The bells of Valoria chimed softly in the gray dawn, their echoes winding through narrow cobbled streets still slick with dew.
Ding, dong… ding, dong…
In the heart of the continent of Elythria, Valoria stood as a testament to resilience—a Bronze-ranked city surrounded by rolling hills and distant forests, its skyline marked by the gentle rise of magi-tech towers and copper rooftops.
Mana lanterns, strung between graceful arches, flickered out one by one as daylight claimed its hold. Stalls in the lower market creaked open as sleepy vendors swept away last night's dust, their voices rising with the sun in a chorus of greetings and barter. Steam carts hummed quietly along the paved avenues, weaving around delivery golems that rolled crates of fresh bread and enchanted tools to shopfronts. In the air, the scent of wildflowers from the city gardens mingled with the sharp tang of ozone—a byproduct of the omnipresent mana lines running beneath every street.
Valoria was neither metropolis nor backwater: its people prided themselves on practical innovation, blending countryside tradition with magi-tech convenience. Children in school uniforms darted past an elderly craftsman tuning a floating sign. Across the plaza, a group of Guardians—awakeners in smart uniforms—shared morning tea while city workers in plain brown coats prepared for the day's work, the line between magic and the mundane clear yet quietly blurred.
From his small attic window above a bakery, Halric watched the city awaken. The bronze rooftops glinted in the pale light, the distant shimmer of the Academy's spires a promise and a reminder. Another day, another ledger to balance, another invisible gear in Valoria's clockwork heart. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the city's pulse—a blend of hope, routine, and the quiet hum of possibility that threaded through everything in Elythria's Bronze city.
With a resigned sigh, Halric buttoned his faded jacket and tucked a battered notebook under his arm. But before heading out, he sat at his narrow desk, the surface crowded with stacks of papers, a flickering mana-powered tablet, and his ever-present notebook. The tablet's display shimmered with city maintenance schedules and payroll figures, lines of blue glyphs scrolling past as Halric made quick notations in the margin.
"Another discrepancy in the mana flow records," he thought, tapping a stylus against his chin.
"If the northern wards keep draining this fast, we'll be out of reserve by the next Gate surge. Again."
He thumbed to a fresh page in his notebook, his handwriting looping between careful calculations and the kind of half-formed questions that always seemed to linger in his mind.
"I wonder if anyone on the council actually reads these reports."
"Or do they just see 'non-awakened' and send it straight to the bottom of the stack?"
His gaze drifted to a faded Academy emblem pinned to the wall—a relic from another life, before routines and responsibilities had shaped his days.
"Funny how far you can get by keeping your head down," Halric mused, tracing the emblem with a finger.
"And how easy it is to forget the things you once hoped for."
The tablet chimed, pulling him back to the present. With a final scan of his notes, Halric closed the notebook and slipped it into his satchel. The city outside was calling, and whatever monotony the day promised, he would face it just as he always had—quietly, efficiently, and just a little bit apart from everyone else.
The smell of fresh bread grew stronger as Halric descended the creaking wooden stairs to the bakery below. Warm light spilled from the kitchen, mingling with the laughter of the early customers.
Creak… creak…
At the counter, Mrs. Marrin was busy arranging honey-glazed rolls on a tray, her flour-dusted hands moving with practiced speed.
"Morning, Halric!" Mrs. Marrin called, her voice cheerful despite the early hour.
"Good morning, Mrs. Marrin." Halric offered a small smile and took a seat near the window.
"Usual breakfast?" she asked, already reaching for a plate.
"Yes, please. And maybe one of those mana-buns if you've got any left."
Mrs. Marrin winked. "For you, I always save the best."
As Halric sipped his tea, Tomas, the newsboy, burst in waving the morning paper.
Jingle… slam!
"Big stir at the city center today, Halric! They say a Guardian team will be patrolling the plaza. Maybe they'll finally fix the mana leak near the fountain."
Halric glanced up, interest flickering in his eyes.
