The portal tore itself shut with a sound like breaking glass, leaving only the thud of hooves against the earth. Three black steeds slowed upon the crest of Aurensport's hills, their breath steaming in the cool morning air.
Gareth slid from the saddle first. Grass brushed his boots, damp with dew, soft against the weight he carried. He stepped forward until the cliff's edge opened before him.
And there it was—the sea.
A vast, endless expanse, lit gold by the rising sun. Waves rolled in a steady rhythm, gulls wheeled above, and the wind carried salt and freedom in every breath. For a long moment, Gareth just stood there, drinking it in. Then he rose gently into the air, lifted by unseen force, his dark hair whipping across his face as though the ocean itself reached for him.
Kael came up behind him, silent at first, his eyes following Gareth's gaze to the horizon. Then, without warning, he reached up and ruffled Gareth's hair until it was completely ruined.
Gareth blinked, startled. But then, slowly—like the first light breaking after a storm—he smiled. Not forced, not bitter. A simple, pure smile.
Behind them, the man in the dark suit appeared with the fading ripple of the portal. He said nothing, only curved his lips into a knowing smile. With calm precision, he gathered the reins of the three black horses, turned, and began leading them down into the valley. Their silhouettes grew smaller against the green hills until they were only shadows heading for the stables.
The wind softened. The world felt wider.
Gareth lowered himself back to the earth and turned to Kael. No words were needed—just the quiet sound of their steps as they walked side by side, down toward Aurensport's beating heart.
The sea stayed at their backs, carrying Gareth's unspoken vow on its endless tide.
Below, Aurensport lived.
The harbor was alive with clamor and color. White sails swelled with the wind, creaking masts swaying gently. Dockhands shouted over the crash of waves, rolling barrels of salted fish and spiced wine. Merchants spread carpets rich with dyes—saffron gold, indigo, scarlet—while children darted between crates, their laughter bright. Music drifted from taverns and roadside bars, violins sharp against the beat of drums.
Lanterns still hung outside some doors, faint in the daylight, glass tinted emerald and ruby. The cobbled streets teemed with life—traders arguing, lovers walking arm in arm, sailors stumbling from brothels with songs half-sung. It was a city that never stilled, a symphony of voices and scents and color, each note woven into something greater.
Gareth descended softly to the ground. He stood for a heartbeat longer, watching the sea, before turning to Kael.
No words were exchanged. They didn't need them. Side by side, they began walking down the slope, their steps light against the grass, the vast horizon at their backs and Aurensport's living heart waiting below.
The sea carried Gareth's vow with it: unspoken, but true. He would return.
The streets of Aurensport wrapped around Gareth like a dream he had almost forgotten. Cobbled alleys wound down toward the sea, their stones wet with morning dew. The air shimmered with the calls of hawkers, the laughter of sailors spilling from taverns, the scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced bread.
Children ran through the square, their bare feet slapping against stone. They chased one another with sticks for swords, their shrieks of joy carrying high above the crowd. Gareth slowed. His gaze lingered—on the bright eyes, the careless smiles, the kind of laughter he hadn't known since his own boyhood.
For the first time in a long while, he smiled. Just a simple curve of the lips, fragile but real.
Kael fell in step beside him. The two drifted toward a merchant stall hung with ribbons and stacked with baskets of steaming dumplings. The smell made Kael's stomach growl, and Gareth's lips twitched with amusement.
But when Gareth reached into his pocket, his hand closed only around a few dull coins—pirate currency, heavy with foreign script, useless here. He froze, realization flickering across his face. Kael checked his belt pouch, finding nothing but a crumb of stale biscuit. Hunger tugged at them both, and without a word, they walked on.
The world pressed close around them—merchants haggling, sailors bellowing, lovers laughing—but Gareth felt like a ghost among the living.
Then, just ahead, a small commotion.
An old woman had stumbled in the street, her basket spilled. Apples and herbs rolled across the cobblestones, knocked aside by hurried boots as passersby kept moving, barely sparing her a glance. She was shorter than both boys, her frame thin and bent with years, her silver hair a tangled crown.
Kael didn't hesitate. He dropped to one knee, scooping up the apples before they were crushed, his hands quick but gentle. Gareth moved slower, but with a steady grace—offering his hand to the old woman, lifting her back to her feet with quiet strength.
