As Jordan stepped down from the carriage, attention followed him like a current. Whether it was because of his newly sharpened look or the small envoy of guards behind them, curious eyes were unavoidable.
Sir Cedric dismounted smoothly, handing off his horse to a waiting knight. Elysia followed shortly after, poised and composed. A few onlookers bowed politely as she passed, whispers starting to ripple through the crowd.
The soldiers guided the carriage to a designated area for noble transports, while the three of them made their way on foot toward the massive structure that loomed ahead.
The Adventurers Association Building was every bit as grand as Jordan remembered seeing from a distance—if not more. Constructed of blackstone and adorned with glowing runes across its archways, the emblem of two crossed swords surrounded by a flame shimmered above the entrance.
Jordan's gaze scanned the plaza. He passed by warriors with scarred armor, mages in rune-stitched cloaks, and a tall red-haired woman arguing with a merchant over monster fangs. Demi-humans were everywhere—catfolk, dogfolk, lizardmen, and even a pair of stoic elves exchanging crystal vials.
He blinked a little, still adjusting to the sight.
Elysia caught the awe in his eyes. "First time seeing so many in one place?" she asked.
"Yeah. I knew Emberfall was big, but this…" He let out a slow breath. "It feels like something out of a fantasy story."
Elysia smiled faintly. "It is for most people."
As they walked, Sir Cedric glanced down at Jordan's side, eyeing the dagger hanging in its crude, patched-up sheath.
"That poor excuse of a sheath still offends me," he muttered.
"I already gave it to the dwarf smith," Jordan said. "He took measurements and everything. Though he looked more like he wanted to dismantle it."
"Of course he did," Cedric replied. "Binding weapons are rare, especially ones that choose their wielder on contact. That dagger's no ordinary steel. If anything, it's likely got a personality of its own."
Jordan nodded but kept quiet. He still hadn't told anyone that the dagger could evolve, and he wasn't sure he ever would.
The dwarf blacksmith had stared at it with equal parts admiration and suspicion, even using some strange arcane tool to measure its shape and weight. He'd promised a better sheath in two days' time, one "worthy of something that could bite back."
As they stepped up the broad stairs toward the Association, more glances followed them. Not surprising, considering who Jordan was walking beside.
Whispers trickled among some of the adventurers gathered nearby:
> "That's the Duke's daughter, isn't it?"
"Who's the guy with her?"
"That's Sir Cedric too… what's going on?"
Inside, the grand hall was bustling. Quest boards lined the walls, filled with fluttering sheets. Adventurers bartered monster parts, guild members spoke in huddles, and a massive directory floated midair near the center, rotating slowly.
Elysia turned to Jordan and said, "Welcome to the Adventurers Association. The city's heart and its sword."
"So what's that line for ?"Jordan asked glancing back at it the entrance.
Elysia followed his gaze toward the long, winding line of people that stretched from the entrance toward a separate counter on the right-hand side of the grand hall.
"Oh, that?" she said. "That's the registration line. Mostly newcomers looking to join the Association officially."
Sir Cedric snorted. "That line doesn't move fast either. Between the paperwork, magical evaluations, and sometimes personality checks, it can take hours. Days, even, if the head examiner is in a mood."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "All that just to sign up?"
"It's not just signing up," Elysia replied. "The Association doesn't let just anyone carry their seal. You have to be evaluated. They test your combat ability, your mana sensitivity—if you have any—and whether you're the kind of person who'd cause more trouble than solve."
Jordan glanced back at the line, noticing a scuffle between two impatient men near the back that was quickly diffused by a staff member with glowing gloves.
"I'm guessing I'll have to go through that if I want to join too?" he asked.
"Technically, yes," Elysia said, her tone careful. "But... if you really wanted to avoid it, I could speak to the Association head on your behalf. You did save me, after all. You have leverage."
Jordan crossed his arms, his gaze thoughtful. "Hmm. I don't want to seem like I'm taking shortcuts, though. I'd rather know where I stand."
Sir Cedric grinned. "Spoken like a true adventurer. You might do fine here after all."
Just then, a stocky woman in enchanted armor strode past them, glancing over her shoulder briefly at Jordan and Elysia before muttering under her breath, "New blood? Hope he lasts longer than the last guy."
