96th of Suncrest, Year 920,478 A.E.
The car floated steadily down the stone road, its engine humming softly against the runes carved into its frame. Valrion sat by the window, forehead nearly pressed to the glass. Beyond the estate's high walls, the world stretched wide and alive.
Fields of grain rippled gold beneath the morning sun. Farmers worked in teams, their voices carrying faintly on the wind. Some were human, others beastkin with fur or horns, and others still with wings folded against their backs. In the skies above, dragons and kirins glided lazily, their scales and manes catching the light. Even from this distance, Valrion could see the strength in their movements the rhythm of lives bound to the land.
His mother's voice pulled him from the sight.
"These people are the bones of the estate," Nymerra said, her tone calm but firm. "Without them, our banners mean nothing. Every meal you eat, every robe you wear, every sword forged for your hand comes from their labor."
Valrion nodded, though his eyes drifted back to the fields. "They look… content."
"They work hard," Nymerra corrected. "Happiness is fleeting. Duty is what sustains. And ignorance-" she paused, a faint edge in her voice, "-is bliss."
The boy fell silent, mulling that over as the car passed through the outer gates.
The market sprawled before them like a living sea.
Dozens of pavilions filled the square, awnings dyed every color imaginable crimson, azure, emerald, gold. Stalls overflowed with fruits that glowed faintly with essence, spices that clung to the air, weapons etched with runes, bolts of shimmering cloth, and trinkets gleaming like captured starlight. The voices of a thousand tongues rose in a chaotic symphony: human traders haggling, beastkin laughing, an elf strumming a lute by a fountain while a winged child tried to sing along.
The moment Valrion stepped out of the car, the noise and color hit him like a wave. His eyes widened, his mouth parted. For the first time, he wasn't in the halls of the estate or the crushing silence of the training room. This was life messy, loud, vibrant.
Nymerra's hand came down lightly on his shoulder. "Stay close. Watch. Listen. Strength here is measured differently in trade, in trust, in the goodwill of those who stand under our banner."
Valrion nodded quickly and fell into step beside her.
They wove through the crowd at a measured pace. Everywhere he looked, there was something new: a dwarf-blooded smith shouting the quality of his blades; a horned beastman bartering over crates of glowing fruit; a human woman selling scrolls that flickered faintly with enchantments.
"Mother," Valrion whispered, tugging her sleeve, "are they all part of us? Part of the Empire?"
Her gaze swept the market, cool and steady. "Yes. Different races, different bloods. But here, they live under human law. Integration is not kindness, Valrion. It is survival. Every race beneath our banner strengthens humanity's reach. Remember that."
Before he could reply, a shout cut through the market.
Two traders a human and a beastkin with striped fur argued over a sack of grain. The beastkin's ears flattened, sharp teeth bared. The human shoved him, and the crowd leaned in, murmuring.
Valrion's chest tightened. Without thinking, he stepped in front of his mother, fists clenched. His heart pounded in his ears. Was a fight about to break out?
Nymerra did not slow. She stepped between the two with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before. Her voice cut through the noise like a blade.
"Enough. Both of you."
The human bowed at once, stammering an apology. The beastkin's glare lingered, but he lowered his head. The tension bled away, and the crowd drifted on as though nothing had happened.
Valrion stared. "You didn't even… fight."
Nymerra glanced down at him, lips curving faintly. "Strength isn't always a sword, my son. Sometimes it's the shadow of one."
They walked on. Valrion's chest still hummed with the thrill of it all the colors, the voices, the tension and release. He realized then that the world outside the estate was not just land and banners. It was alive. Messy. Fragile. And one day it would rest in his hands.
As they left the square, he glanced back once more, watching the petals of a cherry blossom scatter across the stalls. He clenched his fists at his sides, resolve rising in his chest.
For the first time, Valrion stepped into the world seeing that there were many kinds of strength, many ways of living and that he was no longer just a boy of the estate, but a single soul in a vast, unrelenting world.