The first slivers of dawn were barely painting the eastern sky, washing the medieval city in hues of soft grey and pale rose. A faint mist still clung to the cobblestone streets, and the air was crisp, carrying the distant crow of a rooster. At the massive, iron-bound main city gate, where the heavy portcullis had just been grudgingly raised for the day's early trade, Aiden was already waiting.
He stood, as always, utterly still, a silhouette against the emerging light. His dark, featureless helmet gave no hint of impatience; instead, his posture radiated an almost inhuman readiness, as if he had coalesced there hours ago, perfectly unmoving. He didn't pace, didn't tap his foot, didn't even seem to breathe.
One by one, the members of the White Eagle Party began to arrive.
The first to appear, with a quiet grace befitting her ancient heritage, was Arianne. She walked with a serene calm, her elven eyes already attuned to the nascent light. Arianne simply nodded to Aiden, a silent acknowledgment of his presence and the discipline they both understood. She carried only her staff and a small, leather pouch at her belt. Aiden, in turn, offered a fractional tilt of his helmeted head—a silent nod of recognition for her inherent discipline. He had anticipated her punctuality; elven discipline was legendary, a deep-rooted aspect of their very being.
Next, a groan heralded Sascha's arrival. He emerged, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his hair still slightly disheveled despite his perfectly donned armor. He grumbled under his breath about "unholy hours" and "missing perfectly good dreams." Excalibur was present, of course, but his usual enormous pack was conspicuously absent, replaced by a much smaller satchel. A lingering air of discomfort clung to him, a visible sign of yesterday's humbling, but he was here. He shot Aiden a wary, almost resentful glance, still not quite believing the early hour.
Aiden's helmet tilted almost imperceptibly as Sascha approached, a flicker of something akin to surprise rippling through his otherwise unreadable demeanor. He had expected Sascha to be late, perhaps to require a… more direct wake-up call, given his previous stubbornness.
Following Sascha, Sona bustled in, looking far too bright and cheerful for the hour. She clutched a small, worn book of healing spells and a very modest pouch of components. "Good morning, everyone! Oh, Aiden, you're already here! I hope I'm not too late!" she chirped, a faint blush on her cheeks. She, too, carried only the barest essentials. Aiden's head tilted again, a fraction more: another surprise. She seemed genuinely eager, despite the ungodly hour.
Finally, Lucille and Miriam appeared, walking side-by-side. Lucille was impeccably neat, her gear streamlined, her expression sharp and alert despite the early hour. She carried nothing superfluous. Miriam, conversely, looked like she'd just rolled out of bed and into her rogue's leathers. Her hair was a mess, and she yawned widely, though her eyes, when they focused on Aiden, held a spark of curious anticipation. She had a few daggers, but none of her usual collection of lockpicks, snares, and various 'liberated' items seemed to be on her person.
"Morning, Pathfinder," Miriam mumbled around another yawn. "You really weren't kidding about 'early.' What is this, military time?" She glanced at Sascha, who merely grunted in response.
Aiden remained silent, yet his internal processes registered their collective punctuality. He had expected delay, perhaps even outright refusal from some, particularly Sascha and Miriam, given their individualistic natures and prior resistance. He had prepared for contingencies involving retrieval and forced compliance. Yet, here they were: all of them, on time, with only the essentials, as commanded. It was... efficient. And a little surprising. Perhaps this group, for all their overt flaws, possessed a deeper vein of discipline than he had initially assessed.
The gate guard, a burly man with a perpetually grumpy expression, eyed the assembled adventurers. "Alright, Pathfinders, or whatever ye be," he grunted, adjusting his spear. "The road's open. Don't be causin' trouble out there." He looked particularly wary of Aiden, as if expecting him to simply dissolve at any moment.
Aiden gave the guard no response. His gaze swept over the now-assembled White Eagle Party, his silent assessment complete.
The massive city gates creaked shut behind the White Eagle Party once they walk passed it, the sound echoing in the pre-dawn quiet. The last remnants of the urban bustle faded, replaced by the crisp morning air of the open road. Sascha grumbled, rubbing his arm, still feeling the phantom ache of his wall-slamming.
"Alright, Pathfinder," Miriam began, stretching her arms above her head, "spill. You said you'd 'take care of other necessities.' What exactly does that entail? Are we walking all the way to Whisperwind Thicket? Because that's a good three-day trek on foot, even for us."
Sascha chimed in, "Yeah, I'm not exactly built for speed on long marches, especially after yesterday's… 'demonstration.' And my usual pack, full of my favorite trail mix, is still back at the Guild."
Sona looked at Aiden with wide, curious eyes. "Will we be stopping at inns along the way? Do you have coin for supplies? What about our evening watches?" Her voice was laced with genuine concern for their expedition's logistics.
Lucille, ever practical, interjected, "Efficient travel is paramount, Pathfinder, given the urgency you described. What is your plan for covering ground swiftly? We can't afford to waste days on the road if this rift is truly expanding so rapidly."
Aiden, who had been walking slightly ahead, his form still silent and unreadable, stopped just beyond the gate's shadow. He turned his helmeted head back towards them. His voice, calm and even, cut through their questions: "You will see. In approximately three seconds."
