The first glimpse of Dragonspire City stole Invia's breath like a thief in daylight.
They crested the final hill just as the afternoon sun hit its peak, and there it was—a metropolis that defied every law of architecture he'd known. At its heart, a bone-white spire pierced the sky like a needle through fabric, so tall its peak vanished into actual clouds. The rest of the city sprawled around it in concentric circles, each ring rising higher than the last, creating the illusion of a massive spiral ascending toward heaven.
"First time's always the same," Kleo said, noticing Invia's slack-jawed expression.
"Yeah." The word came out as barely a whisper.
"Never gets old," the captain said, surprising Invia with the reverence in his voice. "That spire? Dragon bone. Last stand of Kelethys the Golden, oh, hundreds of years back. City was about to fall to a coalition of other races—elves, orcs, and dwarves united just to crush one of humanity's strongholds. Dragon killed their champions, broke their armies, but the fight killed her too. Her dying wish was that her bones become the city's shield."
The story settled into Invia's mind like a stone in still water, sending ripples through his understanding. A creature powerful enough to break armies, choosing to become eternal architecture. The poetry of it made his chest tight.
As they descended toward the main road, the traffic increased exponentially. Merchants with loaded wagons, farmers bringing goods to market, and travelers of every description. And Harmonics—so many Harmonics that the air itself hummed with overlapping resonances, creating a constant subsonic thrum that made his teeth ache.
"Stay close," Kleo warned. "Easy to get lost in the gate crowds."
The gate crowds were unlike anything Invia had experienced. The press of bodies, the cacophony of voices in multiple languages, and the constant pulse of various resonances creating an almost tangible pressure in the air. He found himself unconsciously reaching for his sword's hilt, the touch grounding him against the sensory assault.
Kleo led them not to the main gates but to a smaller side entrance marked for commercial traffic. The guards there wore armor that seemed to drink in light, their eyes sharp as they processed each arrival with mechanical efficiency.
"Kleo's Freeblades," the captain announced, producing a worn document. "Expected delivery."
One guard consulted a ledger while another's eyes glowed briefly—some kind of inspection resonance, Invia guessed. The man's gaze lingered on their wrapped bundle before nodding.
"Merchant quarter, Blue Lotus warehouse. You know the way?"
"Like my own mother's face," Kleo replied smoothly. Something passed between them—a look, a slight nod—that felt significant.
They entered the city proper, and Invia's senses went into overload.
Every surface seemed to pulse with life. Buildings rose in impossible spirals, their walls covered in flowing script that shifted and changed as he watched. Bridges arced between structures with no visible support, carrying streams of people whose resonances created constant aurora displays. Street vendors hawked everything - from glowing fruits to weapons that sang in harmony with their wielders.
"Don't gawk too much," Tam advised. "Marks you as easy prey."
But how could he not stare? A fire Harmonic juggled flames that formed words in the air, each letter a different temperature. A merchant with some kind of charm resonance had customers literally floating toward his stall, their feet inches off the ground. Guards stood at corners, their presence alone enough to create bubbles of order in the chaos.
They passed through several districts, each with its own character. The merchant quarter bustled with commerce, coins changing hands in a dozen currencies. The residential areas showed clear hierarchies—grand houses for powerful Harmonics, cramped quarters for those without resonance. The distinction was less brutal than Invia expected, but impossible to miss.
At one intersection, they had to wait as a procession passed. A palanquin carried by resonance-enhanced bearers, surrounded by guards whose weapons crackled with barely contained power.
"Noble family," Lysa explained. "Probably heading to court. See the crest? House Valdris. Their heir just hit Manifestation Realm at seventeen. Prodigy."
Seventeen, Invia thought. I'm nineteen and can barely swing a sword.
The Blue Lotus warehouse sat in a quieter part of the merchant quarter. Kleo spoke briefly with a thin man who emerged from the shadows like oil, their conversation too low to hear. Money changed hands—more than seemed necessary for a simple delivery.
"Wait here," Kleo ordered his team, disappearing inside with the bundle.
Invia studied the building, noting the subtle marks carved into doorframes, the way certain stones were discolored. Signs of warding, maybe, or something else. The other mercenaries seemed relaxed, but he caught Rhen's hand never straying far from his shield.
When Kleo emerged, his expression was carefully neutral. "Job's done. Let's find lodging before the good places fill up."
They made their way to an inn called the Wanderer's Rest, clearly a regular stop for the group. The proprietor, a woman with silver-streaked hair and knowing eyes, greeted Kleo like an old friend.
"The usual arrangement?" she asked.
"Just for tonight, Marta. We're not staying long."