"Let's hope so. That leak's been making the ground shimmer for days."
Tomas grinned.
"You should come watch, Halric. Maybe they'll let you help, seeing as you know all the city's secrets."
Halric chuckled softly.
Heh…
"I'm just an office worker, Tomas. The Guardians have their own methods."
Mrs. Marrin chimed in as she placed Halric's breakfast before him.
Clatter…
"Still, you keep this place running smoother than any spell. Don't let them forget it."
Halric thanked her, savoring the warm bread and sweet mana-bun. The hum of conversation and clatter of dishes was a comfort—a reminder that, for all its quirks, Valoria was home.
After finishing his meal, Halric gathered his things and stepped outside, the bustle of morning at his back.
Door bell rings…
He made his way toward the city center, intent on checking the fountain that Tomas had mentioned.
The streets of Valoria were alive with activity. Shopkeepers swept their stoops, the aroma of roasted beans drifted from the corner café, and the clang of hammer on anvil rang from the blacksmith's forge.
Clang! Clang!
Halric paused as he passed the forge—Master Torlan, broad-shouldered and always covered in soot, was inspecting a set of newly crafted horseshoes.
"Morning, Mr. Halric!" Torlan called, raising a gloved hand.
"Good morning, Master Torlan. Busy as ever, I see."
Torlan grinned, teeth white against the soot.
"If the city's wagons want to roll, someone's got to keep them shod. You going to the plaza?"
Halric nodded.
"Checking the fountain. Heard there's a mana leak."
Torlan shook his head.
"That old thing's been trouble since last winter. If you need an extra hand, let me know."
Halric smiled and continued on, weaving through the crowd. Just past the forge, the pungent scent of herbs and bubbling potions drifted from the alchemist's shop. The door stood open, revealing rows of glowing bottles and a tangle of dried plants hanging from the rafters. Madam Elen, the city's alchemist, was busy measuring powders into vials.
"Halric!" she called, waving a tiny spoon.
"If you're heading to the plaza, take a sample of this. See if the Guardians want to test it on that mana leak."
Halric accepted the small vial, the liquid inside swirling with iridescent light.
"Thank you, Madam Elen. I'll pass it along."
Further down, the engineering workshop hummed with the busy whir of gears and mana-conducting wires.
Whirr… click…
A pair of apprentices lugged a heavy mana battery out onto the street, their faces flushed with effort.
Grunt… thud…
"Sir Halric!" one apprentice called, straightening as Halric approached.
"Morning, lads. Working on something new?"
The older apprentice nodded eagerly.
"We're upgrading the fountain's pump. If the Guardians let us, we'll have it running smoother than ever."
Halric encouraged them before moving on, noting how every person seemed to play a part in the city's daily rhythm. Some called out to him with respect, others with friendly warmth, and a few with simple familiarity.
"Good morning, Mr. Halric!" called a young apprentice, bowing respectfully as he hurried past with a satchel of enchanted gears.
"Sir Halric, are you on your way to the plaza?" an older baker in a white cap asked, tipping his hat.
"Hal!" shouted a familiar voice. Halric turned to see Mira, his childhood friend, waving from her flower stall.
"Don't forget to stop by later. I've got those blue lilies you like!"
He smiled.
"Wouldn't miss it, Mira."
As he continued, others called out greetings—some formal, some friendly, some simply in passing.
"Halric, morning!"
"Sir Halric, any news from the council?"
"Hal! Join us for lunch if you're free!"
Halric nodded and answered each in turn, his steps steady as he crossed the plaza and approached the fountain. The air here shimmered faintly with residual mana, just as Tomas had said. Guardians stood nearby, their uniforms crisp, heads bent in quiet conversation. The stonework around the fountain was damp, etched with glowing runes that pulsed in time with the city's mana lines.
Halric paused, watching the play of light on the water's surface and the way sunlight danced through the rising mist.
Splash… drip…
The city's heart beat in this square—where blacksmiths, alchemists, engineers, and everyday folk all converged, shaping Valoria's future with each passing day.
