96th of Suncrest, Year 920,478 A.E. (midday)
The car glided through an archway of pale stone and into the central district. Here, the noise of the outer market softened into a steadier rhythm — boots on marble, water spilling from tiered fountains, the low thrum of essence conduits running beneath the streets, and the hiss of void-trains sliding along tracks overhead. Statues of old emperors and forgotten generals watched from their plinths, cloaks carved to look as if they still caught the wind.
Valrion pressed his palm to the window. "It's… different."
Nymerra didn't look at him, her eyes fixed ahead. "The outer square is survival. This is power."
Guards in royal blue and black stood at intervals along the plaza, spears grounded, helms polished. Banners hung from colonnades: trade guilds, craft halls, scribe houses. At the far end rose the Guild Spire, its clock of shining crystal turning with a quiet tick that seemed to set the pace for everything around it.
They stepped out into clean light. The air smelled of stone, citrus oil, and a hint of forge-smoke drifting from the smiths' arcade. Across the plaza, a tutor drilled a circle of children with wooden swords; beyond them, merchants in dark robes argued over ledgers and stamped seals at a long table of blackwood.
Nymerra's hand rested lightly on Valrion's shoulder. "Three pillars hold a city: coin, craft, and record. Break any one, and power leaks away. Learn them."
Valrion nodded, though his eyes kept wandering. A jeweler's stall glittered like a captured sunrise. A scribe demonstrated sealed contracts to apprentices, each document bound by threads of faint light. A baker's boy darted past with a tray of honey cakes, leaving a sweet trail in the air.
Near the fountain, two boys and a girl sat cross-legged over a game board of stone and glass. Hexes divided the surface, tiny banners and carved beasts marking camps, roads, and high ground. One of the boys — dark-haired, sharp-eyed — moved pieces without even glancing at his hands, his eyes fixed on the pattern itself.
Valrion slowed. "What's that?"
"Stone & Sky," Nymerra said. "War in quiet."
The tutor's voice rose from the drill ring. "Guards high, blades low. Reset—again." Wooden practice swords snapped into place.
A crack of essence flared — a spark that hissed across the sand. One boy had thrown it by mistake. The tutor caught his wrist. "No essence. Not at your age. Not without control." His voice wasn't cruel, just steady. He adjusted the stance by two fingers' width. "Strength is permission you earn."
Valrion leaned forward, drawn to the ring, then froze when he caught his mother's glance. She didn't speak, only watched him watch.
At the board, the sharp-eyed boy shifted a mountain tile, then a road, then a banner marked with wind. Across from him, a broad-shouldered girl with braided hair frowned, then grinned and swept her pieces into a pincer.
"You're cornered," she said.
"No," the boy replied, flipping a river tile no one had noticed. The pincer dissolved; his banner slipped through the gap like water through stone.
Valrion couldn't help it. "You left your supply exposed," he blurted. "If she'd burned the bridge first, you'd lose the valley two turns later."
All three looked up.
The boy's mouth quirked. "And if I'd salted the granaries earlier, she'd starve in three."
"That's wasteful," Valrion said, stepping closer. "You win the valley but starve the land. Armies break faster to hunger than to rivers."
Silence, then the braided girl barked a laugh. "He's right, Karnyx."
The sharp-eyed boy Karnyx studied him properly now, gray eyes weighing, measuring. "Name?"
"Valrion," he said, then remembering himself added, "Aurelith."
Brows lifted. The girl's smile didn't fade, but it sharpened.
Karnyx inclined his head slightly. "Karnyx Tervain. My father's here for a meeting with the guilds. My mother…" His eyes flicked, just enough to mark the detail. "…is of House Shogun."
"This is Rhea," he added, gesturing to the girl. "Smith's Arcade."
Rhea grinned. "We play here every year on the months of Suncrest and Dawnspire. Do you?"
"Not like this," Valrion admitted. "Serathis makes me play something rougher. Fewer rules. No rivers."
Rhea snorted. "Sounds like Serathis." She flicked a pebble off the board. "No offense."
"None taken," Valrion said, though he wasn't sure if it was meant as a joke.
Nymerra had moved a step ahead, giving him the choice to follow or stay. Valrion lingered, eyes fixed on the board.
"Sit," Karnyx said simply, sliding aside. "Show me your rougher game."
Valrion lowered himself cross-legged. He took a mountain tile, then a banner, then a road — not for the obvious march but for a slow encirclement. No one spoke. The fountain's spray kept time behind them; the tutor's ring clacked wood on wood; quills scratched across ledgers at the guild table.
When he finished, Karnyx tapped the river. "You're not blocking the army."
"No," Valrion said. "I'm feeding it."
Rhea leaned in, grinning. "I like him."
A few paces away, a noble boy wandered over, sash embroidered with a minor crest. His shadows followed at his back. He studied Valrion too long before speaking.
"Aurelith," he said, tone light. "Didn't think your family still came to the city."
Rhea's grin cooled. Karnyx didn't move.
Valrion felt heat rise in his chest. Serathis's voice cut across the memory: Calm, or die on your first battlefield. He exhaled, then set his last banner as though the noble hadn't spoken.
Nymerra's shadow stretched across the stones. She didn't look at the boy directly — she didn't need to. His mouth snapped shut before he knew why. With a mutter, he tugged his sash straight and left.
Karnyx's gaze flicked between Nymerra and Valrion. "You're not from the city?"
"From the estate," Valrion said. "This is my first time here."
"Then you owe us a win," Rhea said, shoving a stack of tiles toward him. "Play again."
They did. Karnyx's moves were patient, precise. Rhea's were bold and often wrong until they weren't. Valrion's circled hungrily, reaching for long games he didn't yet know how to name.
By the time the Guild Spire clock turned another quarter, Nymerra was waiting at the edge of the plaza, hands folded, not rushing him but not indulging him either.
Karnyx rose and offered a palm. Valrion slapped it in the way of children sealing something unspoken. Rhea rapped her knuckles against his shoulder, friendly but sharp.
"Dawnspire," Karnyx said. "Same hour."
"I'll be here," Valrion answered.
As he crossed back to his mother, Nymerra asked, "What did you learn?"
"That rivers feed armies," Valrion said. "And that sometimes strength is a shadow."
Her lips curved in a sharp-edged smile. "Then today was worth the trip."
They walked on, the clock ticking behind them, the fountain whispering, the city moving in rhythm.
For the first time, Valrion felt the truth settle in his bones: the estate, the outer market, the heart of the city — three faces of the world he would one day help hold. Not alone. Not yet. But no longer just a boy of halls and training rooms.
He looked up at the pale blue sky of Suncrest and let the thought root like a banner in stone.
I'll learn this place. Then I'll make it stronger.