The capital of Phaedra was a slap in the face with a chaos of cobblestone streets, towers scratching a dirty sky, and markets boiling with people.
Raziel, pushed by the tide of people, clung to his bag like it was his only anchor in that sea of madness, because the smells, the screams, and the simple movement of the crowd were overwhelming.
Even though he had been to the capital before.
In another life, of course.
But he had always been locked behind the Church walls, talking only to clerics and the occasional idiot noble.
Now it was different, since without the habit protecting him, walking among the common people, he saw it for what it really was.
He saw the poverty hiding under elegant buildings, the empty gaze of beggars, and the casual cruelty of guards while "keeping order".
He saw the darkness not as a theological concept, but as something alive, a sick pulse beating right under the surface of daily life.
"Hey, don't get left behind, Raziel!"
Lucian's mocking voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
He turned his head and saw how Lucian moved with insulting ease through the crowd, like a predator in his territory.
"So," Lucian said with a predatory glint in his eyes, "what do you think? More lively than our boring academy, don't you think?"
Raziel, still trying to process the frenetic rhythm of the city, just let out a grunt. He wasn't here for sightseeing or Lucian's version of "fun".
He was here for answers, he needed clues about Seraphina, about necromancy, about the power burning him from the inside, the one that scared him and tempted him in equal parts.
"Come on, Raziel," Lucian insisted, nudging him with a smile.
"You won't find enlightenment with that funeral face in the middle of a market. Relax a bit. Enjoy the trip."
Raziel sighed. Arguing with Lucian was like trying to stop a river with your hands.
"Alright," he said, forcing a smile. "Where are we going first?"
"Patience, my friend," Lucian replied, his smile getting wider. "All in good time. First stop... a friend's shop."
Lucian's "friend" was sinister.
They found him in a dark shop, with shelves packed with strange and twisted objects: dry herbs that stank of magic and disease, animal skulls with glowing symbols carved into the bone, and glass jars full of liquids that moved on their own.
The shopkeeper, a skeletal man with sharp eyes and a long gray beard, welcomed them with a twisted smile.
"Ah, young Master Lucian," he hissed, his voice raspy, as if he hadn't used it in days.
"It's been a while. What brings you to my humble business?"
"Just came to pick up some necessities, Master Silas," Lucian replied, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You know how it is. A young noble must be prepared for everything."
Master Silas let out a dry laugh. "Of course, of course, as always discretion is my specialty. What can I tempt you with today? A potion for. vigor? An amulet to attract gazes? Or perhaps something a little stronger?"
He leaned toward them, and his eyes shone with malice.
"I just received a very interesting item. A relic from a lost era, they say it contains the secrets to becoming more than what one is. Just what a young man needs when looking to expand his horizons."
Although he was skeptical by nature, Raziel felt the shopkeeper's words digging into his mind.
'Becoming more than what one is?'
Those words resonated with the whispers of the prophecies that tormented him.
He looked sideways at Lucian, but his "friend" seemed more interested in a display case of ornamental daggers than the old man's cryptic offer.
"Maybe another time, Master Silas," Lucian said, waving his hand with disinterest. "Today I just came for the... usual items, you already know the list."
Master Silas nodded, his salesman smile disappearing.
He looked at Raziel for a second, a calculating glint in his eyes.
"As you order, Master Lucian," he said, turning around to take a small carved wooden box from a hidden shelf.
"It is always a pleasure doing business with you."
While Lucian haggled the price of potions and powders, Raziel felt drawn to a pile of ancient books, their pages full of faded writing and strange diagrams.
He recognized some of the symbols of High Zhalyrian, the language he had translated effortlessly in the Scribe test.
But others were completely new, twisting on the page as if they were alive, pulsing with dark and forbidden energy.
He reached out his hand, his fingers hovering over the brittle parchment, feeling a need to know its secrets.
He felt a pull, a whisper in his mind urging him to open the book, to devour its knowledge.
But then, the world tilted, as a sharp pain pierced his skull and his vision went blurry.
CRACK!
It was as if something inside his head had broken. He stumbled back, clutching his forehead.
'Not yet,' whispered a voice, cold and ancient, in his mind. 'You are not ready.'
"Raziel! Are you okay?"
Lucian's voice, loud and sudden, brought him back to reality. Raziel straightened up abruptly, hiding his confusion with a pained grimace.
"Just... a headache," he muttered, hand still on his temple.
"Too much excitement for a cloister boy, I guess," Lucian said, laughing while slapping him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of this dusty shop, because the real travel starts now."