This… you lowlife” — he spread his arms wide — “is my city!”

  Jerome held up the sigil and he stopped in his tracks, eyes going wide with shock at the sight of it. All his posturing and confidence seemed to drain out of him in a heartbeat. The other guards removed their hands from their weapons and stood there just as shocked. Murmurings rose up from the crowd that had been gathering around them.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “That about sums up who I am,” Jerome said. He flew off toward the tower in which he sensed his teammates so he could reunite with them.

  “That was gangster, Xerae,” Achilleia said. He could almost sense her smiling inside him.

  That’s nothing. I find the level and intensity of earth-attribute essence here fascinating. There must be a high-grade quarry underneath the city. But then how do they mine it without destroying the city?

  “You’re not the only one who can move earth and rocks at will, Xerae. Take a better look at the mechanism beneath the city.”

  Flying through the air, he could still sense the earth’s essence radiating off every stone surface in the city. He scanned more carefully again and was impressed all over again by the ingenuity of the mechanisms. Whoever built it must have been a genius. A daemon of his or her time, most likely.

  Environment influences people a lot, don’t you think? he said. The sacred artists in the city were mostly earth-essence wielders, mostly women too, as the men were off fighting in the war.

  “Hmm. you obtained the Sunfire Stone and now you’re a fire wielder. They have always had earth essence available to them so…”

  The douchebag from before began following behind him.

  “Why are you following me?” Jerome transmitted his voice backwards to him. He stopped, most likely startled at the voice he just heard.

  “How are you doing that!?” he said and rushed to catch up.

  Jerome increased his altitude as he drew closer to the tower.

  “Stop! The tower has defenses that would turn you to dust in an instant if you get too close!”

  He stopped. “What do you want?”

  Douchebag caught up after a while, breathing hard. “By the light you fly fast! I’ve never met anyone who flies that fast.”

  Jerome raised an eyebrow at him and the douchebag cleared his throat and straightened.

  “I must confirm that your Royal Sigil is genuine.” — guess the name’s still the same here — “Many a bootleg market produce counterfeits around here.”

  Bootleg market? That’s a phrase even I haven’t heard before.

  “Black market, Xerae.”

  I know what a bootleg market is, Achilleia… just never heard the term used before.

  He threw the sigil at the douchebag who examined it thoroughly — perhaps more thoroughly than was necessary.

  “Do you even know what you’re looking for?” Jerome asked and he stopped.

  He glared at Jerome and said, “Now look here you…” — he probably wanted to use a demeaning term, but considering he was talking to royalty or someone connected to it, he held his tongue — “you may be a royal but you’re still a child. What are you, twenty summers?”

  “Eighteen, but don’t mind me.”

  “You’re eighteen?” the douche asked in disbelief. Jerome felt it wasn’t fair to keep thinking of him as ‘douchebag’ though. “And I’m guessing you went to Terra Praeta?”

  “I did. The rest of my team is up there” — he pointed at the tower — “with my master.”

  “You’re Senior Rihal’s disciple!?”

  “I am,” Jerome said with a smile. This guy wasn’t so bad. He may be full of himself but he seemed like a good guy. “Uhm, what was your name again?”

  The older Sprout glared at him in annoyance. He handed the sigil back and Jerome flew downward. He followed, glaring at Jerome all the way.

  “I told you I am the son of the mountain—”

  “Enough with the self-eulogy; I just need to know how to refer to you.”

  “And I’m following you around until I can confirm your claims! You can refer to me as the son of the mountain!”

  Jerome felt him reach for the bracelet on his left wrist with his mental energy, probably to contact someone to report his whereabouts. He shrugged, uncaring of his anger or intent as they walked on foot the rest of the way to the tower.

  The streets of Alvion in this district were as wide as the streets of Farryn. The stone-cobbled roads were well kept, but with spots of horse dung here and there. It wasn’t exactly spotless but was still clean by this world’s standards. Every house was like a mini castle built out of the same dust-colored stone. But most of their surfaces were covered with beautifully patterned, ceramic tiles, as well as their roofs. They all had a hedge around them to keep strangers out and courtyards that spanned forty feet across.

  Jerome could hear the song of runes coming from all the hedges he passed by. Those were defensive runes, he could tell. These people were not without a way to fight back if push came to shove.

  The only monumental structure besides the towers was the majestic castle made out of white marble at the center of the noble district. It was the only structure with surfaces that glinted like glass in the sun’s rays, a beautiful thing to behold. Its courtyard was a good one hundred and twenty feet across.

  “Whatever will you nobles do with this much space?” he asked.

  “It’s our birthright,” the older Sprout said. “Nobles are the authority in a thriving city. We are the lifeblood of her economy. Without us the people perish.”

  “So…?” Jerome asked. “Why do you need so much space to be ‘you’?”

  “Our security and privacy is necessary.”

  “That’s just an excuse to show off your wealth.” Jerome gave him a side glance and he looked away, flustered.

  “Why are you turning this into an interrogation?” Achilleia asked.