She blinked at him, surprised by the gesture, and Gareth answered only with a smile. A simple smile, the same one he had given the sea.
Around them, the crowd flowed on. Merchants shouted, carts rattled, children laughed. No one stopped. No one noticed.
Gareth turned his back slightly, letting the world blur past. He didn't do it for anyone else to see. Only for her.
Kael pressed the last of the apples back into the basket, his hand steady as he returned it. The woman's gaze softened, her eyes bright despite the lines time had carved there.
"My dears…" she said, voice rough with age yet warm, carrying weight enough to cut through the noise. "The world will take much from you. More than you think you can bear. But never… never let it take the kindness from your hands. For it is the only thing that makes the burden worth carrying."
Her words lingered, falling like stones into still water. Then, with a nod of thanks, she gathered her things and walked slowly into the tide of the street until she was gone.
Gareth stood silent, his chest tight, Kael at his side. The city roared around them, but for a moment, it felt as if the world had gone quiet again.
Evening crept slow across Aurensport.
The boys wandered through streets that grew softer with each hour, the clamor of merchants fading into the hum of taverns and distant bells. Lanterns flickered to life one by one, their colored glass glowing emerald, ruby, and gold. Above, the sky bled into shades of violet and amber as the sun sank into the sea.
By the time they reached the square on the edge of the harbor, the city was bathed in sunset. The sea blazed like liquid fire, the gulls black silhouettes wheeling against the last light. Gareth and Kael sat down on a worn bench, backs to the horizon, the glow painting their outlines in gold.
For a moment, they said nothing. Then, Kael lifted a fist. Gareth met it, knuckles tapping against knuckles—a small gesture, but steady, solid. They shared a smile, simple and wordless.
They rose to continue walking, their shadows long in the dying light—when suddenly, hands slipped around Gareth from behind.
He froze. Arms held him tight, trembling with warmth.
"I missed you. A lot."
The voice was soft, breaking on the words. Kael's hand went instantly to the hilt of his broken sword, body tensing, eyes sharp.
But Gareth didn't resist. His gaze lifted to the moon, pale and rising above the rooftops, and a smile tugged at his lips.
"I missed you, silly."
He exhaled, lifted a hand, and with a gentle pull of telekinesis, the figure rose off the ground in surprise. A small gasp escaped her as she was lifted before him, her hair catching the moonlight. She was young, about twenty, her dark eyes wide, her breath unsteady.
Gareth reached out, pulling her close. Their embrace met halfway—his arms strong, hers fierce with longing. His smile lingered as he rested his chin against her shoulder, the moon casting silver light over them.
She pulled back only enough to pat his hair, mussing it just as Kael had earlier. A laugh, soft and teary, escaped her lips. Gareth only smiled again, simple and quiet, his eyes fixed on the moon above.
At last she slipped from his arms and turned toward Kael.
He stood stiff, his hand still hovering over his broken blade. But when her gaze met his, when she stepped closer, Kael flushed red.
"I—I'm Kael Draven," he said quickly, clearing his throat. "Gareth's… friend. And classmate."
Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she tilted her head at Gareth, then back to Kael, the faintest sparkle in her eyes.
Gareth just stood there, smiling at the sky as though the moon itself was listening.
Kael's blush lingered, his composure cracking in a way Gareth had never seen before. The girl smirked faintly, brushing back her dark hair as though amused by both of them.
Then she turned, her voice softer now, steadier.
"Come on. There's someone you need to see."
She slipped her hand into Gareth's without hesitation, pulling him gently forward. For a heartbeat, Gareth just stared at her—at the warmth of her grip, at the familiarity of her presence—and then he let himself be led. Kael followed close, his steps reluctant at first, his eyes darting warily to every shadow in the street.
The three moved through Aurensport as night claimed the city. Tavern doors spilled golden light into the cobblestones, laughter and song drifting into the cool air. The harbor bells rang low, the last ships tying off for the evening. Moonlight caught the rooftops, the tiled spires, the weathered statues of saints and kings that watched silently over the city.
