Back at the Golden Merchant
Association,
Four figures was sitting inside the cabin, the man a senior merchant with eyes that missed nothing, sat across from the three figure in the private cabin. The two soldiers stood silently by the door, their presence a quiet pressure in the room. They were discussing trade routes and competition logistics, but the girl wasn't listening. She was replaying that fleeting moment in the main hall.
That boy. He was rough around the edges, his clothes stained, his posture that of someone not accustomed to the city's confines. He was, by all accounts, a commoner.
But when her eyes had met his, for just a mere second, she hadn't seen a commoner. She had seen something else entirely.
Her internal Aetheric senses, honed since birth, had screamed a warning. She felt a chill, a deep, unsettling cold that had nothing to do with the temperature.
When she looked into his eyes, they were like watching a hollow red abyss.
And suddenly, from within that abyss, something was watching her back. It wasn't hostile, not exactly, but it was ancient, powerful, and utterly foreign. It made her hesitate, a small, involuntary flinch that she hoped no one saw.
She was a prodigy of one of the most powerful families in the land. Her Aetheric signature is known and respected. But that boy's... it was a complete void. It was as if he was hiding his essence behind a wall of pure nothingness, a feat of control that should have been impossible. Then, for a moment, the wall cracked, and she saw that abyssal power beneath. He is of her age, yet he possesses something that feels older than the mountains. How is that possible? she wondered. It was a contradiction that defied everything she knew.
"Miss Seraphina, is something troubling you?" the man's voice cut through her thoughts, polite but firm.
She quickly composed herself, forcing the image of those crimson eyes from her mind. "No, Please, continue your discussion. I was just thinking of some trivial matters".
She let the conversation flow around her, but the question lingered. He was her age. How could he possibly possess such a presence, such a depth of power? It was a mystery that she knew, with a certainty that chilled her , she would have to uncover. She was not used to being surprised, and this boy had managed to do so in a single, silent look.
Somewhere far to the north between the forest,
A caravan moved silently through a dense pine forest. The caravan itself was a thing of wonder, its polished wood inlaid with golden carvings and its flags bearing the emblem of a soaring eagle. Inside, a young man, a boy no older than Kael, watched the trees blur past. He was impeccably dressed, his dark hair falling perfectly over a brow that was already furrowed with a seriousness beyond his years. The air in the cabin was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the muggy city air they would soon be facing.
He held a small, polished stone in his hand, a gift from his master. He was concentrating, letting his own Aether flow into the stone, feeling its energy respond with a gentle hum. It was a simple exercise, but he performed it with a focus that was absolute. This was his life: endless training, flawless technique, and the constant pressure of a family name that demanded perfection.
"Young master, it will be two days before we reach Althorian City," a young girl said, her voice soft and deferential. She was his maid, Lilly, and she stood quietly by his side.
"Thank you, Lilly," he said, not turning his gaze from the window. "Is the ceremonial armor polished?",
"Yes, young master. And the Blade of the Eagle is sharpened and ready," she replied.
He nodded once, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. The competition was not just a game; it was a proving ground, a chance to show the world that his family's name was not just a title, but a testament to true power. He was not just ready, he was prepared to win.
In the The City of Althorian, the city was a fortress of stone and steel, a bustling metropolis unlike anything anyone had ever seen. The roads were a sea of people: merchants hawking their wares, caravans of all shapes and sizes, and a palpable air of excitement. Some had come to participate, others to watch, and still others for the business that such a grand event would bring. The scale of it all was dizzying, a thousand stories unfolding at once.
In between the crowded people, a black-hooded figure moved silently carrying two pouches. As he moved several people noticed his presence,he walked until he saw it: a grand stone building, its arches and columns decorated with the familiar sigil of the competition. A massive crowd had gathered, and a line of participants snaked from the entrance. He could see them all—proud swordsmen with gleaming blades strapped to their backs, elegant mages with staffs of polished wood, and countless others he couldn't yet identify. There was a girl with a bow and quiver that seemed to hum with silent power, a muscular brute who was flexing his arms and cracking a thunderous smile, and an elderly man who seemed to have seen every competition that had ever been held.
His heart hammered against his ribs, but it was no longer with fear. It was with a quiet, simmering readiness. He joined the line, a nameless shadow among the hopefuls. He pulled back his hood, letting his long black hair fall over his shoulders. His white skin and the crimson eyes were now on display. A small, simple pendant, a gift from his grandfather, hung around his neck. It was a reminder of who he was, where he came from.
He looked at the long line ahead of him and felt a low growl of my stomach. "This is going to be a long wait," he muttered to himself self".I should have eaten something before coming here".