  Because I can. And I need him to acknowledge that the nobles keep this much real estate because they can as well. I can imagine land will be hard to come by in the other parts of town.

  “The other districts aren’t big enough,” Jerome continued. “The outer ring is densely overpopulated — three times more populated than the middle ring, even though it’s half the size of the middle ring. The middle ring has a population ten, maybe a dozen times the size of the noble district. And it’s a tenth the size of said noble district.”

  Jerome looked him squarely in the face, hunching a little in the process, and making sure to be very judgemental. “You nobles are hoarding real estate for your petty status. Status you only shove in each other’s faces so you can hold your head up like peacocks.”

  Jerome held him by the shoulder as they walked, cycling and willing the dominance of his presence around them. Even though he didn’t exactly ‘feel’ what he was doing, he knew he was doing something. And this son of the mountain was feeling it too, as evident in the sweat that began pouring off him. He was intent on making him answer under pressure.

  “I can tell the walls of this great city are moveable. The whole city is built from one gigantic rock, with mechanisms that make it possible to expand or shrink the walls as needed, plus other things that concern the city’s security. I know that you know the right thing to do, concerning the shrinking real estate of the outer ring. So I ask again… why do you need so much space to be you?”

  The older Sprout became so uncomfortable that his sweating intensified.

  “Because we can, damn it!” he said and broke out of Jerome’s grip. He walked ahead but had to walk at twice Jerome’s pace as his shorter legs couldn’t keep up with the pace he set.

  Jerome kept quiet after that, wanting him to stew on his words for a while.

  They reached the entrance to the tower not long after. Guards stationed at the entrance saluted the Sprout and they both walked in unhindered.

  “We take the stone of lifting.”

  Jerome quickly scanned the building. “Hope it’s stable… and noiseless.”

  The Sprout scoffed, walking ahead. “You royals have been cuddled too much. What’s a little shaking and a little noise.”

  “That sounds to me like an excuse for your inefficiency,” Jerome said. “We are sacred artists; we always work to improve ourselves. Why not work to improve our infrastructures as well?”

  The older Sprout grunted in displeasure but kept quiet. They walked through a long hallway decorated with the heads of various beasts and stone sculptures of different sacred artists by the sides of each beasts. Carved drawings on the walls behind every sculpture told a tale of how the beasts were brought down.

  When they got to the door at the end of the hallway, the Sprout opened it up and they entered into a small well lit chamber, just like the one from the Crystal Gateway he remembered in Farryn.

  The Sprout cycled for the first time since they met and Jerome was impressed. His core felt dense, enough that he could be on the same level as Lang — when Lang was Sprout, that is. Essence was transmitted through his feet and the elevator hummed to life.

  Jerome braced himself inwardly for the annoying quakes that were to come but only a slight vibration and very low noise succeeded the switching on of the contraption.

  “Better?” the Sprout asked as they were lifted into the air.

  “Much,” Jerome said. “The Crystal Gateway’s elevator is much worse than this.”

  The Sprout laughed. “I bet you’re talking of the one in the Golden City!”

  “The Golden City?”

  The Sprout shook his head smiling. “You royals are as clueless about your subjects and their gossip as we are of your power. The Golden City is what the denizens of Vorthe call the Capital City of Farryn.”

  “Ah! Should have seen that coming.”

  “Just so you know,” the older Sprout continued. “The Crystal Gateway in Farryn is the only independent enterprise that has a stone of lifting across the Empire of Vorthe. You’d take the stairs everywhere else.”

  “When I left for Terra Praeta, Vorthe was a ‘kingdom’, and now I come back to an empire? Are there any changes?”

  “A lot. Even though some changes are still ongoing. The first ever official Imperial Diet was held. There was redistribution of armies and resources, more nobles were awarded lands, which meant tallage. But Vorthe wants to ease taxation, not increase it.”

  “Tariffs are a good way to achieve that. Tariffs on import goods though.”

  “Hmm. But that goes into the coffers of the big four — previously five but” — he shrugged — “you get my meaning.”

  Jerome nodded. Alvric was once part of the big five: the four Great Clans and the Royal Family. “How is Alvric doing financially now, though? One would think they wouldn’t be able to stay economically afloat after their secession from Vorthe.”

  “Huh! For a moment there, I forgot I was speaking with an eighteen-year-old. You are a lot more mature than your age. Or are you really eighteen?” He looked Jerome up and down and even scanned him. “Well, the reason Alvric is still afloat is because of the Church. The Church gets a portion of all transoceanic trade in tallage. Vorthe has been slowly chipping away at their influence and they don’t like it. It undermines the power of their charged gold.”

  “That’s why they are providing support to Alvric in this war?” he asked. “Do you think that to be the only reason?”

  The older Sprout looked at him skeptically. “You don’t?”

  “I don’t,” Jerome said. “I believe there’s something more going on.”

  “My name is Illan Ullysius, by the way,” he said with a glare. “You better remember it this time.”

  Jerome smiled at him. “I will.”

  The elevator came to a halt and Illan opened the doors to let them into another hallway. Ash jumped on him the moment he walked out.