For a moment, he let himself imagine the city as it could be—safe, thriving, and at peace. Then he took a deep breath and stepped forward, ready to offer his help if it was needed.
"Good morning, Guardians," Halric greeted, approaching the group of uniformed awakeners who stood beside the fountain. His voice was polite, but carried the easy confidence of someone who knew the city's workings well.
One of the Guardians, a tall woman with silver trim on her sleeves, turned and nodded.
"Morning, Mr. Halric."
Another, younger and still adjusting his gloves, offered a quick salute.
"Sir Halric."
Halric smiled, nodding in return.
"Any luck with the mana leak? I heard it's been getting worse the last few days."
The senior Guardian sighed, glancing at the runes etched into the fountain's base.
"We're tracing the source now. The mana lines are acting strange—more unstable than usual for this part of the plaza."
Halric reached into his satchel and retrieved the small vial from Madam Elen, its iridescent light swirling with promise.
"Madam Elen asked me to bring this. It's an alchemical stabilizer—she thinks it might help control the mana flow while you work."
The younger Guardian accepted the vial with a curious look.
"We haven't tried anything like this yet. Thank you, sir. We'll run a test."
Halric nodded.
"If you need access to maintenance records or want to reference last season's repairs, I can fetch the logs from the council office."
The senior Guardian smiled.
"That could help. We've already called in the city engineers—they're working on upgrading the fountain's pump. With luck, that'll help keep the mana pressure steady once we've patched the leak."
Halric glanced over to where the engineers were busy at the fountain's rear, tools and mana batteries spread out on a tarp.
"Those apprentices are ambitious. I saw them hauling the new battery through Market Lane."
The younger Guardian grinned.
"We're counting on them. If the pump upgrade works, and Madam Elen's vial helps, we might finally get this fountain back to normal."
Halric lingered for a moment, watching the Guardians and engineers collaborate. The morning sun rose higher, catching the mist and turning it to gold, while Valoria's daily rhythm carried on around them—a city coming together, each part working in harmony to keep the heart of their home beating strong.
With the fountain's fate in capable hands, Halric turned and made his way toward the town hall. The city streets buzzed with life—market stalls overflowing with ripe fruit and woven goods, the calls of vendors echoing between rows of timber-framed buildings. Children darted through alleys, their laughter mingling with the rhythmic clack of a passing magi-tech tram. Above, banners fluttered between rooftops, displaying the crest of Valoria: a stylized gear entwined with a mana crystal.
The architecture was a patchwork of eras. Narrow, moss-streaked stone houses pressed against newer brick structures, their windows aglow with mana lanterns. Artisans bustled in open workshops—one blacksmith pounding at a sword, an engineer hoisting a copper pipe, and an elderly tailor adjusting enchanted thread in the sunlight. The scent of fresh bread, rain-damp wood, and arcane reagents made the air rich and alive.
As Halric crossed the main avenue, neighbors greeted him from stoops and shopfronts. Some nodded with formal respect, others called out with friendly warmth, and a few simply offered a smile and a wave.
"Good morning, Mr. Halric!" called a pair of schoolchildren, clutching books as they hurried past.
"Hal! Don't forget the council meeting at noon!" shouted a courier, barely slowing as she zipped by on a mana-powered scooter.
"Halric, any updates about the northern wards?" asked a merchant, voice tinged with concern.
Halric answered each in turn, his calm demeanor a comforting presence in the city's morning bustle. As he approached the grand facade of Valoria's town hall—a sturdy building of carved stone and embossed iron, its doors engraved with protective runes—he took a moment to admire the intricate clockwork sculpture at its entrance, gears spinning in slow, magical rhythm.
Inside, the air was cooler, imbued with the faint hum of mana lines and the scent of parchment. The receptionist, a sharp-eyed woman named Lira, greeted Halric from behind a polished desk stacked with ledgers and city registers.
"Good morning, Mr. Halric. You're early as always," Lira said, flashing a quick smile.