Jordan arched a brow. "Friendly place."
Elysia offered a dry smile. "You'll get used to it."
Sir Cedric leaned in, "Or not. Depends how often you get hit."
Jordan chuckled. "Figures."
He looked back at the line again, the idea of joining stirring something in his chest—curiosity, maybe even excitement. If this world was giving him a chance to start over, the Association might be the right place to see where he stood.
"Alright," he said, "maybe I'll come back tomorrow and get in that line. But first, I want to see more of this city."
Elysia nodded, pleased. "Then let's continue the tour."
As they were about to exit the Association building, a sudden hush swept across the bustling hall. The clamor of adventurers, the shifting of armor, and the low hum of magical energy all seemed to still at once.
Jordan turned just in time to see her enter.
A woman robed in deep violet, her presence regal and demanding without so much as a word. She moved with the quiet power of someone used to being obeyed — the kind of person who commanded attention simply by existing. Embroidered silver runes shimmered faintly on her sleeves and hem, glowing ever so slightly under the grand hall's light.
Several people in line stepped back, gasping in recognition.
"Lady Virelle," someone whispered with reverence.
"The Head of the Association..."
Even Sir Cedric straightened, his hand instinctively resting over his chest in a subtle gesture of respect. Elysia, too, adjusted her posture as the woman approached them without pause.
Jordan watched quietly, feeling the shift in atmosphere but not fully grasping just how important this woman was — until she came to a stop right in front of Elysia.
She leaned in slightly, her voice low but her expression briefly soft.
"I'm sorry about your father," she said. Though her tone remained composed, there was a gentle sincerity in her eyes.
Elysia blinked and nodded, her voice equally quiet. "Thank you, Lady Virelle."
The Head of the Association nodded once, then glanced at Jordan with a look that was… curious. Measuring. She didn't ask who he was — she already knew.
But she said nothing.
Only a subtle flicker in her silver eyes betrayed that she was assessing something… or someone.
Without another word, she turned and strode across the hall toward a heavy, rune-etched door. Several robed mages moved quickly to open it for her. As soon as she disappeared inside, the quiet spell that had held the room broke, and the low hum of activity resumed—though more subdued than before.
Sir Cedric exhaled. "That was Lady Virelle. She doesn't appear often, especially not to speak personally. You've caught her attention, Jordan."
Jordan, still trying to piece together the silent exchange, offered a dry smirk. "She didn't say much."
"She rarely does," Elysia said, her expression unreadable. "But trust me — if she's watching you, she sees something."
"I hope it's something good," he muttered.
"Come," Elysia said, her tone lightening. "Let's continue. There's still more of Emberfall to show you."
Sir Cedric nodded. "Market district next?"
Elysia agreed, and the group moved toward the carriage. As they stepped outside, Jordan glanced back at the massive Association building — just in time to see a few adventurers bow their heads slightly as Elysia passed.
His thoughts drifted briefly to his dagger, now in the care of the blacksmith who had marveled at it earlier. The custom sheath was being crafted, and though Jordan hadn't revealed that the blade could evolve, the dwarf had still seemed genuinely impressed. It was just one more strange piece in a growing puzzle — a world that felt both new and eerily familiar.
"I take it the mages are back. Earlier than normal," Sir Cedric said, his tone thoughtful as his eyes followed the robed figures retreating behind the heavy door Lady Virelle had entered.
Elysia glanced over her shoulder, just in time to catch the last of the mages slipping inside. "Looks like it. They were supposed to be gone until the next moon cycle. Something must've changed."
Jordan noticed the glance but said nothing. He had no idea what any of this meant—yet. He way those robed figures moved, with quiet urgency and purpose, made something tighten in his gut.
"They came from the Academy, right?" Jordan asked.
"Yes," Elysia replied, her voice calm. "That door leads to the private wing. Only those with clearance from the Association or the royal family are allowed past it."
"Guess that rules me out," Jordan said with a small, wry smile.
Elysia returned a faint smile of her own. "For now."
Sir Cedric gave a short laugh. "Don't tempt fate, lad. The way things are going, you might end up in there sooner than you think."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Not sure if that's reassuring or terrifying."
