By the time the spires of the capital rose on the horizon, Rowan almost didn't believe they were real. At first they looked like mirages, faint silver shapes against the sky, but soon the city walls came into view, towering fortifications glinting in the afternoon sun. They seemed touched with enchantment, defying both time and siege. Guards in crimson-plated armor paced the battlements, their halberds flashing as their sharp eyes swept the road below.
The road leading to the gates bustled with life. Merchants' wagons sagged under silks and spices, farmers drove carts heavy with grain, and travelers of every kind pressed forward, mercenaries, pilgrims, nobles in gilded carriages. The noise was overwhelming: voices in a dozen dialects, wagon wheels rattling, oxen snorting, and the faint scent of smoke and spice drifting on the wind.
As their carriage slowed near the massive gates, Rowan sat straighter, chest tight. The iron-bound doors towered over them, their shadows stretching across the road like jaws waiting to close.
When the guards saw Velria's crest, their rigid postures eased. Without question, the gates rumbled open, granting them passage. No waiting, no inspection, only the smooth entry reserved for those of the Crownlands. Rowan couldn't help but marvel. Outside, lines of common folk stretched for hours. For them, the city simply opened.
Inside, the streets blurred past. Rowan tried to take in everything, but the carriage moved quickly. He caught fragments, crowds in fine cloaks, crimson banners draped from archways, enchanted lanterns glowing along wide roads, stone buildings with tiled roofs climbing toward the sky. Beneath it all hummed something more than noise: the steady thrum of magic woven through the city itself.
The Vareth branch of the Crownlands revealed itself like a fortress within the capital. Several manors circled a grander central hall, their pale stone walls veined with silver runes that glowed faintly beneath the late sun. Lanterns already burned though dusk had barely touched the sky, and banners bearing the insignia of the Crownlands snapped in the wind above the compound.
Velria led them through the courtyard, their boots striking clean marble tiles. Rowan tilted his head back, staring at the grand manor that rose before them, its tall windows washed in orange glow, its banners heavy with pride. He felt impossibly small as they approached, the weight of history pressing down on him with each step.
When the heavy doors swung open, a man was already waiting within the hall.
"Velria," he said warmly, striding forward. His hair was iron-gray, combed neatly back, and his sharp features carried both age and command without arrogance. His voice resonated in the chamber, calm, firm, practiced in authority. "Welcome back. I trust the road did not wear you down too much?"
Velria bowed her head with professional respect, though her eyes softened briefly at the sight of him. "It's good to see you again, Vice Commander Seins. The journey was long, but manageable."
The man's gaze shifted past her, settling on Rowan and Ferris. His eyes were not unkind, but they were searching, measuring.
"And these," he said evenly, "would be our guests from Nirathal."
Velria gestured. "Ferris, this is Roger Seins, vice in charge of the Vareth branch of the Crownlands."
Ferris rose slightly in his seat, giving a courteous nod. His voice carried weight despite its calm. "An honor. Ferris of House Althorin, Third Circle mage of Nirathal."
Roger returned the gesture. "A pleasure, Master Ferris." His eyes lingered longer than courtesy required, as though silently weighing him, before turning back to Velria. His expression sharpened.
"And the escort?"
"No interference," Velria reported crisply. "The road was quiet. We passed without delay."
Roger gave a slow nod, the faintest flicker of relief crossing his eyes. "Good. Then you will rest here tonight. Tomorrow morning, the portal will be prepared."
He raised his hand, summoning an attendant from the shadows. "Show them to their temporary rooms."
Ferris inclined his head. "Thank you. Your efficiency is noted."
They departed, the marble floors echoing beneath their boots until the hall faded behind them. Outside, Velria came to a stop. Her gaze fell on Rowan first. For once, her expression softened, shedding the steel edge she carried through the journey.
"This is where we part ways," she said quietly. "I hope I see you again someday. But remember this, bravery is only worth something if you have the power to back it up. Don't be reckless."
Rowan met her eyes, throat tight. He managed only a nod, afraid his voice would falter.
Velria turned then to Ferris, her lips curving faintly into something between a smile and a smirk. "Until next time."
Ferris scoffed, though respect lingered beneath. "You too."
And with that, Velria walked away, her crimson cloak catching the lantern light one last time before the manor swallowed her whole.
The attendant guided Rowan, Ferris, and the Nirathali knights across the courtyard, their path winding between rune-lit lanterns and buildings that hummed faintly with protective wards. Eventually, they arrived at a smaller structure set apart from the main hall.
"This is the guest wing," the attendant explained, bowing. "Each chamber has been prepared for your comfort."
Rowan stepped inside and froze. A feather mattress, silver curtains, thick carpets, and lavender scent filled the chamber. It was more luxury than he had ever imagined. Disbelief gave way quickly to exhaustion, and he collapsed onto the bed, asleep almost at once.
When he woke, the sky outside his window was already bright. After washing, he found Ferris in the dining hall. An elegant breakfast lay waiting, fresh bread, fruit, eggs, steaming tea. Ferris ate with measured calm, his sharp eyes flicking toward Rowan but offering no words. Rowan ate quickly, silently grateful.
Before long, an attendant appeared at the doorway.
"The preparations are complete," he announced. "If you will follow me, I'll take you to the portal."
They retraced their steps into the main manor. This time Rowan noticed the layers of protection more keenly. Guards in enchanted armor lined the halls, their movements precise. The very air seemed heavier, pressed down by wards. Rowan stayed close to Ferris, unease twisting in his gut.
At last, they reached the heart of the manor. A vast chamber opened before them, its ceiling arched like the hollow of a cathedral. At the far end stood the portal gate, an immense structure of black stone, its surface smooth as glass yet utterly lightless. It loomed taller than any door Rowan had ever seen, a silent wall of darkness that seemed to swallow the lantern glow.
Mages in Crownlands robes stood at intervals along the chamber, their staffs resting at their sides. One of them, a man with silver-threaded hair, stepped forward as they approached. His voice carried clearly in the still air.
"Stand before the gate. Do not move until it opens."
Rowan obeyed, following Ferris to the base of the dark arch. The black surface was so absolute it felt less like stone and more like a wound carved into the world. He shivered despite himself.
A minute passed. Then the portal stirred. Its surface rippled, shadows twisting inward. The blackness deepened, then slowly shifted, unfolding into a vast swirl of color. Stars flickered into being across its expanse, galaxies winding like rivers of fire and ice, stretching beyond sight.
The mage's voice was calm, practiced. "The path is open. Step through, and it will carry you to your destination."
Ferris nodded once and stepped forward, cloak trailing behind him as he crossed into the swirling light. Rowan followed quickly, his pulse hammering, and the Nirathali knights came right after, their armor catching faint traces of the portal's glow.
The instant he passed through, the world fell away. He was weightless, dissolved into nothing, as if the stars themselves had swallowed him whole. All he could see was darkness.
Then, through that endless dark, Ferris's voice reached him, steady, grounding.
"Open your eyes, Rowan."
Rowan blinked. He hadn't realized his eyes were shut. Light rushed in. The darkness vanished, and he stood in a new chamber, its walls of dark stone, its banners embroidered with silver thread against deep blue cloth. The air here carried a sharper bite, cooler and cleaner than before.
They had arrived. Nirathal.