Three days.
Nolan had been running for three days.
Not constantly—his body would have given out if he'd tried. But he moved whenever he could, pushing through exhaustion and pain, only stopping when darkness made travel too dangerous or when his legs simply refused to carry him another step.
The forest had given way to foothills, then rocky terrain that cut his hands and tore at his clothes. He'd crossed two streams, waded through a marsh that left him shivering and covered in mud, and climbed more slopes than he could count. Always moving south. Always toward where his father had said the capital lay.
Eldoria. The jewel of the realm. The place where the Council of Kings and Queens ruled over the three races in fragile unity.
The place where his grandfather supposedly hid.
If he even exists, Nolan thought bitterly as he stumbled over another root. If any of this is real and not just fever dreams from a dying man.
But the pendant around his neck was real enough. He could feel its weight with every step, a constant reminder of everything he'd lost.
His stomach cramped with hunger. He'd found some berries yesterday—the safe kind, he'd hoped—and caught a fish with his bare hands this morning using reflexes that still felt too fast, too precise to be natural. The power lurking in his chest made everything easier when he let it, but every time he did, he heard Diablo's voice.
Good. Yes. Use me. Feel how much stronger you are. How much better.
Nolan tried to ignore it. Tried to wall off that part of himself. But it was like trying to ignore his own heartbeat.
The sun was setting when he finally emerged from the wilderness onto an actual road.
Not much of one—just packed dirt with wagon ruts—but it was clearly maintained, clearly used. Nolan stood there for a long moment, swaying on his feet, staring at the road like it was a miracle.
Civilization. Finally.
A sound made him spin around, hands coming up defensively. But it was just a wagon cresting the hill, pulled by two tired-looking horses. An elderly dwarf sat on the driver's bench, reins loose in his gnarled hands. He pulled the horses to a stop when he saw Nolan, bushy eyebrows rising.
"Well now," the dwarf said, his voice gravelly but not unkind. "You look like you've been dragged backward through a thornbush, lad. And lost a fight with the bush."
Nolan looked down at himself. His clothes were torn and filthy, covered in dried blood—some his own, some not. His hands were cut and bruised. He probably looked like a bandit. Or a corpse.
"I... I need to get to Eldoria," he managed. His voice came out as a croak. When had he last had water?
The dwarf studied him for a long moment, eyes shrewd beneath those ridiculous eyebrows. "Running from something, are ye?"
"Running to something."
"Ah. Well, that's different then." The dwarf jerked his thumb toward the back of the wagon. "Got room if you don't mind riding with turnips. Headed to the capital myself—market day in two days, and these beauties won't sell themselves."
Nolan's legs nearly gave out with relief. "Thank you. I... I don't have any money to pay you—"
"Did I ask for money?" The dwarf snorted. "Name's Borin Ironfoot. And any lad desperate enough to cross the Grief Mountains on foot deserves a ride more than a lecture. Hop on."
The Grief Mountains. Was that where he'd been? Nolan had lost track of landmarks days ago, focused only on moving forward, on not stopping, on not thinking about—
Don't think about it.
He climbed into the back of the wagon, settling among crates of turnips that smelled of earth and honest work. The moment he sat down, his body seemed to realize it was finally safe to rest. His eyes began to close almost against his will.
"Get some sleep, lad," Borin called back. "We've got a full day's travel ahead, and you look like death warmed over."
Nolan wanted to stay alert. Wanted to keep watch. But exhaustion pulled at him like a physical weight, and for the first time in three days, he felt something almost like safety.
His eyes closed.
And the nightmares came.
Fire. Screaming. His mother's face, frozen in shock as claws tore through her. Beatrix trying to run, crying for him, calling his name. Bryce's flames sputtering out as jaws closed around his throat.
His father's eyes, filled with regret and love and terrible knowledge, as life drained away.
And underneath it all, that voice. That terrible, seductive voice.
"You could have saved them. If you'd let me take control. If you'd embraced what you are."
"I didn't know—"
"Ignorance is not innocence. Their blood is on your hands."
"No—"
"YES. You are weak. Pathetic. Unworthy of the power you carry. Give it to me. Let me show you what true strength looks like."
The blue energy turned black. Consumed everything. And Nolan was drowning in darkness, screaming, as something ancient and hungry reached for his soul—
"Easy there, lad! Easy!"
