In youth, we hunger: for opportunity, for sustenance, for purpose. In life’s prime, we feed ourselves, crafting meaning where once it was given. True wisdom is marked by feeding others: mentoring, inspiring, cultivating greatness in those who come after.
– Casselia, the Crownless
Aslavain: Twenty-Three Days After the Summer Solstice
Lotem led Hadrian and Sylva through the cobbled streets of the City of Beasts, an unshakable unease gnawing at him. Dornogor was… strange. The buildings, a chaotic clash of styles from across the empire, pressed against streets that spiraled out from an immense, ancient tree looming at the city’s center. Each twist and turn felt alive, yet abandoned—like a stage waiting for actors who never arrived. Though they occasionally passed other candidates or Eidolons wandering the streets, the emptiness of Dornogor gnawed at Lotem. Where was the population to fill a city of this size?
The silence pressed on him, broken only by the distant calls of animals. Even the echoes of their footsteps sounded wrong, swallowed by the sheer vastness of the streets. Was this what every city in Aslavain was like? The Eidolons, often absent from their shrined cities in Creation, must spend most of their time here, mentoring the candidates. That made sense. He resolved to ask Casselia later. She would know.
They wandered deeper into the city, Lotem’s gaze darting between grand buildings that reflected every architectural style of the empire and the teeming animal life all around. Lotem’s fingers tightened around the strap of his pack as his gaze darted between the towering rooftops and the shadows lurking at the edges of the street.
They wandered deeper into the city. Lotem’s gaze flicked between grand buildings that reflected every architectural style of the empire and the teeming animal life all around. Birds wheeled overhead, their cries a constant, jarring cacophony that set his nerves on edge. Monkeys and lemurs perched on rooftops, watching them with unnerving curiosity. In the distance, mammoths and elephants loomed over the plains opposite the city’s entrance, their forms shadowed in the afternoon light.
Lotem wondered how the City of Beasts appeared in Creation. Did it rival the grandeur of shrined cities like Galsharok and Gertolai? Those cities, with their gleaming walls and bustling crowds, pulsed with life and purpose—a fervor entirely absent here. Dornogor felt like a city out of time, caught between vitality and ruin.
A voice hissed near his ear, cutting through his thoughts. “What do you think of the City of Beasts?”
Lotem jumped, whirling around with a sharp intake of breath. His fist rose instinctively, his pack swinging behind him. Sabel clung to his cloak, shifting with the motion.
“Woah, woah, woah,” Alsarana hissed, leaning back with a wild grin. “No need to hurt me, big man. It’s just a question. Basic small talk.”
“Alsarana,” a firm voice cut through the air like a whip. Alsarana shrank, his excitement draining as he turned. Lotem glanced past her to see Casselia striding toward them, Krinka huffing as she struggled to keep pace several strides behind. “Do you really need to scare the candidates every time?”
“Cass,” Alsarana whined, his tail flicking behind him. “It’s training! You know how important it is not to let someone sneak up on you.”
Casselia stopped, leveling a sharp gaze at her fellow mentor. “Als, you’re tiers higher than the candidates. You could sneak up on them even if they were watching you the entire time.” She turned to Lotem, Hadrian, and Sylva, exasperation etched into her features. “Apologies for the delay. We had some… pressing news to discuss.”
Lotem’s stomach tightened at the word “pressing.” Whatever troubled Casselia, he doubted his team was prepared for it.
“Anything relevant to us?” Sylva asked, tilting her head inquisitively. Lotem met her gaze, still adjusting to the intricate black and silver lines that wove through her iris and pupil. They reminded him of the clan tattoos worn by some Bal tribes, though he had never seen tattoos on eyes before. The thought of a needle anywhere near his own eyes made his skin crawl.
Casselia glanced at the empty street before turning back to Sylva. “Relevant to you? Certainly.” Lotem’s stomach sank at her tone. “But we’ll discuss it once we reach our lodgings. Did you enjoy your afternoon?”
“No,” Lotem admitted reluctantly. “We ran into… a setback.”
Casselia paused, her gaze sweeping over them as though truly seeing them for the first time. Her eyes lingered on Sylva’s defiant expression, Hadrian’s nervous energy, and the weariness etched into Lotem’s face. A faint frown tugged at her lips, and she sighed.
“Please tell me you haven’t already broken any of the rules.”
“Broken them?” Sylva replied, her tone cool. “No. Not at all.”
Casselia exhaled heavily, her shoulders loosening. Hadrian flinched at the sudden shift in tension, and her frown returned, deeper than before.
“Sylva, I want a full explanation. Now.”
Sylva recounted their time in Dornogor, starting with their visit to the shop and her dismissal of Lotem and Hadrian. As she spoke, Casselia’s face became a mask of unreadable calm—a stillness that Lotem found far more unsettling than her earlier expressions. Sylva described purchasing the string and weaving its patterns into her eyes, her excitement unmistakable.
Sylva had spent more money in that shop than Lotem had ever seen—enough to support his family for a year, perhaps longer. He half expected Casselia to scold her for such extravagance, but she seemed unfazed by the cost. As Sylva recounted how Lotem and Hadrian returned to the shop and unintentionally accepted a duel, revealing Hadrian’s identity as the [Squire of Carven Bone], Casselia grew unnervingly still.