The party exchanged confused glances. Three seconds? What could possibly happen in three seconds? They had barely registered his words when a low, powerful rush of wind filled the air from directly above. The ground vibrated, and the air crackled with primal energy.
Then, from the still-darkened sky, a magnificent sight unfolded. Not one, not two, but three majestic griffins descended, their enormous wings beating the air with thunderous power. Their talons, sharp as daggers, extended as they gracefully maneuvered, their feathered bodies catching the first golden rays of the rising sun. With surprising gentleness for creatures of such immense size, they landed close by, their powerful legs bending as they settled onto the dew-kissed grass just beyond the gate barrier. They stood patiently, their intelligent, avian eyes observing the group with a quiet dignity.
Each griffon bore a distinctive, gleaming harness and saddle, and emblazoned clearly on the barding of each creature was the unmistakable, intricate Royal Family's Crest—a lion rampant on a field of azure, crowned with the golden wreath of Caledonia.
The White Eagle Party collectively stared, their mouths agape.
Sascha blinked, rubbing his eyes as if to clear a dream. "Griffins?" he croaked, his voice thick with disbelief. "Are those... are those Royal griffins? What in the blazes...?" He looked from the magnificent beasts to Aiden, his jaw slack.
Sona let out a soft gasp, her hands flying to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes at the sheer beauty and unexpectedness of the sight. "Oh, they're beautiful! And so regal! But... but for us?"
Miriam whistled, a long, low sound of genuine astonishment. "Well, I'll be damned. That's one way to travel. And here I was, worried about sore feet. You really weren't kidding about 'necessities,' Pathfinder. Royal griffins. Who needs a wagon when you've got this?" Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of awe and profound, newfound respect for Aiden's unconventional methods.
Lucille, usually unflappable, was momentarily speechless. Her analytical mind struggled to reconcile this level of logistical support with their current adventuring status. "Royal griffins," she murmured, her voice laced with incredulity. "That kind of asset deployment requires direct, high-level authorization. This isn't just 'necessities,' Pathfinder. This is... an unprecedented level of support for a Guild mission." She looked at Aiden, a dozen questions warring in her eyes. "How did you arrange this? We didn't even know this was an option!"
Arianne, however, merely smiled, a knowing, almost serene expression on her face. Her gaze swept over the griffins, a flicker of ancient memory in her eyes. "The Pathfinders don't simply 'request,' dear Lucille. When they act, they often draw upon resources that align with their ancient purpose. This is fitting."
Aiden turned to face them fully, his helmeted head inclining slightly towards the royal griffins. "Due to the urgency of the situation and the profound nature of the threat," he began, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, "I contacted the Royal Families immediately after my initial briefing. They understand the severity of the incursion and the importance of swift deployment. They are already invested in this mission, as they were the ones who initially contacted the Pathfinder Order for assistance, long before the Guild was informed."
He paused, then added, his voice carrying a subtle, almost dry undertone, "And since they are already… 'invested,' and due to the significant resources required for a Pathfinder operation of this magnitude, it's only logical to 'milk the cow,' as you say in your common parlance. Their resources are vast, their motivation to preserve their kingdom absolute. Expedited travel is a small price for a successful resolution."
Sascha sputtered, still staring at the griffins. "You… you just called the Royal Family a cow to 'milk'?" His jaw dropped even further. "And you contacted them before us? Before anyone knew what was going on? How did you even…?"
Lucille's eyes narrowed. "Indeed. 'How' is the pertinent question, Pathfinder. Communication with the Royal Families is a lengthy process, involving multiple layers of bureaucracy, advisors, and security protocols. It would take days, if not weeks, to secure this level of transport. How did you circumvent that? How did you even reach them directly?"
Miriam leaned in, her eyes shining with professional curiosity. "Yeah, Aiden. Even I can't just waltz into the Royal Palace and ask for a ride. What's your secret? Did you threaten them? Hypnotize them? Do you have some kind of secret royal hotline?"
Aiden remained silent for a moment, letting their incredulous questions hang in the air. Then, he raised a gloved hand and slowly, deliberately, tapped one of his black, wicked-looking daggers strapped to his thigh. The metal gleamed dully in the emerging light.
"Sometimes," Aiden stated, his voice flat, his unseen gaze somehow conveying a chilling implication, "some matters are better left unknown. The Royals are… cooperative when the true gravity of a situation is made clear. And a Pathfinder's methods of 'making clear' can be... quite persuasive."
The subtle menace in his words, combined with the tap of his dagger, sent a shiver down the party's collective spine. They understood.
The message was clear: Do not ask. You would not understand. And perhaps, you do not want to.
The early morning chill suddenly felt a little colder.
"Right," Sascha muttered, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting. "Unknown. Got it." The previous day's lesson echoed loudly in his mind: this was a Pathfinder. They operated on a different level of influence, even a different plane of existence.
"Well," Miriam finally said, clearing her throat and trying to regain some semblance of her usual composure, though her voice was still laced with awe, "I suppose this beats walking. And it's definitely a step up from a broken-down Guild carriage. Let's just hope they don't get airsick." She nudged Sascha playfully, but her eyes remained wide, fixed on the majestic, silently waiting griffins.