Halric returned the greeting, setting his satchel on the counter.
"Anything new I should know about before I meet with the Metron?"
Lira leaned in, lowering her voice.
"The council's worried about the mana surge last night. There's talk of a Gate anomaly near the east wall—Guardians are investigating, but nothing confirmed yet. And the engineers say they'll need extra supplies if the fountain repairs go long."
Halric nodded thoughtfully.
"I'll mention it in my report. Let the team know I'm here for my usual check-in."
Lira gave him a reassuring nod, scribbling a quick note in the ledger before waving him toward the staircase that led up to the Metron's office.
Halric climbed the steps, feeling the steady pulse of the city beneath his feet—a mix of anticipation, duty, and the subtle magic that made Valoria more than just a Bronze city. At the top, he paused outside the ornate office door, ready to face the next set of challenges with the quiet resolve that had come to define his place in Elythria.
Suddenly, the office door flew open with a thunderous bang, catching Halric square in the face and knocking him off balance. He tumbled backward with a startled yelp, landing in an unceremonious heap at the top of the stairs. For a moment, the hallway echoed with stunned silence-
thud… thud…
-then a few muffled chuckles drifted from nearby clerks who'd witnessed the spectacle.
"Outta my way!" boomed a gravelly voice. The Metron, Garron Flint, a burly man in his early thirties with arms like tree trunks and a perpetual five o'clock shadow, burst from the office. He wore the battered uniform of a C-rank Guardian, his chest festooned with faded patches and training scars. He barely glanced at Halric sprawled on the floor.
"I'm done with ledgers and paperwork! You can't make me do it, not today!" Garron declared, already stomping down the corridor toward the training grounds, his heavy boots thudding like distant thunder.
Halric blinked, dazed, as the Metron disappeared around the corner. He sat up, rubbing his forehead, and tried to suppress a laugh at the absurdity of it all.
From inside the office, a sharp voice rang out,
"Garron Flint! If you leave me with this paperwork again, I'll hex your boots so you slip on every stone in Valoria!"
The Vice Metron, Sera Lyndell, appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips and cheeks flushed with frustration. She looked to be just past her twenties—older than Halric's twenty-five years but not by much—with a calm, capable air that contrasted her current exasperation. Her Guardian badge gleamed silver, marking her as a D-rank, and her eyes were sharp behind round spectacles.
Halric struggled to his feet, brushing off his jacket as Sera turned her attention to him.
"Oh dear, are you alright?" she asked, her tone softening.
Halric managed a sheepish smile.
"I should be used to that by now."
She extended a hand, helping him up.
"You'd think a C-rank Guardian would be gentler with doors, but I suppose that's too much to ask."
Halric accepted her help and steadied himself as Sera stepped aside, inviting him into the office. The room was bright with morning light, papers neatly stacked, and an air of restorative magic lingering—a subtle reminder of her healing specialty.
"Please, come in," Sera said, her voice returning to its usual calm.
"Let's get started. I suspect we have even more paperwork now that Metron Garron has made his escape."
Halric glanced around at the five orderly desks that filled the spacious office. Each had its own flair: the Metron's was perpetually cluttered with training manuals and half-signed documents, Sera's was covered in neat ledgers and a crystal lamp, the secretary's desk boasted a mountain of dispatches and quills, the chamberlain's was a fortress of supply reports and permits, and finally, Halric's own workspace—a tidy corner with his battered notebook and a well-used mana calculator.
"So, what made Garron bolt this time?" Halric asked, grinning.
"Was it the quarterly budget, or did he just spot a stack of unsigned forms?"
Sera snorted, rolling her eyes as she crossed to her desk.
"Neither. I threatened to assign him to correspondence duty if he didn't finish the requisition list by noon. The mere thought of writing thank-you notes to the Academy must have sent him running for the training yard."
Halric chuckled, dropping his satchel onto his own desk.
"Maybe next time we should just tell him the fountain needs wrestling into submission."