“So,” Casselia said quietly, “when you claimed none of the rules had been broken, you really meant two of the three were—just not by you?”
“The first rule was not to tell anyone Hadrian is the [Squire], and we didn’t. The second was not to accept duels. Hadrian tried to refuse, but he was tricked—it’s not his fault!” Sylva protested, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the ground.
“Lotem, repeat Meris’ exact words,” Casselia ordered. Lotem obeyed the best as he could, recounting the tale Meris spun, the challenge, and how Hadrian unwittingly accepted. By the time he finished, Casselia’s expression had shifted to one of quiet resignation. She turned to Hadrian, who had remained silent, his unease written plainly on his face.
“Hadrian,” Casselia said gently, “there’s nothing you could have done to avoid a prepared challenge like that. You were tricked, plain and simple. We’ll prepare you for the fight in three days, but understand—you hold no blame here.”
Hadrian straightened, the weight lifting from his shoulders as he nodded. Beside him, Sylva exhaled in quiet relief, though the respite was short-lived as Casselia turned a sharp gaze on her.
“Sylva, you prioritized your own power over your teammates’ needs. In a new and potentially hostile environment, you left them alone—and as a result, one of your sect mates manipulated them into a duel.”
“I—” Sylva started, but Casselia cut her off.
“You couldn’t have predicted exactly what happened, but you are the team’s strategic mind. Your absence left them exposed. You did well selecting and integrating the thread into your eyes—that much is clear—but in doing so, you made a tactical error. Reflect on your actions and do better next time.”
Sylva shrank under Casselia’s firm words, her mouth tightening as though she wanted to argue. In the end, she simply looked away, her silence signaling reluctant acceptance.
“There are mitigating factors that absolve you of full responsibility,” Casselia continued, her sharp gaze shifting between them. “First, one of the Blind is not only here in the city but actively working against us. Their notice would have been unavoidable. Second,”—she glanced briefly at Krinka and Alsarana—“we’ve received word that Chanvar of the Warrior’s Blood, a Dion [Venerate], is in Dornogor with a Triumvirate of his own.”
“Why does that matter?” Sylva asked. Lotem wondered the same but held his tongue, sensing the weight behind Casselia’s words.
“Chanvar has ties to a Dion lord with… a history against us.” Casselia’s voice grew colder, her words carrying the weight of battles long past.
“Cass means Chanvar really, really hates us,” Alsarana added cheerfully, his fanged grin widening.
“More like really, really hates you,” Krinka muttered, adjusting the satchel slung over his shoulder. “Didn’t you kill him about four centuries ago?”
“Wasn’t that a different [Venerate] of the Warrior’s Blood?” Alsarana replied with a shrug, his tail flicking lazily behind him. “I lose track.”
Lotem couldn’t fathom how many Dion [Venerate] they’d killed for such a question to even arise. They spoke of slaying the empire’s most elite warriors as though it were a footnote in their history. For all Lotem knew, it was. Sylva had seemed impressed enough by the trio, and he trusted she knew more of their exploits than he did.
“Focus, both of you,” Casselia snapped, silencing Krinka mid-reply. Her gaze cut through their playful banter like a blade. She turned to Sylva. “It matters because if Chanvar is training Meris and one of the Blind, this duel isn’t just a test—it’s a genuine threat.”
“Do you—do you think that I can beat Meris?” Hadrian asked reluctantly, as though fearing the answer.
“Before we learned of Chanvar’s involvement?” Casselia said. “I’d have said you could beat anyone your age. Now, we’ll need to train hard to make sure the fight isn’t close. You’ll likely still win, but if your victory isn’t decisive, the other candidates will swarm you like piranhas scenting blood.”
“I can just decline those duals right? Meris tricked me, but I don’t actually want to have to dual anyone.”
“If you weren’t the [Squire of Carven Bone], you could decline as many challenges as you wanted,” Casselia explained with a sigh. “Even as the [Squire], you might have avoided this duel if not for Meris’ trickery. But Rovan Khal—like all Titans—never refused a fair challenge. As his [Squire], you’re expected to follow his example.”
“What do you mean by that?” Sylva asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Rovan Khal—all the Titans, really—rarely refused a challenge,” Krinka explained. “Before the Blood Wars, the Titans roamed the plains, dueling for territory and honor, trailed by the clans that depended on their strength. As his [Squire], you’re expected to follow in those—admittedly colossal—footsteps.”
“Why could I refuse challenges before?” Hadrian asked, frowning.
“Because no one knew you were the [Squire of Carven Bone],” Casselia replied. “There’s a difference between general challenges and those tied to Rovan’s name. Declining one of the latter would severely harm your class development.”
“How are we supposed to understand all these rules?” Sylva asked, exasperation creeping into her voice.
Lotem silently agreed. It felt like playing a game where no one had explained the rules—a game where the stakes were far too high.
“In a perfect world, we would have won the Wyvern and had time to explain duel protocols during our journey to Ylfenhold,” Casselia said, her voice tight with frustration. “But the Sulphen seems determined to deny you even that much breathing room.” She turned to Krinka. “Do you think it’s safe to use the Mandate’s training facility?”
Krinka shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Saves us the trouble of finding an inn.”
“Wait,” Lotem blurted, unable to hold back his question any longer. “You own property here? Is that why the city seems so empty, most of these buildings are simply ‘reserved’ for the powers that be in the empire?”