Aiden offered no further explanation. He simply turned towards the griffins, his movements fluid and purposeful. "Mount up," he commanded, his voice indicating that the discussion was over. "Time is of the essence."
The White Eagle Party, exchanging one last wide-eyed glance, knew better than to question him further. They were about to embark on a mission unlike any other, carried by creatures of legend, led by a being of profound mystery.
The majestic griffins stood patiently, their powerful forms casting long shadows in the nascent dawn. Three magnificent creatures, each bearing the Royal Family's Crest, awaited their passengers. Aiden, without a word, approached the lead griffin, his movements fluid and unhurried. He didn't offer a hand, didn't need to; he simply placed a foot in the stirrup of its elaborate barding and, with a single, graceful motion, swung himself into the saddle. He settled into place, a dark, unmoving silhouette against the rising sun.
"Alright, everyone," Aiden's voice carried clearly, "mount in pairs. Two per griffin. The lead griffin is for me and one other. The second and third for the rest of you."
The party exchanged quick glances, a mixture of apprehension and excitement flickering across their faces. Mounting a griffin was hardly an everyday occurrence.
"Pairs, then," Lucille stated, ever practical. "Sona, perhaps you should ride with Arianne. Her grace will be helpful, and your combined magical talents might be useful together should anything happen in transit."
Sona nodded, though her face was pale with a mix of fear and wonder. "Oh, my! I've never ridden anything bigger than a mule!"
Arianne offered a calming smile. "Fear not, dear Sona. These magnificent creatures are far more sure-footed than any mule. And their balance is unparalleled." She approached the second griffin, its intelligent eyes regarding her calmly. She effortlessly mounted, her movements fluid and serene. Sona, taking a deep breath, climbed on behind her, clutching tightly to Arianne's waist.
"Well, Sascha," Miriam chirped, a grin finally breaking through her earlier awe, "looks like it's just you and me for the last one. Unless you're too much of a chicken to ride with the scrawny rogue?" She winked, heading for the third griffin.
Sascha snorted, still feeling a phantom ache from his wall-slamming incident. "Chicken? Me? Miriam, I once wrestled a kraken underwater! I'm just… making sure this beast knows who's boss." He eyed the griffin warily. It was enormous, its talons capable of rending steel. He patted Excalibur's hilt, as if for reassurance. "Alright, let's get this over with."
He approached the griffin, eyeing the saddle. It was a sturdy, well-made piece of equipment, clearly designed for adventurers. Sascha, used to vaulting onto horses, found mounting a griffin a bit more challenging than he anticipated, given its height and the sheer muscular bulk of the creature. He grunted with effort, finally swinging a leg over and settling into the saddle with a thump.
Miriam was already perched behind him, light as a feather. She leaned forward, a mischievous whisper in his ear. "Careful, hero. Don't want to upset your mount before we even leave the ground. Wouldn't want it to get 'ashamed' too, now would we?"
Sascha stiffened, a flush creeping up his neck. "Just… hold on, Miriam."
"Oh, I plan to," she said, wrapping her arms loosely around his armored waist. "This is going to be quite the ride."
Lucille, meanwhile, turned to the lead griffin, where Aiden sat impassively. "Pathfinder," she stated, her voice crisp, "I will ride with you. Direct communication will be essential, and my tactical assessment may be of use." She didn't wait for a response, simply moved to mount the griffin behind him, settling in with quiet efficiency. Aiden gave no acknowledgment, remaining perfectly still.
Once all six were mounted—Aiden and Lucille on the first, Arianne and Sona on the second, and Sascha and Miriam on the third—a profound stillness descended. The griffins themselves remained motionless, their large eyes observant, awaiting command.
Aiden, from his position on the lead griffin, raised a gloved hand slightly. He did not speak a word, but the three magnificent creatures responded as if to an unheard command. Their powerful muscles tensed, their enormous wings, previously folded, began to unfurl with a deep, rustling sound that filled the morning air.
A collective, excited gasp rose from the mounted party.
"Oh, goodness!" Sona exclaimed, clutching Arianne tighter.
"This is going to be amazing!" Miriam shrieked with genuine delight, a far cry from her earlier grumbling.
Sascha, despite himself, felt a surge of adrenaline. The raw power beneath him was intoxicating.
With another silent signal from Aiden, the griffins pushed off. There was a moment of incredible, ground-shaking force as their powerful legs launched them skyward. The wind roared past their ears, and the city below rapidly shrank into a sprawling toy town. The golden light of the rising sun now bathed them fully as they climbed above the last of the morning mist, soaring into the clear, open sky.
The world stretched out beneath them, a vast tapestry of forests and fields, shimmering lakes and distant mountain ranges. The Whisperwind Thicket, their destination, lay a dark, ominous patch on the horizon. The speed was incredible, dwarfing any horseback ride or swift carriage journey.
They had begun the journey. And already, it was unlike anything the White Eagle Party had ever experienced. The scale of the mission, and the enigmatic power of their new ally, was becoming terrifyingly, exhilaratingly clear.