Evan now traveled in the back of an uncovered cart, sharing the space with a guard and a baker. The vehicle, pulled by two donkeys, was headed to the capital. Their route took them across the Serene River over an ancient bridge of gray stone. This ribbon of water completely encircled the city like a natural moat, tracing a liquid and impassable border between high society and the suburbs.
As always, his gaze was overwhelmed by the magnificence of Altus Forge.
The capital of Ferraria was a city so vast it would have required four hours of uninterrupted marching to cross from one end to the other—a theoretical feat, impossible in practice not only because of the labyrinth of streets and buildings but due to the presence of the Serene River. This river girdled like a silver moat the five noble districts and the armored castle that constituted the heart of power.
Yet, the city's most distinctive feature did not even belong to it.
Suspended in the sky, like the ruins of a divine dwelling, rose the Columns of Intis. Built from a gray, mossy stone consumed by millennia, these structures once formed a titanic web connecting the kingdom's far reaches. Each pillar soared toward the firmament with the height of a hundred stacked towers, their surfaces carved in an eternal spiral and wide enough to house a mansion. At great heights, these columns were connected to each other by stone bridges so delicate and elevated they seemed to be pathways for the clouds. Many of these arches lay crumbled, and their suspended rubble endowed the landscape with a majestic and solemn decay, a reminder of time's rot.
Contemplating that spectacle, all of Ferraria, with all its cities and towns, seemed nothing more than a cluster of huts built beneath the ruins of the divine.
After crossing the bridge, he entered the streets of Devotos. The district, famous for having several sun churches and chapels, displayed its devout character even in its civil architecture.
On both sides of the street stood elegant houses of carved stone, all of different hues and styles, each protected by wrought-iron gates guarding small, exotic gardens. The wide sidewalks, paved with flagstones carved in floral patterns, and on them…
Imposing trees, whose tall, broad canopies soared toward the sky. Their trunks, with pale brown bark peeling off in plates of varying shades, were surrounded by small steel fences. Their roots broke some of the sidewalk flagstones, creating the beginnings of mounds, which gave the walkway a more fantastical aura.
From the cobbled street, where the canopies of opposing trees intertwined until they touched, the sky seemed like a celestial river upon which thousands of vibrant green leaves floated and danced. Beneath that rain of shadows that smothered the sun's rays, the gloom swayed with the breeze, lending the air a refreshing quality. The atmosphere was truly magical.
The cart owner stopped on a commercial street packed with stalls and found his own, a small space between a fabric seller and a dried-herb vendor. While the man began unloading his products, Evan jumped onto the cobbled street and plunged into the river of humanity.
The atmosphere was a raw nerve. People moved with a haste bordering on panic, their faces tense, their eyes scrutinizing the shadows between stalls. Men and women alike carried weapons: short knives on their belts, small axes, even clubs. It was the only exception permitted on moonless days, and everyone took advantage of it. The merchants shouted their wares urgently, not to attract customers, but to finish quickly. It was a dance of daily survival, everyone trying to conclude their business before the sun yielded to the darkness.
The air smelled of freshly baked bread, of herbs, and underneath, the sour scent of fear.
Then, a melody rose above the chaos. A bard with a worn-out lute had planted himself on a corner, surrounded by a handful of adults. Evan stopped for a moment, drawn by the song. It was a mocking ballad, a dagger of satire aimed at the heart of the kingdom:
The bandits roam with not a care,
And tonight, with no moon, we'll be in despair.
While we stand quiet, to the heavens in prayer,
It's easier to pray than to sharpen the sword!
That's how it goes in Ferraria, the ill-rewarded!
The Queen imposes laws that choke our bread,
While I bet on my coliseum, to keep my spirits fed.
If Adar-Rohe saw us, the great hero of yore,
His tears of sorrow would drown this flock and more.
And the pirates of Osterra,
From our icy isles so stark,
Steal our food and our hopeful spark.
But what does it matter, if the circus is grand?
Long live Ferraria, the most... immortal land!
The nine bell tolls, followed by the single, mournful note, cut the song like a knife. The bard put away his lute with a quick gesture; even he, adorned with sun amulets and with a good knife at his belt, was not immune to the message. The audience dispersed, renewed urgency in their steps.
Evan reacted too. He had one hour left to reach the academy. It wasn't much, but enough if he found transport.
It was then that something else caught his attention.