“The Bal does have a brain,” Alsarana hissed with mock approval, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Lotem bristled at the phrasing but held his tongue. “The Mandate has property in nearly every shrine city in Aslavain. If we wanted to stay under the radar, we’d avoid it—but since we’re not hiding…” He trailed off with a grin.
“The city is empty?” Hadrian asked, looking at Lotem in confusion. “The crowd earlier felt as large as all of Cutra.”
“Krinka, what’s Dornogor’s population from the last census?” Casselia asked, cutting off Lotem’s response.
“Just over sixteen thousand permanent residents,” Krinka replied matter-of-factly.
Hadrian’s eyes widened, as though he couldn’t fathom the number. Lotem didn’t see the big deal. UlaanThur, the Eternal City of the Bal, stood at the heart of the empire’s sprawling grasslands and reportedly housed over 350,000 residents—or so the traders claimed. Dornogor was small by comparison, but it wasn’t unremarkable either.
“Sixteen thousand,” Hadrian murmured with awe. “Are all the empire’s cities this grand?”
“Oh, you sweet, sweet little lamb,” Alsarana chuckled, his tone dripping with amusement.
“Dornogor is actually smaller than average,” Krinka added, “even without counting the Eternal Cities and their massive populations.”
“Even the city you see here is much smaller than Dornogor truly is,” Casselia explained. “Aslavain mirrors Creation in many ways. The grasslands, forests, mountains, and shrines all align with their counterparts, with only a few exceptions—like the bone forest in Tir Na Nog. But the empire’s infrastructure—its roads, bridges, and cities—are missing. This,” she gestured at the chaotic sprawl around them, “is just an outpost built by the Eidolons, [Venerate], and candidates over the years.”
“If you think Dornogor is impressive, just wait until you see Ylfenhold,” Krinka said. “The City of the Veil is unmatched, even among the Eternal Cities. After the Blood Wars—”
“Krinka, later,” Casselia interrupted. “For now, let’s go. The Mandate’s property is this way, and we have three days to prepare for the duel—far too much to do.”
Casselia led their group down the half-worn streets of Dornogor in contemplative silence, her thoughts weaving through the days to come. The city’s ancient bones lay exposed beneath the bustle of daily life—cracked clay, worn brick, and bones of beasts long forgotten. The scent of dust, spice, and sweat clung to the air, mingling with the faint tang of animal musk carried on the wind. Ahead of her, Krinka and Alsarana argued heatedly about the best way to scatter birds that might have nested in the Mandate’s facility. Their voices rose and fell, echoing the ever-present calls of distant birds, sharp and insistent.
Casselia let their debate wash over her without comment. Krinka’s exasperation was as familiar as Alsarana’s amusement, the dynamic between them as old as their shared history. It was a comforting rhythm amid the city’s strangeness. Behind them, their mentees murmured in quiet conversation, their words low and serious. Casselia’s gaze flicked briefly back, catching the way Lotem and Hadrian leaned toward Sylva as if seeking her guidance. Good. They were starting to trust one another.
They weren’t far from the Mandate’s property—Casselia could sense it. The wards, subtle and ancient, whispered at the edge of her awareness. She allowed herself a small measure of relief. The structure was intact, properly warded to call to members of their order. In a city like Dornogor, that was no small feat.
Her thoughts wandered to the property itself. Would it have a caretaker? Most didn’t. Dornogor hardly seemed the type of city to warrant such an honor. The Mandate of Empire had long since faded from the collective consciousness of the Empire, its grandeur worn thin by centuries of peace. Yet Casselia knew the truth: the Mandate thrived in crisis, when shadows lengthened and old threats stirred beneath the surface. In peace, it became a forgotten footnote, a relic of a more dangerous time.
Krinka had proven that point to her long ago. His quiet devotion to their cause hadn’t wavered, not even after centuries of peace had lulled most into complacency. He had never forgotten their purpose, even when the Empire did. Casselia found solace in that—solace, and a renewed sense of resolve.
Even after a thousand years without the looming threat of a third apocalypse, the Mandate maintained its foothold—a facility in every shrined city of the Empire. Forgotten by most, but never by those in power. The ancient forces remembered their oaths. They always did.
Casselia allowed herself a brief glance at the crumbling facades around them. Dornogor wore its age openly, a city built to endure, but weary of the passage of time. Much like the Mandate. Even when the world believed peace eternal, those who truly understood the Empire’s fragility never ceased their vigilance.
“Meris,” Sylva said softly from her right.
The unexpected sound startled Casselia, drawing her back to the present. She glanced at the Silkborn woman, noting the tension in her posture, the haunted look in her eyes. Sylva seemed… lost. As though she were finally realizing how little she truly understood of the Empire and her place within it.
Casselia approved. The realization, though painful, would serve Sylva well. The girl needed to confront the limits of her knowledge before she could truly grow. Still, Casselia regretted scolding her earlier. Her [Mentor’s Instincts] had been clear—Sylva needed that rebuke to respect her authority. The elders of the Sect had likely demanded perfection from her. Anything less from Casselia would have rung false.
Sylva cleared her throat, her hesitation evident. “He wasn’t supposed to be here. None of the Sect were supposed to come to Dornogor. The risks outweigh the rewards. And Meris… he doesn’t need anything this city could offer. He was trained in the sword arts of the Sect. He has no reason to be here.” She paused, frustration edging her voice. “I don’t understand why he’s here. And that bothers me.”