Nolan jerked awake with a gasp, his hands blazing with blue light. Borin had stumbled backward, eyes wide, one hand on the hilt of a wicked-looking axe at his belt.
They stared at each other for a frozen moment.
Then Nolan looked down at his hands and horror washed over him. The blue energy flickered and died, leaving only faint wisps. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"You're a mage." Borin's voice was flat, unreadable.
"I... it's complicated."
"Complicated." The dwarf laughed, though it didn't sound amused. "Well, that's one word for it. What core level are you, boy?"
"I don't... I don't know. I only awakened a few days ago."
Borin's eyes narrowed. "A few days? And you're throwing around power like that? That wasn't Starter Core energy, lad. That was..." He trailed off, studying Nolan more carefully. "What happened to you?"
Nolan wanted to lie. Wanted to make up some safe story that wouldn't invite more questions. But he was so tired of carrying the weight alone, and something about the old dwarf's weathered face made him think of his father.
"My family was killed," he said quietly. "By... by monsters. Mana beasts. I awakened trying to defend them, but I was too late. Now I'm trying to reach my grandfather in Eldoria. He's the only family I have left."
It wasn't the whole truth. But it was true enough.
Borin's expression softened. "Ah, lad. I'm sorry. That's a hard thing, losing family." He sat down heavily on a crate, axe still in his hand but no longer threatening. "My condolences. Truly."
"Thank you."
"Your grandfather, he's expecting you?"
"No. He... he doesn't know I'm coming. I'm not even sure he'll want to see me. But I don't have anywhere else to go."
Borin nodded slowly, then sheathed his axe. "Well. A lad who awakens power defending his family can't be all bad, I suppose. Even if that power is..." He gestured vaguely at Nolan. "Unsettlingly strong for a new mage."
Tell him, Diablo whispered. Tell him what you really are. Watch him run screaming. Or better yet, let me out. I'll make sure he never tells anyone anything.
Nolan gritted his teeth, forcing the voice down. "I'm not dangerous."
"Didn't say you were. But you should know—Eldoria's capital isn't like the frontier. They have laws about mages, especially powerful ones. You'll need to register with the Mage's Guild, get yourself certified, learn proper control." Borin scratched his beard. "Walking in looking like a wild thing with unstable power? That'll get you arrested or worse."
"I just need to find my grandfather. He'll know what to do."
"And if you can't find him? What's your plan then?"
Nolan had no answer for that.
They traveled in silence for a while after that. The road gradually improved, becoming wider and better maintained. They passed other travelers—merchants, farmers, a group of elven rangers who eyed Nolan with suspicion but didn't stop them. The wilderness slowly gave way to cultivated fields and distant farmhouses.
As the sun set on that first day of travel, Borin pulled the wagon off the road to make camp. He had a practiced efficiency about it—building a small fire, setting up a simple tent, pulling out supplies.
"Can you hunt?" the dwarf asked.
Nolan nodded.
"Good. I'll handle camp. You see if you can find us something better than my salt pork. Just..." Borin hesitated. "Try not to use magic if you can help it. You're unstable, lad. I can see it. Every time you touch that power, you look a little more lost."
He was right. Nolan could feel it—the constant pull, the temptation to just let go and let the power flow freely. It would be so much easier than fighting it every moment.
"I'll be careful," he promised.
The forest near the road wasn't as deep as the mountains, but it had enough game. Nolan moved through the underbrush quietly, every sense alert. Without consciously meaning to, he felt that power stirring in his chest, enhancing his vision, his hearing, his reflexes.
There. A rabbit, twenty feet away, nibbling on some grass.
Nolan picked up a stone. Once upon a time—three days ago, a lifetime ago—he would have had to get much closer, aim carefully, hope for the best. Now...
He threw.
The stone moved faster than any normal throw should have, hitting the rabbit cleanly. It didn't suffer. One moment alive, the next not.
Clean. Efficient. Easy.
See? Diablo purred. I make everything better. Faster. Stronger. Why do you fight it?
"Because you're not me," Nolan whispered, retrieving his kill. "And I'm not you."
Not yet. But give it time.
They ate well that night. Borin proved to be an excellent cook, seasoning the rabbit with herbs from his supplies and producing bread that was only slightly stale. As they ate, he told stories about his travels—thirty years as a merchant, crossing Eldoria from Gildengar to Aerendyll and back again.
