Chapter 11 – Gates of Caelthorn
The gates of Caelthorn towered like mountains of bronze. Carved into their surface were scenes of kings long dead—heroes battling dragons, crowned warriors raising swords to the heavens.
The guards eyed the trio warily. Farmers and traders passed without question, but a scarred mage, a soot-streaked girl, and a boy with a fire in his gaze drew suspicion.
"Business in Caelthorn?" a guard asked sharply.
Edran spoke before Aric could. "We seek audience with the Council of Magisters. Word from the Fang."
The guard paled slightly at the word Fang, but waved them through.
As they entered, the city revealed itself: narrow alleys bursting with market stalls, gilded spires catching the sun, bridges arching over canals where swan-shaped boats drifted. The noise was overwhelming—bells, merchants shouting, the clatter of hooves on stone.
Mira's eyes shone with wonder. Aric, though, felt only the weight of eyes upon him. For in the crowd, more than once, he thought he saw figures cloaked in gray, watching.