Casselia studied her in silence, letting the words hang in the air. Sylva’s gaze grew distant as she continued.
“I was supposed to be in Eisentor,” Sylva said, her voice quieter now. “Wandering the tunnels of silken thread between the trees. Reading the patterns and stories of the Arenea woven into the great webs of the Silklands. I wrote entire dissertations on the Kiel culture, tracing its roots to Malan and the northern traditions.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I spent my whole life preparing for that future. Not this one.”
Casselia softened her stance, stepping closer to Sylva. There was a vulnerability in Sylva’s confession—a wistful longing for a path denied. Casselia offered a sad smile but remained silent. Sylva needed this moment—a chance to voice her doubts and frustrations. Casselia had no doubt there was a purpose beneath it all.
“Instead,” Sylva continued, “we followed a trail in Tir Na Nog that gave me a class I don’t fully understand. We arrived in Dornogor and, within a day, someone I knew—someone from my Sect—challenged Hadrian to a duel. Over what? His robe? Some grander scheme we haven’t uncovered? When does this journey become about us and what we want?”
Casselia paused to step around a pile of dung in the street. She swatted at flies, wrinkling her nose at the scent. Even now, after all these years, she could still picture herself as a young girl—sitting by the river with her tutor, devouring every lesson with a hunger born of belief that knowledge would define her life.
“When I was a young girl, I dreamed of mastering magic,” Casselia said, her voice distant as though weaving a story from long-forgotten threads. “I spent a decade waking before dawn to meditate on the nature of reality. I learned the esoteric symbols that touched upon the Sulphen and traced the histories behind each rune. Knowledge was unrestricted then. I was as prepared as any child could be to step into the arcane arts.”
She sighed, her gaze turning wistful. “But when I arrived at the academy, they performed diagnostic spells and declared my mana channels deficient. They closed the doors to me.” Her voice hardened, bitterness lacing her words. “‘Magic,’ they said, ‘is for those born with the gift.’ And I was not.”
Sylva’s eyes widened, her disbelief evident. “What did you do?”
Casselia smiled faintly, though there was a steel beneath the softness. “I picked up a sword. I entered the Domicile of Night. And I made a name for myself anyway.” Her tone shifted, becoming more personal, her words directed at Sylva with quiet intensity. “We don’t choose every part of our journey, Sylva. We can’t control the trajectory of our lives, no matter how much we wish we could. But we can control our attitude. Our actions. You feel out of your depth? It’s because you are. You feel as though forces beyond your control are pushing you into unwanted paths? They are.”
Casselia stopped, turning to Sylva with a gentle, knowing smile. “But that doesn’t mean you lack the autonomy to decide how you respond. It doesn’t mean you are powerless.”
Sylva held Casselia’s gaze, her expression conflicted. For a moment, the street seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them—mentor and mentee—standing on the crossroads of possibility.
She gestured to a grand wooden structure that rose before them, weathered by centuries but still standing with quiet defiance. Its facade, once painted in rich hues, had faded to muted earth tones, peeling in places to reveal the dark grain of the timber beneath. Carved animal motifs adorned the doorframe—wolves, stags, and bears—their once-proud features softened by time. Twisting roots and creeping vines clung to the lower beams, giving the building an air of wild reclamation, yet the intricate craftsmanship hinted at a past when this place had been a jewel of the city.
Casselia slowed her steps, letting the weight of the moment settle over her. This wasn’t just another building. It was history preserved in wood and stone, a relic of a time when the Mandate held sway over the Empire’s fate.
“Now, this,”—her voice took on a note of finality—“is our destination.”
Casselia approached the carved wooden door and rapped her knuckles against the frame. The sound echoed faintly, absorbed by the quiet street. She didn’t expect a response; few of the Mandate’s shrines had an Eidolon committed to their upkeep. Still, a little respect often went farther than most people realized. After several moments’ delay, Casselia began to prepare the rite of opening to bypass the ward scheme—then paused in surprise.
“Yes?” A nasally voice inquired from the building as a wooden panel slid open from the door, revealing a pair of indigo eyes set against sun-warmed mahogany skin. “Who approaches my humble abode?”
The eyes darted from Casselia to the group behind her, widening with intrigue. A rustle of cloth hinted at movement behind the door. Casselia silently hoped this caretaker would be less… eccentric than some she had encountered. Immortality fit some better than others.
“Is that,” the woman began tentatively, “Lord Alsarana?”
Casselia sighed inwardly. We are never going to hear the end of this, she thought ruefully as she heard the excited rustle of scales sliding across the ground.
Alsarana, predictably, stepped forward with a flourish. “Indeed, it is I,” he hissed with exaggerated grandeur, his tail curling with amusement. The woman’s eyes widened further, and her expression shifted to one of reverent delight.
“Welcome, welcome!” The woman’s tone was breathless with excitement as the sounds of locks tumbling and bolts sliding filled the air. A moment later, Casselia felt a subtle shift in the ward scheme—they had been granted entry. “Nessa of the Dremna Clan greets you, Lord Harbinger, Lady Crownless, and Lord Archivist.”