"It's both," Cedric replied without missing a beat.
They left the Association building a few moments later, stepping into the bustling streets of Emberfall. The carriage awaited them, the soldiers already mounted and prepared to move. As Jordan climbed inside, he cast one more glance toward the entrance of the building—toward the door Lady Virelle and the mages had vanished behind.
He didn't know what they were doing in there, but he had a feeling whatever it was… it wasn't routine.
---
The scent hit him first—roasted meat, warm bread, hints of spices he couldn't name. Then the noise followed: bartering, laughter, the occasional raised voice of a vendor trying to out-shout their competition. The marketplace of Emberfall was alive.
Jordan stepped from the carriage, following Elysia and Sir Cedric into the open plaza lined with rows of stalls. Colorful fabrics hung from ropes above them, providing shade and a splash of vibrancy against the dull stone buildings.
"This place is…" Jordan trailed off, unsure how to sum it up. "Full."
Cedric chuckled. "That's one way to put it. This is the east market—mostly local vendors. West market is where nobles and high-end merchants go. You'd hate it."
"I probably would," Jordan said, watching as a merchant sliced open a strange fruit that shimmered faintly in the sun.
Elysia led the way with confidence, her steps careful not to draw too much attention despite the soldiers keeping a loose formation around them. A few people bowed or stepped aside, whispering to one another at the sight of her.
Jordan noticed the whispers but ignored them. He was too focused on everything else: a group of children chasing after a floating orb, a tamer showing off a tiny fire-breathing lizard, and a pair of elves arguing over the price of some enchanted thread.
"You ever seen anything like this?" Cedric asked, gesturing broadly.
"Not even close," Jordan replied honestly.
They stopped at a stall where a merchant was selling small trinkets and enchanted accessories. Jordan's eyes caught on a ring that pulsed with a faint glow, but Elysia nudged him forward gently.
"Careful. First time buyers always get tricked into buying things they don't need," she said with a smirk.
"I'll stick to boots and shirts then," he said.
As they weaved through the crowd, a voice called out.
"Sir Cedric! Lady Elysia!"
A portly vendor with a beard too long for his own good waved them over. "Come! You must try the honeyed figs—fresh from the southern groves!"
Cedric made a face. "Those nearly killed my teeth last time."
The vendor laughed. "Then just one for your young friend here. I don't recognize him."
Jordan accepted the fruit politely and bit into it. Sweet, sticky, and way too rich—but good.
They didn't linger long. Elysia wanted to avoid drawing too much attention, and even with the light escort, their presence was already doing just that.
As they returned to the carriage, Jordan glanced over his shoulder one last time. People were still talking, still staring, still wondering who he was.
And in truth, so was he.
---
The soft crunch of gravel underfoot echoed faintly as the three made their way through the training courtyard behind the Duke's manor. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting golden hues over the polished stones and the training dummies set up at the edges.
Elysia stretched her arms above her head, her training tunic fitting snugly over her frame as she walked toward a rack of wooden swords. "It feels good to move around again," she said with a breath, already picking out her preferred blade.
Sir Cedric, in a plain but sturdy shirt and trousers, rolled his shoulders with a quiet grunt. "It's better to stay sharp than get caught off guard again," he muttered, eyes briefly flicking to Jordan.
Jordan followed behind them, similarly dressed in a light training set Cedric had provided earlier. It felt strange on him—lighter than the clothes he'd worn in the forest, more breathable—but what felt stranger was the empty sensation at his side.
He glanced down subconsciously, where his dagger would've been. Its absence made him uneasy.
He flexed his hand. It's just at the blacksmith… nothing's wrong. Still, I feel kind of… exposed without it.
"Something wrong?" Elysia asked, having noticed his wandering gaze.
Jordan shook his head. "No, just… I've gotten used to having something on me, that's all."
Cedric chuckled, tossing him a wooden sword. "You'll manage without your toothpick for now."
Jordan caught it, testing the weight. "We'll see."
The three of them moved to a quiet area near the shade of a tree, where a few guards had gathered to train earlier but now cleared space with interest. Elysia headed to a dummy to practice her forms, while Jordan and Cedric took the center.