Sera grinned back, rifling through her paperwork.
"At least then he'd finally read the maintenance manual. Let's get started before he decides to hide in the armory."
Halric glanced around the office, noting the two empty desks.
"Where are the others this morning? Is Secretary Rilena still chasing down the trade invoices?"
Sera nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"She left at dawn to wrangle the merchants about last week's shipment delays. Said she wouldn't come back until she had every missing signature—her words, not mine."
"And Chamberlain Brant?" Halric asked, lowering his voice as if expecting the man to appear from behind a stack of ledgers.
Sera smiled wryly.
"Brant's in the lower vaults with the engineers, arguing over the new supply inventory. If I know him, he'll be down there all morning triple-counting mana batteries."
Halric shook his head, amused.
"It's a wonder anything gets lost in this city with Rilena and Brant on the job."
Sera's eyes twinkled over the rim of her spectacles.
"Let's just hope Garron doesn't lose himself before lunch."
## === ##
Halric sometimes wondered how he'd ended up here, a lynchpin in Valoria's city hall machinery—a place where magic and paperwork collided, and where, somehow, he always seemed to be in the middle of every crisis.
He had no family name to inherit, no lineage to claim. He was left on the steps of Valoria's orphanage as a baby, bundled in a threadbare blanket during one of the coldest winters on record. The only clue to his origin was a single slip of parchment tucked beside him, bearing his name—Halric Atheon Pyral—and a cryptic message, its meaning as inscrutable now as it was then. The note read: "Let the silent gears turn, and he will find the key." No one in the city ever managed to trace its origin, nor did anyone ever decipher its purpose.
Growing up among the other orphans, Halric quickly distinguished himself. He was quiet but clever, always watching, always piecing together the world's secrets with a mind sharper than most adults. While the other children played at sword fighting or tried to mimic the Guardians on patrol, Halric would spend hours with old city maps, puzzle boxes, or listening to the stories of passing travelers. His questions were endless, his curiosity boundless, and his memory—almost uncanny.
When he was old enough, the matron of the orphanage encouraged him to take the entrance exam for the Guardians Academy. His marks earned him a rare scholarship to study in a distant Gold-ranked city, a place that felt like another world compared to practical, earthy Valoria. There, Halric took non-combat courses, focusing on strategy, logistics, and the theory behind both magic and technology—though he himself never awakened.
He excelled in his studies, often outmaneuvering his peers in tactical exercises and problem-solving tournaments. In his last year, Halric ranked among the top ten non-awakened graduates—a remarkable feat given the fierce competition from across the continent. His instructors noted his knack for seeing connections others missed, for understanding how small details shaped the fate of entire cities.
Despite offers to stay in the Gold city and join their administrative ranks, Halric chose to return to Valoria. The city that had raised him—its winding alleys, its blend of old magic and new machines, its stubborn, hopeful people—still felt like home. He wanted to repay the place that had given him a chance, and maybe, in some quiet way, uncover the meaning behind the message left with him so long ago.
He started as an assistant in the town hall, but his skill and reliability saw him quickly promoted. Now, after two years as Valoria's general advisor, Halric was indispensable. He knew the city's every quirk, its strengths and its lingering wounds. While others chased glory on the battlefield or in the council chamber, Halric found his purpose in keeping the city's unseen gears turning—just as the note had foretold.
Sometimes, late at night, he would hold that old scrap of parchment and wonder about the parents he never knew, the message's hidden meaning, and whether destiny had more in store for him than ledgers and council meetings. But for now, he was content to serve the city that had become his family, guiding Valoria with patience, insight, and his quietly unshakable resolve.
## === ##
Halric tucked away a stray thought and glanced at Sera over the tops of their paperwork.
"By the way, Sera, remind me—what's the council meeting about at noon? And do you think Garron will actually show up, or will we have to lure him in with the promise of sword drills and pastry?"
He grinned, but Sera just gave him a look so sharp it could cut through mana lines.