A small dog, with fur black as a starless midnight, came crawling over. It was more bones than flesh, its ribs visible beneath the dull coat. It had a hurt hind leg that barely brushed the ground. Its eyes were large, moist, and of such a dark brown they seemed wells of infinite sadness. It let out a whimper that wasn't a bark, but a weak, sharp whine, like the sound of a rusted hinge. It rubbed against Evan's ankle with a heartbreaking desperation.
"Sorry," Evan murmured, his voice barely a sigh. Helping required resources, which he didn't have.
Evan looked away, a knot of helplessness in his throat. He took one step back, then another. The little dog watched him go, its tail low, unmoving. That image was seared into him.
While Evan still carried the weight of that gaze, something further ahead caught his attention: people had begun to make way.
In the distance, people seemed stunned, parting to clear a path. An imposing carriage, a dark caravan pulled by horses that seemed sculpted from rock, advanced with ceremonial slowness. From the fluttering flags—a gray mountain with a black peak crossed over a green field and a blue sky—he recognized the emblem of the Governor of the North.
Impressive, Evan thought and set about looking for a cart.
He then found a merchant. The man carried a good sword on his belt and, judging by the load, was transporting high-quality wine. He was about to head east down the commercial street, right towards the Gardens.
"Excuse me, good sir," said Evan, approaching. "Are you heading to The Gardens, or nearby?"
The man, with graying hair and a face lined by a few wrinkles, studied him with wide, clear eyes. For an instant, Evan's posture and clothing made him think he might be a noble. However, that hope faded when he noticed Evan's jet-black, disheveled, and common hair and eyes.
"Sure, lad. I have to deliver some goods at the temple of the gods. That'll be three sales," declared the old man, spitting on the ground with disdain. Immediately after, smiling, he accepted Evan's three sales.
Evan had no time to haggle. If he didn't reach the academy on time, he would suffer terrible consequences.
Once on their way, nearing The Gardens, the sky began to cloud over, causing Evan and the merchant to look up. There was the moon, about to be covered, like a white, cracked porcelain bowl, with a dark spot from which cracks extended in all directions across its round, white surface, visible in broad daylight—an irrefutable sign it would depart along with the sun at night.
"By the Moon's feet! Looks like the Cloud God has his eye on the city now. Heh, just what we needed today," the old man said suddenly in a sarcastic tone, and prayed it wouldn't rain.
"I don't think it will rain," Evan offered, not taking his eyes off the celestial phenomenon. "They might just be cirrus clouds, formed from ice crystals at high altitude. They don't usually bring rain."
"You're heading to the Iron Academy, right?" asked the old man, trying to strike up a conversation to pass the time.
"Oh, yes. I'm going there. I'm a scholarship student."
"Ooh, I see. That means you're really clever, lad," the old man said good-naturedly. "Though, for someone so clever, you have a face longer than a day without bread. If I had your opportunity, I'd be whistling."
Evan offered a faint smile, which vanished in an instant. "The teachers say that too. But I... I think good things have to happen to you to be happy, and besides getting into the academy, nothing... important... has happened to me."
Evan shrugged, watching the wheels turn over the cobblestones.
The old man fell silent for a moment, letting the confession settle. "Heh. 'Besides that,' he says..." He cleared his throat. "I hear it's a nest of vipers there. All blue blood and chicken brains. Not even fit to wipe their own asses."
"They're from another world," Evan whispered.
"'Another world,' you say." The old man let out a dry laugh. "Well, it's plain to see you're from the suburbs, lad. No insult, mind. Just an observation."
Evan nodded. "That's right. I live in Villa Verde."
"Well, listen. It's a game. They need to feel big. You need to survive. If you bump into one, smile, nod, and go on your way. I sell them wine at gold prices for that very reason. Their pride is my profit." He winked at Evan.
Is that really okay? What kind of life is it if you can't live with dignity? Evan thought. "You're right," he said.
Finally, they arrived where their paths divided.
"Go with the sun, lad," the old man said without stopping his cart. Evan waved goodbye and turned away, but after a few seconds, the old man turned back toward him and shouted, "I mean it! I hope everything turns out well for you in life, and you have joyful stories to tell. Cheers!" The old man looked at Evan with a kind smile on his face.
Perhaps because the old man had truly said it from the heart, those words hit Evan hard. With a face as neutral as a still pond, he brushed away a drop of… sweat running down his cheek, and set off toward the academy through The Gardens.