Past the markets, past the crowded inns, the streets grew wider, cleaner. Noble banners stirred in the breeze, stitched with sunbursts and lions. Lanterns burned steadily in iron sconces, their glow soft and unyielding against the night.
At last, they came to the edge of the district where the manors rose—stone walls climbing high, gates wrought with silver, gardens trimmed like art.
The girl stopped before one such gate. It was taller, broader than the rest, crowned with curling steel and carved with the mark of a sunburst wrapped in flame. Guards stood at either side, halberds gleaming in the moonlight.
She turned back to Gareth, her eyes glimmering with a quiet weight.
"Welcome home, Gareth," she whispered. "Welcome back to your first home"
The gates groaned open, and beyond them stretched the mansion of his father—towering walls of white stone, windows lit with warm light, the halls of memory waiting to stir.
For the first time in what felt like years, Gareth's steps faltered.
The gates groaned open, spilling warm light across the cobblestones. Gareth stood frozen for a moment, caught between dread and wonder. Then his gaze shifted—not to the mansion, but to the girl who had brought him here.
The lanterns burned bright above the gate, casting her in gold and shadow. Her dark hair shimmered, her eyes reflecting the firelight. It struck him then, with the clarity of the sea's horizon.
"Aelina…"
Her name left his lips as if it had been waiting all along.
She turned to him, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. "Took you long enough."
Kael blinked, still stiff at Gareth's side, his hand brushing the broken hilt at his waist. "So you're… Aelina," he muttered, half to himself.
But Gareth heard nothing more. His eyes never left hers.
And as the gates of her father's mansion opened wider, the past and present seemed to blur—each step toward the mansion carrying him closer not only to his father's house, but to the life and the person he had thought he'd lost forever.
Gareth's steps quickened as he and Kael walked through the gilded halls, but his heart hammered with unease. Every polished marble tile, every whispered echo of their boots, dragged his mind back to the man he was about to face.
The office door loomed ahead.
Gareth's hand lingered on the handle for a breath too long. He swallowed, forced a small breath, and pushed it open.
Inside, the air was heavy, rich with the faint smell of parchment, burning incense, and something sharper—iron, gold, danger.
Garric sat behind a massive oak desk, his figure cloaked in the glow of a tall window. His sharp features, lined by age and shadow, radiated quiet command. His hair was streaked with silver now, but his eyes—piercing and calculating—remained unchanged, alive with a depth that could drown lesser men. Even still, his posture was calm, hands folded loosely, a softness to his face that almost betrayed the sheer weight pressing out of him.
Kael froze, breath caught. The pressure rolling off Garric was suffocating, like standing before a storm locked in human form. Yet the man's expression was disarmingly gentle.
Gareth forced a smile, masking the anxiety in his chest.
"I missed you, old man," he said, voice lighter than he felt.
Garric rose slowly from his chair. His steps were unhurried, each one carrying that chilling, predator's presence Gareth remembered all too well. Memories hit like a blade's edge—Garric's last warning before Gareth left, the threat that had coiled itself around his soul.
Gareth's smile faltered. His feet refused to move as Garric approached, the weight of that past promise squeezing him still.
But then, Garric simply pulled him into an embrace.
The iron mask cracked, if only for a heartbeat. His voice was low, rough with something Gareth wasn't sure he'd ever heard from him before.
"I'm sorry child," Garric whispered. "Sorry I let you go through all this… at your age."
For a moment, Gareth forgot to breathe.
Garric released him gently, his gaze flicking to Kael. The knight stiffened, instinctively lowering his head. But Garric only smiled and offered a nod.
"You've kept him alive. For that, I thank you."
He placed a hand firmly on Gareth's shoulder… and then Kael's too. The weight of it wasn't threatening, but grounding—an unspoken claim that they were under his protection now.
The scene seemed to fade as the three left the office together. From high above the manor's golden spires, the picture shifted:
Garric leading Gareth and Kael through the large house, the three of them seated at a long table as food and wine flowed. Laughter spilled into the night, loud and unrestrained, chasing away the burdens that clung to them.
As their joy echoed, a loose newspaper drifted along the wind, pages flapping. It landed against a wall, its headline bold for any to see:
"THE ORACLE OF GOLD RETURNS — The West's Immovable Merchant King."