Nessa stepped fully into view, her frame robust and wrapped in garments of dazzling color. Threads of every hue interwove in complex patterns, the designs evoking stories that seemed to shift with her movements. Kiel, Casselia noted. Her clothing marks her as one of the Silklands’ tribes. And yet, she’s bound herself to Dornogor? She must excel at something unusual to become an Eidolon here—likely something tied to beasts.
“And what’s this? The tigers have cubs of their own to watch!” Nessa exclaimed with delight, casting an appraising look at the younger members of the group. Her gaze lingered on Sylva’s eyes and Lotem’s sturdy frame before landing on Hadrian with curious interest. “Welcome, children of the Mandate. Welcome!”
She whirled, her cloak spinning behind her in a flourish, and beckoned them inside. Casselia followed, taking in the space—a large, open room that felt more like a home than a training facility. Two well-worn couches filled one corner, a low table between them covered with playing cards, bottles of paint, and brushes. In the kitchen area, steam curled lazily from a pot boiling over a small fire. Everything about the room spoke of a life lived in isolation, comfortably but without pretense. Casselia suspected Nessa hadn’t seen company in decades.
“Now, sit, please. I’ll throw on some tea, and then you can tell me how I can help you.”
“We—” Casselia began, only for Nessa to cut her off with a firm wave of her hand.
“Tea first,” Nessa said. “Then conversation, Casselia. This lot—” she gestured absently toward the younger members of the group—“tells me enough to know you’re not in such a hurry that you can’t sit for a cup with one of your biggest fans.”
“Casselia,” Alsarana mock-whispered, leaning closer, “we have fans.”
“And why wouldn’t you?” Nessa grinned, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re heroes. It would have been… what, three hundred and seventy years ago? We had a problem with a flock of Nightfeather Vultures draining our wards, which led to attacks from Simians and other beasts.”
“Ah, yes,” Alsarana hissed, preening under the attention. “There was a Nightfeather Vulture Lord, if I recall correctly. Dear Krinka had recently been assassinated, and Casselia had been… what, gone for a few years by then?” He shot Casselia a glance, his fanged grin widening. “We do get assassinated a lot, don’t we?”
Casselia couldn’t help a soft snort as she settled onto one of the couches. “What did you do?” Hadrian asked eagerly from behind her, his curiosity clearly piqued.
Casselia sighed, recognizing the spark of interest in Hadrian’s eyes. She’d heard far too many of Alsarana’s tales to hold much interest in them anymore. But Hadrian’s fascination reminded her of herself as a younger woman—when every story seemed to hold a lesson waiting to be unraveled.
Alsarana launched into the story with his usual flair for the dramatic. His voice rose and fell with practiced rhythm, his gestures broad and sweeping. He painted vivid pictures of the battle against the Nightfeather Vulture Lord, the chaotic skies filled with screeching predators, and the desperate fight to reclaim the wardstones.
Casselia, however, tuned him out, her gaze drifting to Krinka, who sat beside her with a tired sigh of his own.
“It’s been too long,” Krinka murmured, his voice quiet but warm. “We need to find out what’s delaying the [Venerate’s] return. Waiting decades for you to awaken was… hard. I forgot how much I missed Als’ goofy bravado. And I missed this, Cass—teaching a brilliant pupil, sharing stories.” He drew a deep breath, his expression softening. “I missed you.”
Casselia’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “This time will be different,” she said, her voice laced with resolve. “This time, we will survive.” Her tone hardened as her mind turned to the [Procurator]. “These kids—” she glanced toward Hadrian, Sylva, and Lotem, gathered around Alsarana, listening with rapt attention—“they have the raw potential we need. And the ambition to use it.”
Krinka’s gaze followed hers, lingering on the trio. His eyes softened with the quiet wisdom of someone who had seen generations rise and fall. “We just need to survive,” he whispered.
“We just need to survive,” Casselia echoed softly, the weight of centuries pressing down on her words.
She sighed and met Krinka’s gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between them. “Please ensure our accommodations are set up with Nessa. We should be back before dark.”
Krinka raised an eyebrow questioningly, causing the thick, bushy hairs to wriggle with the motion. Casselia gave him a brief nod of reassurance before rising from her seat.
Casselia stood and turned to the group, listening to Alsarana’s story with rapt attention, their expressions a mixture of awe and amusement. Hadrian hung on every word, his enthusiasm infectious. Sylva appeared more skeptical, though a flicker of curiosity danced in her eyes. Lotem, as ever, remained grounded—watchful, attentive, weighing each tale against the reality he knew.
Casselia allowed herself a moment to take in the scene. It felt… right. Familiar, even. The past and future converging in a shared moment of storytelling and camaraderie.
“Hadrian,” Casselia said, interrupting Als’ retelling. “Come. We have things that need doing.”
Hadrian looked back to Alsarana longingly before shifting his focus back to Casselia with a smile. Sylva and Lotem looked worried, but neither voiced their concerns. Casselia was glad to see she had earned that much trust at least. She turned and strode from the building, pausing for a few heartbeats to let Hadrian catch up.
“Where are we going?”
“We need to talk, and I think I have the perfect venue for the chat.” Casselia allowed a sharp grin to cross her face. “How do you feel about heights?”
Hadrian’s grin of his own was more than enough of a response for her.