"Seen a lot in that time," Borin said, staring into the fire. "Mana beasts, bandits, the occasional rogue mage who thinks they're above the law. The world's dangerous, lad. More so lately."
"What do you mean?"
"Rumors. Whispers. Things stirring in the dark that haven't stirred in a long time." The dwarf's expression grew serious. "There's talk of a cult—the Eternal Flame, they call themselves. Human supremacists who believe in the old ways. The dark ways."
Nolan's blood ran cold. "The Eternal Flame?"
"You've heard of them?"
"I... I've heard the name." The werewolves had mentioned it. Their master, the High Priest. "What do they want?"
"Power. What else? They preach that humans should rule Eldoria, that the other races are inferior, that the old Dark Lords had the right idea before they were sealed away." Borin spat into the fire. "Madness and hate, wrapped up in pretty words about human destiny."
"The Dark Lords," Nolan said carefully. "They were real?"
"Real enough. Centuries ago, before the three kingdoms unified, there were human mages who delved too deep into forbidden magic. Became something... other. The worst of them was called Diablo—the Demon King. Nearly destroyed the world before the Thaelori and the greatest mages of the age managed to seal him."
How nice to be remembered, Diablo commented dryly in Nolan's head.
"What happened to him?" Nolan had to know. "To Diablo?"
"Sealed in a pocket dimension, supposedly. Him and his followers—the ones who survived the war. The seal's held for over two centuries." Borin shrugged. "Though if the cult has their way, they'd probably try to free him. Fools worship him like a god."
Two centuries. His father had sealed half of Diablo's power in him twenty years ago. Which meant...
"How would someone even break a seal like that?" Nolan asked, trying to sound casual.
"No idea. The magic involved is beyond anything modern mages can do—required the Thaelori themselves, and they don't share that kind of knowledge anymore." Borin yawned. "Why all the questions? You writing a history book?"
"Just curious."
They slept in shifts that night, Borin insisting despite Nolan's protests. "You may be a mage, lad, but you're also running on fumes. Get some rest. I'll wake you in a few hours."
Nolan tried to sleep. Tried to keep the nightmares at bay. Failed.
The next day brought them closer to civilization. They passed through two small villages where Borin stopped to trade and gather news. Nolan stayed with the wagon, hood pulled low, avoiding attention.
But he watched. Listened. Learned.
The villages were mixed—humans, dwarves, a few elves, all living and working together. The peace seemed genuine, if not without tension. He overheard complaints about grain prices, concerns about mana beast sightings, gossip about a scandal involving some noble's daughter.
Normal life. The kind his family had lived.
How boring, Diablo commented. All this potential, all this magic in the world, and they waste it on farming and gossip.
"Not everyone wants power," Nolan thought back. "Some people just want to be happy."
Happiness is an illusion for the weak. Power is truth.
"Then I'll take the illusion."
By the third day, they could see it in the distance—Eldoria's capital, rising from the plains like something out of a dream. Massive walls of white stone, towers that reached toward the clouds, banners flying from every rampart. The city sprawled for miles, easily ten times larger than any settlement Nolan had ever imagined.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" Borin said with obvious pride. "The jewel of the realm. Home to fifty thousand souls, maybe more. Humans, elves, dwarves, all living under the same sky, governed by the Council." He glanced back at Nolan. "You sure you're ready for this, lad? The capital isn't kind to those without connections or coin."
Nolan touched the pendant under his shirt. "I don't have a choice."
They joined a stream of travelers heading toward the city's main gates—merchants, farmers, adventurers, families. Guards in gleaming armor stood watch, checking carts, asking questions. As they drew closer, Nolan saw the royal banners more clearly—three symbols woven together. A mountain for the dwarves. A tree for the elves. A flame for the humans.
Unity. That's what the kingdom was supposed to represent.
Unity is weakness, Diablo whispered. Division creates strength. Competition breeds excellence. These fools have forgotten that.
The guards waved Borin through with barely a glance—apparently he was a regular. But as the wagon passed under the massive gates, one of the guards looked directly at Nolan. Their eyes met, and for a moment, Nolan feared the guard saw something. Sensed something.
But the moment passed, and they were through.
Nolan had entered Eldoria.
