Evening – Lark's Shelter
The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, leaving behind a twilight glow that bathed the world in cold hues of violet and grey. Crickets—or something similar—chirped from under warped floorboards and the air held a bitter bite of oncoming rain.
Lark's "house" was less a home and more a barely-standing structure of patched stone and sagging wood. A sheet of rusted metal served as part of the roof, propped at an angle by a broken ladder. The window frames were empty. A tattered blanket covered a hole in the wall where wind whistled through.
Inside, it was dry. Barely.
A crude iron stove flickered faintly with coals. A dented kettle whined as it heated something vaguely resembling tea.
"Welcome to paradise," Lark said dryly as he tossed his coat onto a broken chair.
Ren didn't respond. He sat on an overturned crate, elbows on his knees, taking in everything. The walls were scrawled with notes in two languages—some in looping local script, others in tight, familiar Japanese. Diagrams, dates, and phrases like "⚠ Possible magic—inference only" and "Cross-check Braylocke ruins?" covered the stone.
"You've been here a while," Ren noted.
"Ten years. Two in denial, three surviving, and the rest… figuring out how things actually work."
Lark poured the tea and handed Ren a chipped mug. "Tastes like tree bark and anxiety. Drink it anyway."
Ren took a sip. It was awful. He said nothing.
Lark chuckled, then sat across from him. "So. Let's talk kingdoms."
---
The Seven Kingdoms
Lark reached for a bit of charcoal and pulled a stained cloth from the wall. "Each kingdom has its own flavor of hell."
He drew rough outlines.
1. Delvaris – "Cold, ruthless, proud. Think fortress cities in the snow. Their king's practically a walking glacier. They're isolationists but secretly make half the continent's weapons."
2. Veltrenne – "Isles to the east. Naval power. Politicians smile while they drown you. Big on trade, but they run on secrets and silence. Their sea routes are cursed—or protected—depends on who you ask."
3. Khorvayne – "The fields. Agriculture, industry, and the continent's stomach. But underneath? Golems, slave labor, and something deep underground that never stops humming. I don't go there."
4. Sireath – "Desert of broken mirrors. Home to the last arcanists. Half the towers float now. The other half are buried in sand and curses. They speak in riddles and spell-math."
5. Braylocke – "Forest kingdom. Tribal, territorial, old gods and blood oaths. Not primitive—just different. They've survived things we can't even pronounce."
6. Haldrith – "Haunted cliffs. Nobody rules, just a council of noble corpses wearing crowns of salt. Literally. They have something called 'The Archive' that predates even myths."
7. Taurion Vale – Lark hesitated.
Ren caught the pause. "And the central one?"
"…Taurion was the capital of everything. The core. Unified the continent a thousand years ago under one crown."
He leaned forward.
"Then it shattered."
---
The Map Revealed
Ren pulled the map from his coat and unrolled it on the crate between them. The ink shimmered under the lanternlight. "I found this today. The crown's drawn broken. And… there's this."
He tapped the symbol—the eye with a line through it.
Lark's face darkened.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That."
"What is it?"
"I don't know. I've seen it on ruins in Haldrith. Etched into a crater in Braylocke. And once… branded into a corpse that didn't stay dead."
Ren blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It's not just a mark. It's a question. A warning. Maybe even a curse."
He traced the crown. "Taurion Vale fell when the last high king vanished—some say he was consumed by his own magic. Others say he sealed something away beneath the capital. Whatever it was, the kingdom tore itself apart in the aftermath."
"And the eye?"
"Some say it's the mark of the one who watches. Or judges. Or chooses what should end."
Ren sat back slowly.
Lark leaned in. "You still think you're here to play tourist?"
Ren didn't answer.
Instead, he looked down at the pen resting on the map.
It pulsed.
A silent confirmation.
---
Late Night – The Storm Begins
Rain began to fall. Heavy. Relentless.
Outside, the village huddled against the dark, shutters closing. Wind howled like distant screaming.
Inside, the two outworlders sat in a house that barely stood, surrounded by mystery, exile, and fate.
Ren spoke at last.
"So where exactly are we right now on this map?"
Lark pointed just north of the Vale, near a small river mark between forest and farmland.
"A town called Veylin Hollow. It's nobody's capital. But it's close to everybody's border."
Ren nodded.
"So. The center of everything… and the edge of nowhere."
The pen didn't pulse this time.
It didn't need to.