She handed over the keys with practiced efficiency. "Baths are drawn, dinner's at sunset. Try not to bleed on my floors this time."
"That was once!" Kleo protested, but his grin suggested otherwise.
Invia found himself sharing a room with Brix, who immediately claimed the bed by the window and began maintaining his bow with obsessive care. The room was simple but clean, a luxury after days on the road.
"First time in a city this big?" Brix asked without looking up.
"First time in any city here," Invia admitted.
"Word of advice? Don't go wandering alone. Especially not near the Spiral Districts. That's where the real power lives, and they don't like tourists."
After washing days of road dust away, Invia joined the others for dinner. The common room buzzed with conversation in multiple languages, the air thick with smoke from various pipes and the smell of roasting meat.
"So," Kleo announced once they'd gathered, "we've got a decision to make. Contract's done, payment received." He produced a heavy purse, counting out shares with practiced ease. "You're all free to find other work, same as always."
"You saying goodbye, captain?" Ziona asked.
"I'm saying I've got no jobs lined up. Might be time to take that vacation I've been promising myself for ten years." His tone was light, but something in his eyes suggested otherwise. "Course, if anyone wants to stick around, I might have some... prospects. Nothing definite."
The others exchanged glances. This was clearly a ritual, Invia realized. The illusion of choice after each job.
"I'll stick," Rhen said simply.
"Same," from Tam and Lysa together.
"You still owe me money from that card game," Brix added. "Can't leave till you pay up."
Ziona just smiled. "Someone needs to keep you idiots alive."
All eyes turned to Invia. He wasn't truly part of their group, had only traveled with them by circumstance. But Kleo was watching him with an expression that might have been curiosity or calculation.
"I... should probably find my own way," Invia said carefully. "Thank you for everything, but—"
"Fair enough," Kleo interrupted, though something flickered in his eyes. "Can't say I blame you. Mercenary life isn't for everyone." He reached into his vest, pulling out a folded paper. "But let me give you some advice, free of charge."
He slid the paper across the table. It was a map of the city, certain locations marked with symbols Invia didn't recognize.
"You've got a sword resonance but can't fight worth a damn," Kleo said bluntly. "That's going to get you killed in a city like this. See this mark here? That's the martial academy—biggest one in the city. They take students year-round, train them proper."
"I don't have money for—"
"You don't need money. You need leverage." Kleo leaned back, expression unreadable. "Go to the Sword Hall, find the sword instructor. Tell him Kleo sent you. Tell him I'm cashing in my favor."
The other mercenaries exchanged glances. Whatever this favor was, it carried weight.
"He won't like it," Kleo continued, grin sharp. "Might even throw you out first. But he'll take you in. He has to."
"Why?" Invia asked. "Why help me?"
"Call it professional curiosity." Kleo's eyes glinted. "An investment in entertainment."
They shared a final drink, the mercenaries telling increasingly outrageous stories as the night wore on. When Invia finally retired, Kleo caught his arm.
"One more thing," the captain said quietly. "Remember—everyone in this city wants something. Figure out what, and you might survive."
The warning sat heavy as Invia climbed to his room. Tomorrow, he'd navigate the city alone, find this academy, and try to convince a stranger to train him based on a favor he didn't understand.
But it was a choice. His choice.
As he settled into bed, listening to Brix's gentle snoring, he thought about how much had changed in just a week. From powerless observer on Earth to armed student in another world. The sword at his bedside still felt foreign, but perhaps that would change.
One step at a time, he told himself. One choice at a time.
Morning came quickly. The mercenaries gathered for a subdued breakfast, everyone aware this was goodbye. Kleo handed Invia a small purse—his share of the earnings, despite barely contributing.
"For food and necessities," the captain said. "Academy provides room and board, but you'll need things."
They walked him to the inn's entrance, each offering their own farewell. Rhen clasped his shoulder. Ziona checked his healing wounds one last time. Even Brix offered a gruff "Try not to die."
"Remember," Kleo said as a final parting. "Sword Hall, instructor, cash in the favor. And princess? Actually learn to use that sword. Would be a shame if you died before I got to see how this story ends."
Then they were gone, melting into the morning crowd with the ease of those who belonged. Invia stood alone, map in hand, the city's chaos pressing in from all sides.
The martial academy, he thought, finding the mark on the map. Time to see if Kleo's favor is worth anything.
He set off through the twisting streets, following the map's guidance. The academy district was clearly marked—a section of the city dominated by training grounds and sparring halls. The main building rose like a fortress, all dark stone and functional architecture.
Finding the Sword Hall proved easier than expected. It was one of the largest wings, the ring of steel on steel audible from outside. Invia paused at the entrance, suddenly aware of how out of place he was. Other students moved with confidence, their weapons carried with casual expertise.