Hadrian trailed Casselia as she strode purposefully through the city, his eyes pivoting from one exotic sight to the next. He marveled at a monkey on a rooftop with brown and red fur that reminded him of the red tree squirrels back home. He walked hesitantly past a man leading one of the giant ground sloths down the throughway, though Casselia gave neither the man nor sloth more than a contemptuous glance. It was as though Casselia thought nothing of the wonders surrounding them. Hadrian assumed that for someone like her, these were hardly wonders at all.
He felt a thrill as he realized that she truly was leading him to the massive tree that occupied the center of the village as they entered the tree’s shadow, cast across the city as the sun began to descend, its orange glow lighting the sky and casting the clouds in hues of red and gold. Are we going to climb the tree? Hadrian wondered, a fierce anticipation twisting in his gut.
“Are we… going to climb the tree?” he asked as they drew close to the tree, refusing to let the anticipation build any longer. Casselia turned and met his eyes with a brilliant smile, looking for all the world as though she wanted nothing less than to be here with him.
“We don’t have to…” she said, before breaking into a laugh at the panic that crossed his face. “It has been centuries since I have mentored a Kiel candidate raised in the canopies, but I could never forget the gleam in their eyes whenever we had the chance to look out upon the world from high above.” She paused and then added with a gentle chuckle, “If Krinka’s skills didn’t tell me differently, I might think that you Kiel are all part avian, as much as you love the sky.”
“Guilty as charged,” Hadrian beamed at Casselia, anticipation transitioning into excitement at her words. They were going to climb the tree, and he could take in the view from the canopy for the first time since he had left home. The thought sobered him for just a moment as he processed a flash of longing for his parents, for his village, for the endless mists of home. Hadrian felt his robe expand, just slightly, with his longing, and he felt the homesickness recede, if just a little.
“Now, we don’t exactly have permission to climb the tree, so we will want to climb as fast as possible. Don’t want to cause any alarm, and local Eidolons are unlikely to take kindly to anything that disrupts their normal routines. Even for the Eidolons of Aslavain, that may be a step too far.”
“And you’re sure we can climb anyway? What if they do see us?”
“Just let me worry about that. It would cause Krinka a headache or three if he were forced to complete the proper paperwork and send appropriate recompense to the parties offended by our willful actions,” Casselia shrugged as though that were no worry at all. Hadrian guessed that for them, it wasn’t.
“What’s the plan then, oh great [Venerate] of the empire?” Hadrian asked with a smile.
“See if you can keep up,” Casselia said before breaking into a sprint, racing ahead of Hadrian in a blur of motion. Hadrian froze for a moment and then broke into a sprint of his own, trailing his mentor as she laughed and called over her shoulder.
“Even Krinka could beat you at that pace!”
After the journey on foot from Tir Na Nog’s trial to Dornogor, Hadrian understood just how much of an insult she had just levied, and he found himself pushing his legs to carry him just a bit farther with every step. She may be able to outpace me on foot, but no way can she climb faster than me, he thought as Casselia reached the base of the tree and paused, looking at the worn bark for a path upwards. Hadrian reached the trunk moments later, launching himself at the trunk and feeling his hands grip the bark and pull him upwards in a rush.
Remembering Casselia’s warning about being seen, he prodded his robe with a thought, and fog began to billow from him in a stream. He wasn’t sure if it was any less conspicuous than simply climbing up directly, but the fog reminded him of home and drifted down to block Casselia’s vision. Hadrian couldn’t bear the thought of losing their impromptu race, not when climbing was involved. He hoped the fog would slow her, even if just a little.
Hadrian began to rapidly ascend the trunk, his hands easily gripping the textured bark of the tree, and his feet finding easy purchase to launch him upwards with every lunge. With every foot he ascended, Hadrian felt his sense of inner calm deepen. He could almost imagine that he was home. Climbing through the fog, feeling the bark beneath his fingers, savoring the fresh air high above the city as he drew in deep gasps to fuel his muscles as he pushed himself to the brink of his abilities. He was doing it. He was beating Casselia.
By the time he was halfway up the trunk of the mighty tree, he was fully immersed in the gray fog billowing from his robe. Even if Hadrian wanted to, he wasn’t sure he would be able to see Casselia were he to glance down, not that he needed to. Not anymore. [Fogbound Perception] alerted him to movement through the fog to his right, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of confusion as he realized that Casselia was about to pass him.
“You will have to move faster than that to beat the [Herald of Heroes],” Casselia called as she climbed past him. Hadrian paused, then with a grin threw himself back into the contest, pushing his muscles to give him every drop of energy they could. A smile warred with his gasping breaths as he trailed Casselia’s leaping ascent towards the canopies where the branches spread in all directions. He missed this, more than he had even realized. He hadn’t felt this good in weeks.
Casselia reached the canopy several breaths ahead of him, pulling herself upwards to sit on a branch wide enough to fit them both comfortably, jutting horizontally out from the trunk of the tree. Hadrian pulled himself onto the branch to join her. They took a few moments to recover their breath, both taking in heaving gulps of air before Casselia broke the silence.
“You would have beat me if I hadn’t used one of my skills. I swear you climb faster than you move on the ground,” Casselia shook her head ruefully. “I swear you Kiel-born candidates are part Simian sometimes.”
She used a skill? Hadrian found he rather liked that realization. It felt as though he had won, even if she had technically beaten him. It wasn’t like he had any skills related to climbing. He didn’t need to cheat.