"If he tries to run again, I will personally drag him to the council chamber—boots, coat, and all. He knows better than to test me."
Halric couldn't help but chuckle, raising his hands in surrender.
"Noted. I'll have the emergency pastry supply ready, just in case you need extra leverage."
Sera's expression softened, but there was still a glint in her eyes.
"Good. As for the meeting, the council wants updates on the mana surge by the east wall, the fountain repairs, and, as always, the quarterly budget. I expect it'll be lively—especially if Garron tries to escape again."
Halric nodded, already mentally preparing his notes.
"Sounds like another ordinary day in Valoria, then."
Noon arrived with the city hall's bells echoing through the marble corridors, signaling the start of the council meeting. True to her word, Sera was seen—much to the amusement of staff and a few lingering Guardians—marching down the hall with Garron in tow. Garron, a mountain of a man, was half-limping, half-dragged by the determined Vice Metron. His boots squeaked against the polished floor as he grasped at doorways and pleaded dramatically.
"Sera, come on! I'd rather wrestle a mana beast than fill out budget forms!" he groaned, trying to dig his heels in.
"Move, Garron. Unless you want the entire council to watch you get hexed," Sera replied, not missing a step. Her glare could have bent iron.
Halric, waiting by the meeting room, nearly dropped his notes from laughing.
Once inside, Garron slumped into his chair, still muttering under his breath, while the rest of the council tried to hide their grins. The meeting itself proceeded smoothly, led efficiently by Sera and Halric. They discussed the mana surge at the east wall, progress on the fountain repairs, and the ever-contentious quarterly budget. Garron contributed when prompted—usually after Sera shot him a look—but mostly stayed quiet, sneaking longing glances at the window.
By the time the meeting adjourned, even Garron had to admit (quietly) that things were under control. Sera gathered her paperwork, Halric closed his notebook, and the three of them decided to head out for a well-earned lunch.
The nearby bar was bustling with lunchtime chatter. Garron immediately reached for a mug of ale, only for Sera to snatch it away with a practiced flick.
"Not until you finish your lunch and sign the requisition forms," she scolded, her tone brooking no argument.
Halric grinned as Garron sulked, eyeing his confiscated drink.
"Better eat up, Metron. The sooner you're done, the sooner you can escape Sera's iron grip."
Garron just groaned, but beneath it all, there was an unmistakable warmth—a sense of camaraderie and belonging that, in Valoria, was worth every bit of paperwork and every missed mug of beer.
As lunch settled in, Halric and Sera found themselves leaning back in their chairs, the tension of the morning fading into the easy rhythm of conversation.
"I swear," Halric said, eyeing the half-filled forms sticking out of his satchel,
"sometimes I envy those council teams in Silver City. They've got mana computers for everything—scheduling, ledgers, even archiving. Meanwhile, we're still shuffling through stacks of paper and hoping the mana pens don't run dry halfway through a report."
Sera nodded, pushing her glasses up her nose.
"And don't get me started on the filing system. Last week I spent half a day hunting down a requisition form because someone filed it under 'Miscellaneous Mishaps.' If we had even half the tech they do in a Gold or Silver city…"
"At least we have mana tablets for the most urgent things," Halric offered with a wry smile, tapping the battered device at his side.
"I can't imagine managing the Gate logs or the city alerts without those."
Sera's expression softened, a note of gratitude in her voice.
"True. I'm glad the Metron from the nearest diamond city still ensures Bronze cities like ours get the crucial magi-tech for Gate operations—comms, alert wards, the stabilizers. I wouldn't want to be caught in a surge without them."
They both grew quiet for a moment, the weight of that responsibility settling between them, but Sera soon brightened, shooting Halric a sideways look.
"Still, maybe one day they'll let us upgrade. Imagine—no more ink stains, no more lost forms, just… organized records at the tap of a rune."
Halric laughed, raising his glass.
"To that day, Sera. Until then, at least we've got each other—and the world's best mana buns to keep us going."
