****
The morning sun hung low, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet village. A gentle breeze stirred the trees, and the air carried that odd stillness — the kind that only comes when something is about to change.
Two days.
That's how long remained before recruitment began… and how long the journey to the capital would take.
Kael hadn't planned to walk it. Mira — always thinking ahead — had already asked a favor from a friend who often traveled that route by cart. By some rare stroke of timing, the friend was leaving today.
And outside, waiting beneath the shade of an old acacia tree, that cart now stood — wheels creaking faintly as if impatient to move.
Kael slung his bag over his shoulder in silence. He stood near the door, eyes lowered, letting the final stillness of the house settle around him. Veila pulled her cloak tight, stepping beside him. Mira checked her bag for the third time, visibly nervous even though she wasn't the one leaving.
No one said much. No goodbyes indoors. That was their way.
When they finally stepped out — Kael first — the sight stopped him mid-step.
A small crowd waited just beyond the crooked fence. Maybe ten people, no more. But it was enough to freeze Kael in place.
He recognized faces he hadn't spoken to in months. A few elders, a merchant's son, even that grumpy old gardener he used to pass without a glance. And standing a little awkwardly in the front was Mira's younger brother, holding something tightly behind his back.
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly. "...You told them?" he asked, without turning.
Mira scratched the back of her head. "I might've mentioned it. Didn't think they'd actually show up."
A low chuckle came from the gardener. "Didn't think you'd leave, boy. So we figured we better witness it."
Kael said nothing. But he didn't move forward yet either.
Veila stepped up beside him, her voice soft but steady. "You've always carried more than your share. Just don't forget where you came from… or who's still behind you."
He looked at her. A flicker of warmth crossed his eyes — faint, almost buried — and then it was gone again.
Mira exhaled, brushing his arm with her knuckles. "If you go off and become some legendary ghost-warrior, at least pretend you remember us when you're famous."
Then her little brother ran forward, holding out a small stitched cloth charm — uneven, a little messy, clearly handmade.
"It's lucky! You hafta keep it!"
Kael crouched slightly and tied it to his bag strap without a word.
A few villagers clapped. One called out, "Don't let the capital break you!"
Another shouted, "Show those uptight mages what real strength looks like!"
Then the soft rumble of wheels cut through the morning air.
A sturdy wooden cart creaked up the path, pulled by a broad-backed mule with dust-streaked fur and tired eyes. At the reins sat Mira's friend, a lean young man with lazy eyes and a crooked smile.
"Told ya I'd be on time," he called down. "City's waiting."
Kael nodded once.
He climbed onto the ride — no dramatic pause, no final wave. Just a fluid, calm motion, as if he were walking through another door.
As the ride began to pull away, Veila watched in silence.
Only when he was out of sight did she whisper under her breath, "Don't die before I see you again."
The wind answered her. But nothing else.
---
The cart rumbled steadily along the worn dirt road, its wheels crunching over the occasional pebble or dry branch. The mule trotted without rush, steady and tireless. Mira's friend didn't talk much, which suited Kael just fine. He sat in the back, arms folded, eyes half-lidded, watching the landscape change with each hour.
The air warmed as they neared the capital. Trees grew sparser, replaced by flatter plains and stretches of farmland. Other travelers dotted the road — some on foot, others on carts or wagons, all drawn by the same magnetic pull: the capital.
People always talked about it like it was something more than just a city. A place where power lived. Where names were made. Where failures were forgotten… or magnified. Kael had heard all the stories, but hearing wasn't the same as seeing.
And when he did see it — just past the crest of a hill, rising behind a sea of scattered houses and market tents — he had to admit, it looked nothing like home.
The capital was layered, rising in rings. The outer ring buzzed with life: markets, shouting traders, cheap inns, and crooked buildings stacked too close together. Beyond that, taller structures and wider roads marked the second ring — clearly wealthier, guarded by checkpoints and thicker walls. And far at the center, high on a gentle slope, stood the ivory towers of the central quarter: the Military Hall, the Council buildings, and the spire that watched the city like a silent warden.