“Where did you get a climbing skill?” he asked, curious. Casselia and Krinka didn’t seem the types to have spent time in the canopies, not climbing them at least. Hadrian still wasn’t the most certain how their skills were determined, but he was relatively confident that the Sulphen would only award climbing skills to those who actually climbed.
“It’s no climbing skill at all,” Casselia replied with a smirk. “[Shared Mastery] grants me the instincts and base abilities of my students when I need them. Even then, you gave me a real challenge.”
“You can just match my skills in… anything I could do?” Hadrian asked, suddenly curious.
Casselia shrugged as though it was no real magic to wonder over. “For now, it’s mainly helpful for niche skills that you all possess but I have yet to acquire. Later on it is essential in training you in far more nuanced skillsets. Mentorship requires some degree of excellence; the skill merely grants me that excellence temporarily.”
Casselia paused, glaring at a bird that descended to land on the branch across from them. Its feathers were a dark brown with a curved beak that formed a hook that looked sharp enough to cut. Hadrian wasn’t familiar with the species, but before he could ask Casselia what it was, she began to make deep, almost resonant, hissing noises that sounded like Alsarana. At the noise, the bird in front of them—and, Hadrian realized, every other bird in the tree—ascended in a sudden panic.
“Good riddance,” Casselia muttered under her breath before turning back to Hadrian.
“Did you just hiss and scare every bird nearby?” he asked hesitantly, still unsure if he had understood what he just saw.
“Triumvirates get access to shared skills. That is one of Krinka’s that I can access,” she shrugged absently before adding under her breath. “They should be glad I was the one to use it and not Krinka or Als. They would have killed at least a few of the creatures.”
“What is your problem with birds anyway?” Hadrian asked. Krinka had refused to elaborate on the question when Hadrian had first asked, and he still hadn’t gotten a good answer to the apparent fixation on birds that the scholar—and his triumvirate, apparently—held.
“We all bear the scars of our service in different ways. Krinka’s hatred comes out of the Beast Wars and the horrors that we faced during those decades.” Casselia glanced at Hadrian and paused. “Did your village teach you… anything about the Beast Wars?”
“That’s when the Simians first ascended, right?”
“When Apalarakan rose in mist, a ghost beneath the silver sky. The Legions vowed his reign to end, before the year’s first light would die,” Casselia spoke with a slow intentionality that reminded Hadrian of Sylva when she recited her favorite of the Imperial Poems to him. As the verse ended, Casselia’s lips twisted upwards in a gentle smile, and she continued, “The Beast Wars didn’t create the Simians, not technically. Apalarakan was a Lord of the Silverback Gorillas that inhabited the Foglands before he grew his crown and ascended to become a Beast King. The Simians that you know are all the descendants of his meddling in the primate tribes of the forest.”
“And some of the Beast Kings that ascended after Apalarakan were… birds?” Hadrian asked uncertainly. “You fought those ascended bird Kings and are all still bitter about it?”
Casselia let out a ringing laugh that seemed to hang in the air. Hadrian wondered what he had said—had he misunderstood?
“Sorry,” she said as her laughter faded. “I forget sometimes how long it’s been since the Beast Wars.” Casselia leaned forward on the branch, almost conspiratorially, and added, “Krinka told me that Sylva has memorized not only our Imperial Poem, but the majority of our exploits in the Beast Wars. Ask her to recount them for you sometime.”
That was something that Hadrian could look forward to. Any excuse to have Sylva tell him stories was good enough for him, especially if those same stories were about his mentors and their past.
“Now, we didn’t race up this trunk to recount ancient history or my personal grudges with fowl,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Hadrian, you have, however accidentally, accepted a duel three days from now with one of the Sect of Silken Grace. I had hoped with my rules”—she paused, giving Hadrian what he hoped was a mock glare—“to delay what is to come. But fate is never kind to those with potential, and the Sulphen loves to create a challenge. I should have known better than to expect a month of peace to train uninterrupted following your experience in Tir Na Nog.”
“And now?” Hadrian asked, suddenly worried about the days to come.
“Now? We have two primary options. Regardless of what we do from here, you are going to receive challenges to duels like a moth drawn to flame. Now that news will be spreading that one of this year’s three [Squires] is in Dornogor and accepting challenges. Trust me when I tell you that stealing your [Squire of Carven Bone] class is a prize that is hard for some to resist. I suspect that by month’s end there will be a suspicious number of duelists with no affiliation for beasts who travel to Dornogor just to fight you and catch Rovan’s eye.”
“What are the options?” Hadrian asked.
“Like most paths in life, we can go around the obstacle or we can go through it. We could always leave Dornogor—the two of us at least—and return days before the contest to compete with Lotem and Sylva. It is the only path that ensures that, at least until we reach Ylfenhold, you will maintain your [Squire] class.”
“Just leave?” Hadrian asked. The idea of simply leaving Lotem and Sylva behind in Dornogor to hide from his problems didn’t feel right. “My Pa always liked to say that the only way to get stronger was to kill things that are stronger than yourself. I’d imagine that dueling folks stronger than myself fills the same niche.” Casselia nodded gently, a faint smile pulling at her lips, drawing her cheeks upwards. “I imagine that the second option is closer to that?” Hadrian added.
“I cannot wait to meet your Pa someday, Hadrian,” she said, prompting a smile from him to match her own. “And your Pa had the right of it. If we stay in Dornogor, I will expect you to not only accept every challenge but to dominate them. Scions from across the empire are going to want to prove that they are better than you. Our goal is to make it clear as crystal that no one in Aslavain this cycle is your equal in the ring.”
