"The Foolish Spark Beneath a Quiet Sky"
Second Age of Elyndros
7th of Februarius, Year 10980
In a tavern pub in Havencrow City.
Night fell gently upon the continent of Elyndros, cloaking its fractured lands in velvet shadows and stardust.
The celestial tapestry above shimmered like glass dust scattered across an endless void, as if the gods themselves had spilled a bottle of stars. The sky was quiet. Peaceful. But beneath that silence, the heart of the world beat on - full of beasts, secrets, power, and ambition.
And somewhere beneath that sky, tucked within the western reaches of the continent, sat the sprawling bastion of humanity: Havencrow City.
A metropolis built from enchanted stone and steelwood, Havencrow stood proud and defiant against the chaos of the world beyond its gates. Towering walls lined with magical sigils pulsed gently in the dark. Lanterns glowed faint blue on floating pedestals.
Airships rose and docked. Traders from the desert lands and mystics from the archipelagos filled the streets with foreign color and scent. It was a place of power, of promise - of dreams, if one could afford them.
Inside one of the city's many taverns, where flickering runes kept the hearth burning eternally and enchanted barrels poured drinks without end, sat a boy no one noticed.
Cael.
He looked soft. Slender. Unthreatening. Hair dark like dusk, eyes like melted aquamarine - too gentle, too unsure. His posture spoke of solitude, but his presence, strangely, held gravity. As if the world wasn't looking at him yet… but would.
He sat alone at the corner table of TheBrokenSigil, a pub for low-tier adventurers and off-duty city guards. He nursed a mug of silver beer, its shimmering surface catching the lamplight. It was the cheapest drink on the menu - just a basic ale mixed with magically - fused grain that helped refresh mana and dull pain.
He had no company.
He had no glory.
But he had a dream burning quietly in his chest.
It had been only three days since he joined Hunter's Dogma, one of the largest guilds in Elyndros dedicated to slaying monsters, containing mythical threats, and defending human territory. Upon entry, each new hunter was granted a class chosen not by man - but by divine will.
The Gods of Elyndros...
Ancient and unseen, watched the hearts of mortals. They measured strength not just in muscle or magic, but in soul.
Cael was given a rare class. A title most people only heard about in legends.
Enforcer.
Not a Warrior. Not a Ranger. Not even a Cleric or Summoner.
But a Celestial-class Enforcer, a rare advanced class of Mage.
And yet… he had none of the might others with his class were known for. No summoned familiars. No blinding arcane storms. Just a fragile barrier spell. A weak seal. A minor curse-cleanse. Support magic, basic and unimpressive.
The guild whispered.
They laughed.
They questioned.
"Why does that boy have an Enforcer class?"
"Must be a mistake. Maybe the gods were drunk."
"If he's not dead in a week, I'll eat my gauntlet."
But Cael did not raise his voice. He didn't argue. He didn't even cry.
He simply sat at that table every night with his silver beer and stared at the sky through the window.
Maybe he believed it would all change.
Maybe he was foolish.
The tavern was alive tonight. Loud with noise, clanking mugs, and tales from outside the walls. The scent of burnt lamb and blood was thick in the air.
At the far end, near the crackling fireplace, a band of rangers - weathered men with fur-lined cloaks, worn boots, and cocky eyes - talked in hushed excitement. Cael's ears caught only fragments at first.
"...swear to the gods, Malk, no one's touched it since the Purging."
"Because anyone who goes in, doesn't come out."
"Yeah, but the loot, man. I heard it's ancient. Like, real First Age stuff."
Cael's eyes flicked to them.
"...and the beasts?" another ranger asked.
A grim chuckle. "Hellspawn. Abyss-touched. One guy said the air inside screams."
"But the experience. The gear."
"It'd be worth it. If you come out alive, you'd level faster than an Archslinger on drugs."
They all laughed.
Cael lowered his mug. Slowly rose from his seat. Every step he took toward them felt weighted by invisible lead. He didn't know why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was a spark inside him - the need to prove something.
He stood before the table of rangers.
They stopped laughing.
One looked up, unimpressed. "What do you want, kid?"
Cael, soft-spoken as always, said, "The cave. Where is it?"
They stared.
Another ranger blinked, leaned back in his chair. "You gonna kill the beasts in there?"
Laughter erupted.
"Aww, look! Baby's got a death wish."
"You lost, sweetheart? You know this ain't a tea shop, right?"
Cael stood still. His hands didn't tremble. His gaze, calm but sharp, met theirs without flinching.
"I want to know where it is," he repeated, his voice firmer. "Please."
They mocked him again. But something in the way he spoke - so steady, so quiet - made one of them falter. A woman, scarred along her jaw, studied him.
"Why?" she asked.
Cael didn't lie.
"Because I want to be stronger."
"Or dead."
He smiled faintly. "Either would prove something."
The room grew quieter. They exchanged glances. Amused. Maybe impressed. Maybe pitying.
The woman pulled out a scroll. Sketched a crude mark onto the map with charcoal. "There. North of Havencrow. Ten kilometers west of the Silent Marsh. Seven kilometers south of the Black Orc's Spine."
Another chimed in. "You'll pass a cursed grove on the way. Avoid the roots. They bite."
"And don't go in at night," said the third. "Actually, don't go in at all."
They all chuckled again.
Cael nodded. "Thank you."
He turned and walked away, leaving behind the jeers, the warnings, the doubt.
He reached into his bag, pulled out his WorldMap - a living scroll that adjusted based on magic - and marked the location.
The cave had no name.
Just a red X over a place the guild refused to mark.
A place even the Hunter'sDogma feared.
He rolled the map shut and finished the last sip of his silver beer.
Tomorrow, at first light… he would go.
Not because he thought he could win.
But because, deep in his heart, he hoped that if he fought hard enough, the gods would notice him again.
He didn't know that they already had.
And they were waiting.