They arrived a full day before recruitment would begin. The midday sun weighed heavily over the outer ring of the capital, washing the dusty roads in a shimmer of heat. The city rose beyond like a stacked coliseum — concentric walls tiered upward, each ring cleaner, taller, more refined than the last. Talk in the lower streets spoke of nobles at the core and warriors in the mid-tier, while those outside the first ring were considered little more than noise.
Kael stepped off the cart and let the smell of hot stone and smoke settle in his lungs.
"This is as far as I go," the driver said, giving him a half-salute. "You'll find cheap beds that way. Try not to get robbed."
Kael gave a small nod, adjusted the strap on his bag, and slipped into the stream of bodies pouring through the outer sector.
Finding an inn wasn't hard — finding one that didn't stink of mold or sound like a tavern brawl waiting to happen was harder. He passed two places before settling on a small lodge wedged between a smithy and a tailor shop. The owner was an old man who asked too many questions, but the room was quiet and the door locked. That was enough.
He dropped his bag and went out again. No real destination — just tracing the lines of the city in his mind. Mapping routes. Counting guards. Watching shadows.
A few blocks in, just as the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long, a voice called from the side.
"Hey, you new here?"
Kael's eyes flicked toward them.
Three boys loitered beside a cracked alleyway — scrappy, thin-shouldered, all of them with that feral kind of grin. One had a scar over his chin and a lazy eye. Another twirled a broken stick like it was a sword. The third had his hands in his coat, but walked with that twitchy rhythm of someone too used to running.
Kael didn't reply. Just looked.
He didn't answer. Didn't nod. But he walked. Let them think they were in control.
"You lost or what?" said the stick-twirler. "We could show you around. Shortcut to the nicer side."
"Yeah," Kael said flatly.
"Lucky day. We know this side of the city better than anyone," the leader said, slapping one of the others on the chest. "We'll get you where you need to go."
Kael didn't answer. But he followed.
He walked a step behind them, listening. Silent. Watching.
'Didn't even take long,' he thought.
'Mira's friend said I'd get robbed. Some people just know your fate before you do.But fate wasn't theirs to decide.'
They weaved through dim alleys, pretending to talk about shortcuts and inns.
Eventually, they reached a dark corridor boxed in by tall stone. The noise of the street dulled behind them. One of the boys pointed forward.
"Next turn gets you there," he said. "We'll head off here."
They turned to leave.
Kael didn't move.
Then the leader stopped — turned halfway — and called, "One more thing."
Kael glanced back. The boy stepped toward him again, slower this time.
"This city ain't always warm to strangers," he said smoothly. "We've seen things go wrong for folks just walking in. Some don't walk out."
He paused, then added with forced courtesy, "So we ask for a little something. Small payment. Consider it... insurance."
Kael stared. "I have nothing to repay you with."
The leader's smile cracked.
"Didn't think I was askin'."
The other two stepped in from behind, boxing Kael in. Their faces lost all friendliness.
"That's how it is," one growled. "First night tax."
'And here it comes'
'The turn — from grins to threat. Always the same rhythm. Act nice, play dumb, then sharpen the fangs when they think you're stuck'
'First night tax.Cute name'
Kael said nothing.
His gaze slid over them, slow and quiet.
'The one in the coat — tighter stance, right leg favoring back. Probably the fastest. Might even land the first hit, if he's lucky. The tall one grips too hard — strength over speed, poor balance. Would fall first. The one with the stick… more talk than bite. Repeat motions like a pattern. Nervous. Been in fights, but never finished one'
He didn't move.
'Even if they had magic, even if they used it together… they're not worth it. Not my real power. Not even my wind. No need to show anything'
'But I didn't think I'd have to do this early'
The one behind him fidgeted — cracking fingers. The leader licked his lips and tilted his head, still trying to keep the look of polite menace.
Kael's hand dropped slightly to his side.
Then everything changed.
In less than a second, the leader's nose exploded under a palm strike — not enough to break it clean, but enough to send him reeling. The stick never landed; Kael's hand snatched it mid-swing and cracked it across its wielder's thigh. The last one lunged — Kael pivoted, caught him at the collarbone, and slammed him into the wall with just enough force to rattle, not kill.
Three hits. No wasted movement. No breath out of place.
The alley went silent.