Jordan planted his feet and gripped the sword with both hands. It felt wrong—not heavy, but unfamiliar. Instincts that served him in the forest felt muted, out of place in a proper courtyard.
"Ready?" Cedric asked, resting his sword over his shoulder.
Jordan nodded, even though he wasn't sure.
The spar began with Cedric going easy. He tested Jordan's reflexes, feinted a few times, and waited to see how he responded. Jordan tried his best—ducked under a swing, attempted a counter—but Cedric was far more experienced.
The wooden blade tapped against his ribs.
"Better. But stop swinging like you're chopping down trees," Cedric advised.
Jordan adjusted. His movements got quicker, but not cleaner. After one particularly clumsy exchange, Cedric swept his foot, and Jordan stumbled onto his back.
From the side, Elysia turned from her dummy and let out a quiet laugh—more amused than mocking.
Jordan groaned. "That funny to you?"
"Just a little. You looked confident going in."
He grunted as Cedric offered a hand and pulled him up. "Note to self—don't fight with sticks."
"Don't worry," Cedric said. "You're not hopeless. Just horribly untrained."
Jordan rolled his shoulders, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I miss my dagger."
"You're not supposed to fall in love with weapons," Elysia quipped as she walked over, twirling her sword.
Jordan shrugged. "That one's been keeping me alive."
Elysia's expression softened, but she didn't say anything more.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The moment was calm. Honest. A quiet breath between storms.
For the first time in days, Jordan felt the closest thing to peace.
-------
Within the dimly lit chamber of Emberfall's inner council hall, two older men stood near a long window draped in deep blue curtains, their voices hushed beneath the muffled echo of footsteps in distant corridors.
Lord Harwin's eyes narrowed, his arms folded behind his back as he stared at the patterned marble floor. "He didn't break," he said, voice tight with frustration. "Not a word. Not even a hint of hesitation. The man acts as if his will was carved in stone—or worse, bound by something unnatural."
Across from him stood Lord Varnel, a gray-haired noble with soft creases at the edge of his tired eyes. He nodded solemnly, voice low. "You think he's under a spell?"
Harwin exhaled slowly. "I don't just think it—I know it. No knight turns on his own Duke and resists questioning for days without even a flicker of fear. Not unless something's twisting his mind."
Varnel stroked his beard. "There are whispers," he began cautiously. "From Drelmont."
Harwin glanced up.
"One of their councilmen—Lord Merec—he and I had dealings in the past. He mentioned something odd when we last spoke. The head of House Drelmont—Lord Salen—has been acting strangely. Withdrawn. Obsessive. Paranoid, even. It's unlike him."
Harwin's brows furrowed. "Drelmont... They've always kept to themselves but never stepped out of line."
"Until now, perhaps," Varnel said. "If the spell theory holds true… and if it links back to Salen…"
Both men went quiet for a moment, the weight of the possibility settling between them like an uninvited guest.
Then Harwin turned toward the corridor. "And now the mages have returned."
"Earlier than expected," Varnel added. "Suspicious timing."
Harwin nodded. "Too many moving parts. First the assassination attempt, then the traitor knight, now this. I want answers, Varnel."
"You're not the only one," Varnel said grimly. "When the Head Mage returns to council—assuming he still honors his position—we ask. Directly."
Harwin's eyes were sharp now, the edge of steel returning to his tone. "Agreed. No more assumptions. If this rot runs deeper than we thought, we'll need the truth—no matter what it costs."
The two lords parted without ceremony, both vanishing into opposite halls, minds burdened by growing shadows stretching quietly across Emberfall.
------
The courtyard was quiet beneath the blanket of dusk.
The last light of the sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in deep shades of indigo and violet. The soft glow of lanterns lit the perimeter of the training grounds, casting long, golden shadows across the stone paths and walls. Jordan lay on his back on the cool earth, breathing heavily, sweat drying on his brow. The night breeze cooled his skin.
A short distance away, Sir Cedric was sprawled out on his back as well, one arm flung over his eyes. He had pushed Jordan hard—and it showed in both of them.