The city hit him like a physical force. The noise—thousands of voices talking, shouting, laughing, arguing. The smells—food cooking, horses, smoke from hundreds of chimneys, flowers from window boxes, and underneath it all, the ever-present scent of too many people living too close together.
And the magic.
He could feel it everywhere—in the street lamps that glowed with captured light, in the fountains that flowed without any visible source, in the air itself. So much concentrated mana it made his teeth ache. Every third person they passed seemed to be a mage of some kind—flames dancing on fingertips, water flowing from nowhere, small objects floating beside their owners.
This was what he'd been missing. What his family had been shielding him from. The real world, where magic was as common as breathing.
Borin navigated the streets with practiced ease, eventually pulling the wagon to a stop in what looked like a merchant's district. He climbed down, groaning as his joints popped, then offered Nolan a hand.
"This is where we part ways, lad. My warehouse is three blocks that way, and I've got inventory to sort." He pressed something into Nolan's hand—a small pouch that clinked with coins. "No arguments. You'll need money to survive here. Not much, but enough to get you started."
"I can't—"
"You can and you will. Consider it payment for the rabbit." Borin's expression softened. "Listen. The Mage's Guild is in the Crystal Quarter—north from here, can't miss it. Big building with a tower. They can help you register, maybe even point you toward your grandfather if he's a registered mage." He hesitated. "But Nolan... be careful. Whatever power you're carrying, it's not normal. I can feel it, and I'm no mage. Others will too. Don't trust too quickly. Don't reveal too much. And for the love of the mountain, learn to control that energy before it controls you."
Nolan nodded, throat tight. "Thank you. For everything."
"Good luck, lad. I hope you find your grandfather. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for."
They shook hands—dwarf and human, merchant and refugee, briefly connected by chance and kindness. Then Borin climbed back onto his wagon and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Nolan alone in the largest city in the world.
For a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm him. Too many people. Too much noise. No idea where to go or what to do. The pendant felt impossibly heavy around his neck.
Lost already? Diablo asked mockingly. This is pathetic. You're pathetic.
"Shut up," Nolan muttered, drawing stares from passersby. He forced himself to breathe, to think. North. The Mage's Guild. Answers. That's where he needed to go.
He started walking, trying to look like he belonged, trying not to gawk at everything. The buildings were incredible—some built from stone, others from wood, still others that seemed to be grown from living trees (elf architecture, he guessed). Shops sold everything imaginable—weapons, clothes, books, food from cuisines he didn't recognize, magical items that glowed and hummed with power.
And everywhere, people. So many people.
Nolan was so focused on not getting lost that he didn't notice the commotion ahead until he nearly walked into it.
A crowd had gathered in a square, forming a rough circle. In the center, three figures fought against what looked like a massive snake—no, not a snake, a mana beast of some kind, with scales that shimmered with metallic light and eyes that burned with intelligence.
The three fighters moved with practiced coordination. A woman with a sword, her blade flashing silver in the sunlight as she darted in and out, drawing the beast's attention. A man with a bow, firing arrows with impossible precision from a rooftop, each shot finding gaps in the creature's armor. And another woman who stood back, hands glowing with water magic as she sent waves crashing into the beast, trying to slow it down.
They were losing.
The beast was too fast, too strong. As Nolan watched, it caught the swordswoman with its tail, sending her flying into a building with bone-crushing force. She didn't get up.
"Selene!" the archer shouted, distracted for just a moment.
That moment was all the beast needed. It lunged for him, jaws wide, fangs dripping with venom.
Nolan didn't think.
He just moved.
Blue energy exploded from his hands as he thrust them forward, and a barrier of crackling power materialized between the archer and the beast. The mana serpent hit it like a wall, recoiling with a shriek of rage and pain.
Everyone froze—the fighters, the beast, the crowd.
They all turned to stare at Nolan.
The swordswoman—Selene—pulled herself from the rubble, blood running down her face. Her eyes found Nolan, and even from this distance, he could see the shock in them.
"Who..." she started to say.
But the beast wasn't done. It recovered quickly, turning its attention to this new threat. This new target.
It charged.
And Nolan, with no training and barely any control, prepared to fight for his life again.
In front of hundreds of witnesses.
In the heart of Eldoria.
This should be interesting, Diablo purred.