Too late to turn back now.
He entered, searching for someone matching Kleo's description. The main hall was vast, with dozens of pairs sparring under watchful instructors. But in the center, standing alone, was a man who could only be his target.
Blond hair that caught the light like spun gold. Features so perfect they seemed carved rather than born. He moved through forms with a grace that made other swordsmen look like children playing with sticks. Even standing still, he radiated danger.
Invia approached, mouth dry. The man's eyes—ice blue and utterly cold—found him before he could speak. He eyed Invia's goblin sword with the sort of look reserved for particularly offensive insects.
"Lost? This isn't a playground." The word carried enough disdain to etch glass.
"No. I... Kleo sent me. He said to tell you he's cashing in his favor."
The temperature seemed to drop. The man's eyes darkened, a shadow flickering across his perfect features—anger, or something heavier. Something that tasted of old wounds and older debts. "A favor? Motherfuc—" He cut himself off, visibly controlling himself. "How do you know him?"
Invia stumbled through the tale—waking amid goblins, the sword's awakening, Kleo's rescue. The man's intense stare bored into him, weighing every word like a merchant weighing gold. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring, until finally the man's expression relaxed with a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years.
"Fine," the instructor said finally, the word extracted like a pulled tooth. He then tossed a sword insignia towards Invia, the metal warm against his palm. "Show this to the clerk in the lounge. He will take care of the rest. Report here tomorrow at dawn. If you're late, don't bother coming back."
And with that warm welcome, Invia found himself enrolled in the martial academy. He left, weaving through corridors that echoed with the sounds of training, of dedication, of dreams being forged in steel and sweat. The lounge hall was easier to find—a clerk, thin as a blade with eyes sharp as winter, took the medallion and sneered at the goblin sword.
"New, huh? Come on." He tossed the crude weapon aside without ceremony.
Surprisingly, the absence of a sword didn't bring the craving back. Invia realized that his sword pendant sang toward him as well, albeit quietly, like a lullaby hummed by distant voices. Is this because Father did something to it? He did give it to me, after all.
They walked, the clerk pointing out the dining hall with its long tables and the scent of bread and meat, training grounds where the very air seemed to vibrate with power, and finally Invia's quarters. "First session's at dawn," the clerk said with the air of someone who'd given this speech a thousand times.
Invia hesitated. "The instructor—what's his name?"
"Which one?" the clerk asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The handsome one," Invia mumbled, feeling foolish.
The clerk chuckled, a sound like dry leaves. "Mono."
"How is this academy so huge?" Invia pressed, gesturing at the vast corridors that seemed to stretch into infinity.
The clerk stared, incredulous, like he'd seen a ghost walk through the wall. "Martial Harmonics are over half the Harmonic population. Most common type. We need the space." Invia scratched his head, sheepish, as they reached a plain door that somehow looked welcoming despite its simplicity. "Sword and trainee gear's inside. Use the medallion to unlock it."
Invia entered the room, small but functional. A narrow bed, a chest, a window that looked out over the city's impossible skyline. He sat on the bed, the whirlwind of days crashing over him like a tide. He was no longer on Earth. The craving had stopped. He'd lived through desperate fights and found something like family among strangers. Now he was alone again, in a brand new world, with brand new powers, and the worst of it—with brand new questions that seemed to multiply like weeds.
A loud knock jolted him from his brooding, followed by a chipper "Hey!" He opened the door to a man with wild hair that defied physics and a grin too big for any reasonable face. "Saw you with the clerk—you're new! I'm Django, nice to meet you!" He thrust out a hand with the enthusiasm of a friendly hurricane.
Invia blinked, dazed by the sudden shift from melancholy to manic energy. "I-Invia," he said, shaking the offered hand. "Likewise."
The grin cracked the weight in Invia's chest, just a little, like sunlight through storm clouds.
"Okay! Goodbye!" Django chirped as soon as their hands parted, spinning on his heel and vanishing down the hall with the same abrupt cheer he'd arrived with, leaving only the echo of his laughter.
Invia stood dumbstruck, the whirlwind encounter leaving him puzzled and oddly lighter.
What an interesting fellow, Invia thought, a bemused smile touching his lips despite the whirlwind in his head. The sheer, uncomplicated energy was a stark contrast to the weight of the unknown pressing down on him. He closed the door, the latch clicking softly like a period at the end of a sentence.
Exhaustion, deeper than physical ache, settled over him like a familiar blanket. He barely shed his dusty clothes before collapsing onto the narrow bed. Sleep claimed him instantly, a deep, dreamless void offering respite from questions that had no easy answers.