Elysia was beside Jordan now, lying comfortably in the grass with her hands behind her head, her sword placed carelessly to the side. She didn't seem to care that her tunic was dusted with soil or that a few strands of her hair clung to her cheek. In the soft light, her usual sharpness had dulled into something calm, almost peaceful.
"You're just going to lay there like that?" Jordan asked, turning his head slightly to look at her.
"I am," she said without opening her eyes. "I've earned this."
Jordan chuckled quietly, his gaze drifting up to the darkening sky. Stars had begun to appear, faint at first, but steadily brightening as the light waned.
After a pause, he spoke again, voice quieter this time. "Can I ask something? About your mother."
Elysia opened her eyes slowly and turned her head toward him. "Sure."
Jordan waited a moment, then asked, "Where is she?"
"She's a teacher at the Magic Academy," Elysia replied. "She's supposed to return next moon cycle… if the academy sticks to its usual schedule."
Jordan picked up on the subtle uncertainty in her voice. "You haven't heard anything?"
"Not yet," she said with a sigh. "She's busy. But she promised she'd try to come back. That's usually when the term ends—around the next full moon."
Jordan was quiet a moment, processing the thought. Fireflies had begun to blink lazily across the yard, and a soft hum of crickets filled the silence.
"So… she's a mage then?" he asked eventually.
Elysia nodded. "A talented one. Her specialty is enchantments and warding magic. But only my second sister inherited her gift."
Jordan raised a brow. "Not you?"
She gave a dry chuckle. "No. I got my father's blood, not hers. No spells. No sparks. Just a sword and stubbornness."
He grinned. "You seem alright with that."
"I am," Elysia said, her voice quiet, honest. "Strength comes in different forms. I don't need magic to be useful."
They lay there for a while longer, silent again. The world felt slower now—more distant. The torches around the courtyard flickered, and above them, stars gleamed clearly.
Jordan turned to her once more. "I think you're already strong."
Elysia blinked, caught off guard, and for a fleeting second, she looked flustered. But she recovered quickly, offering him a faint smirk.
"You flatter too easily, Jordan."
"Maybe," he said, shrugging with a grin. "Or maybe I just say what I see."
Before she could respond, the distant sound of boots approached. Sir Cedric had gotten back to his feet, brushing himself off and calling over with a tired laugh.
"Oi! You two better not be napping under the stars."
Elysia rolled her eyes but smiled faintly as she sat up. She extended a hand to Jordan, who took it, letting her help him to his feet.
The courtyard was dim, the training behind them for now—but something in the air felt warmer than the night itself.
"I like your tattoos. They suit you," Elysia said, her voice soft as the last traces of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon.
Jordan looked down at the intricate patterns that coiled along his right arm, their faint glow dulled under the night sky. They'd appeared that first morning in the forest—the moment the stone sank into his chest, like it belonged there all along.
He ran a thumb over one of the spiraling lines. "Thanks," he said, a small smile forming. After a beat, he let out a short chuckle.
Elysia shifted beside him on the grass, eyebrows raised. "What's funny?"
Jordan glanced over at her, his voice dry with amusement. "Just thinking about how weird all this is. I woke up in a forest with a dagger and a glowing stone, and next thing I know—tattoos. No warning, no manual. Just… 'Congratulations, you're marked now.'"
She laughed softly. "Could've been worse. At least they look good."
He smiled at that. "Yeah… I didn't even realize they were forming until they were almost done. It felt like they were always meant to be there."
Elysia looked at him for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe they were."
Jordan met her eyes. The quiet between them wasn't awkward—it was easy, peaceful. The kind that settled in after a long day, when no one needed to pretend.
Then, from somewhere across the courtyard, Sir Cedric's voice cut through the stillness.
"Oi! If you two are planning to sleep out there, at least take a blanket!"
Elysia sighed, rolling her eyes. "There he goes again."
Jordan chuckled, pushing himself up. "Guess that's our cue."
He gave his arm one last glance, the patterns catching the faint lantern light, before pulling his sleeve back down. "Let's head in."
Elysia stood with him, brushing grass from her training clothes. "Don't trip over your own feet this time, swordsman."
"No promises," Jordan replied with a grin, and they walked back together through the dusk.