“Do you,” he hesitated, “do you think I am good enough for that?”
To his relief, Casselia took his question seriously, seeming to weigh the question until she was confident in her answer. After a few moments of silence, she spoke.
“I do,” she said simply, as though the admission needed no further explanation. Hadrian leaned forward on the branch, his legs dangling in the air as he gave Casselia the full of his attention.
“Hadrian, your parents trained you in the fundamentals about as well as anyone could. They gave you a broad foundation of understanding of not just one weapon but a wide enough variety to allow Rovan to award you an armory skill. You have received enough training from the Luminaries to have strong emotional controls and perspective in place. You were selected by Rovan Khal himself and given a preliminary class that draws envy and challenge from leagues around. And that isn’t even stating the most important factor.”
“What is?”
Her eyes sparkled as she replied, “Namely, you are my mentee. None of the my students are anything but the best.”
“What if you are wrong?” Hadrian asked hesitantly, his voice soft on the wind that rustled the leaves around them. “I couldn’t defeat Drakar on my own, not really. What if Meris or someone else is stronger than me?” He couldn’t meet her gaze, looking down to the ground far below as he voiced his concerns. “I… I don’t want to lose my class, Casselia. Rovan chose me; the idea of that being taken away frightens me.”
“That,” Casselia said softly, “is how you know that this matters. Growth demands risk, Hadrian. Your class could be taken from you if you lose, that is true. But equally true is that a [Squire of Carven Bone] is supposed to risk their class to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that they deserve their title. Do you think you deserve to be the [Squire of Carven Bone]?”
Hadrian looked thoughtful, the fear roiling within him falling away as he came to a realization. He wanted this. He wanted to prove himself. To prove that his parents taught him better than even a great sect of the empire. He wanted to prove to everyone that Cutra was a city worth knowing about.
Casselia watched him carefully, her gaze unwavering, as though she could see the shift within him. She said nothing further, letting the silence stretch, letting him come to his own conclusions.
He stood, balancing with arms outstretched as he walked further along the branch they were conversing on, feeling the thrill of the open air and the push of the breeze. The leaves whispered secrets to the wind, and the weight of his uncertainty lifted, carried away by the sky. Hadrian turned back to Casselia and spoke with newfound conviction.
“If you think that we can do it, I’m in. My Ma said to trust the mentors that arrived in my life once they were gone. My Pa said to never back down from a challenge I thought I could handle. They will be proud of me when I tell them about my time in Dornogor. I will make sure of it.”
Casselia’s lips curled into a proud smile. “That’s the spirit.”
From far below, loud voices echoed, sharp and indignant. Casselia’s smile turned rueful as she glanced downward, her gaze cutting through the billowing fog. “Seems our little adventure hasn’t gone unnoticed. Fog pouring from the sky might be a bit… unconventional, for Dornogor.”
Hadrian flushed, his cheeks burning as he realized just how conspicuous the drifting fog must have appeared. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Casselia’s soft, genuine laugh stopped him short.
Was she happy about the angry shouts from below?
“Since we’ve caught their attention,” Casselia said, her tone shifting into something sharper, more commanding, “it’s time for you to introduce yourself to Dornogor properly. Chanvar wants you in the spotlight because he believes you’ll stumble. He thinks that every duel will weaken you—and, by extension, me. I think it’s time we show him how wrong he is.”
Hadrian wasn’t entirely sure what she was implying, but standing there, balanced on a branch hundreds of feet above the ground, he felt something shift inside him. A leap of faith. He steadied his footing against the gentle wind rustling through the leaves and turned to her, his voice steady.
“What do you need from you?”
Casselia’s grin widened, gleaming with the kind of mischief he was beginning to recognize. “Once we’re on the ground, find someone in the crowd—a candidate who clearly has a problem with you. Make eye contact. That’s all.”
Hadrian frowned. “Just… eye contact?”
“That tells me who to antagonize into challenging you.” Casselia leaned forward, her tone conspiratorial. “I won’t take the choice away from you—not for your first duel in Aslavain, at least. But going into the duel in three days without any prior experience is a sure path to failure. The best way to improve is to practice.” She nodded toward the distant voices. “I’m certain someone down there will be happy to oblige.”
Before Hadrian could process the full weight of her plan, Casselia stood and pulled something from a pouch at her belt. She tossed it to him—a small feather wrapped in an intricate coil of wire. He caught it, turning it over in his hands, curiosity sparking in his gaze.
“A talisman,” Casselia explained, watching him. “It slows falls from any height. Useful if Alsarana needs to form a flying construct. Or…” She glanced toward the ground far below, a wicked glint in her eyes. “For when we want to make an entrance.”
Hadrian barely had time to react before Casselia pulled a second talisman from her belt. With a swift, practiced motion, she closed the distance between them, gripped his arm firmly, and—without a word of warning—leapt from the branch, dragging him with her.
The air ripped past them in a dizzying rush. Hadrian bit down a scream, his heart hammering in his chest as they plummeted through the fog. The wind tore at his robes, the leaves of the mighty tree blurring past in a whirl of green and brown.
Casselia’s laughter rang out over the roar of the wind—a wild, exhilarating sound that sent a thrill through him.