He set his glass down and glanced between Sera and Garron.
"So, what are your plans after this? The rest of my paperwork's finished, so I thought I'd walk the circuit and check on the gates around town."
Garron perked up, clearly relieved at the prospect of not being dragged back to his desk.
"I've got drills in the yard with the new recruits—somebody's got to teach them how not to trip over their own swords."
Sera adjusted her spectacles, considering her own schedule.
"A few council letters to finish, then I'll join you at the southern wards. That last surge report still bothers me."
Halric nodded, tucking away his notebook.
"Sounds good. I'll start at the East Quarter. Some of the gates there have been acting up—nothing dangerous, just maintenance."
He paused, then added for Garron's benefit,
"You know, not all gates are destroyed when cleared. We keep a few of the lower-ranked ones open—E and F ranks—by preserving their core. They're called 'training gates.' Good for new awakeners to practice, as long as we keep an eye on them."
Garron grinned.
"And if you ever need backup, just shout. Those training gates still spit out enough trouble for a good workout."
Sera smiled, but her tone was serious.
"Just be careful, Halric. Even a sleepy gate can turn nasty if left unchecked. Maintenance is the only thing standing between us and another surge."
Halric offered a reassuring nod.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure every rune is in place. We'll keep Valoria safe, one gate at a time."
With their lunch finished and the weight of the city's duties settling back onto their shoulders, the trio stepped out into the afternoon sun and parted ways, each heading to their own responsibilities. Valoria's heartbeat was steady, but the vigilance of its caretakers never waned.
The city was home to four F-rank training gates, one at each cardinal point: north, south, east, and west. Designed as proving grounds for new awakeners, they were kept open—maintained rather than destroyed—so that the next generation could learn to face the unknown in controlled conditions. But they needed regular checks; even the smallest gate could become dangerous if neglected.
Halric started his rounds at the eastern edge of town, where the fields gave way to tangled wood and the mana in the air felt just a little thicker. The East Gate was quiet, its stone arch humming with soft blue light. The air nearby was thick with the scent of moss and distant rain, and the portal shimmered like a pond disturbed by wind.
A pair of Guardians on patrol greeted Halric, their uniforms marked with the green stripes of the city's training corps.
"Afternoon, Mr. Halric," one said, offering a tired smile.
"Surge warnings again?"
Halric nodded, studying the gate's fluctuating glyphs.
"It's overdue for a raid. The surge readings are a bit high." He glanced at the record slate attached to the gate's outer post.
"Looks like no one's cleared it in two weeks."
The other Guardian shrugged.
"It's the environment, sir. Too many winding paths and blind corners. Most of the new recruits prefer the north or west gates—less chance of getting lost."
Halric made a note in his ledger.
"We'll need to encourage some of the braver teams to give this one a go. In the meantime, I'll reinforce the seals and update the ward runes. If anything feels off, report it immediately."
Once satisfied, Halric continued on his way, heading north along the shaded city lane. The North Gate sat at the edge of a small park, its portal nestled between two ancient oaks. The glyphs here were steady and faint, the air calm. A group of young awakeners were finishing a training session, laughing as they recounted minor victories and harmless missteps. Halric checked the logs and exchanged a few words with the overseeing Guardian—no issues here.
The West Gate, set near the old quarry, was similarly uneventful. The portal pulsed with a gentle light, and the records showed regular clearings. The patrolling officer offered Halric a cheerful wave, confident that all was well.
By late afternoon, the sun was dipping low, golden light slanting across the rooftops as Halric made his way to the South Gate. The road here was quieter, the air tinged with the scent of wildflowers and distant cookfires. As he approached, he spotted Sera already at work, her robes catching the breeze as she inspected the runes marking the arch.
She looked up and smiled when she saw him.
"Right on schedule," she called, straightening from her inspection.
Halric returned her smile, feeling the last of the day's tension slip away.
"No trouble at the north or west gates. Just the usual warnings from the east."
Sera nodded.
"I thought as much. The surge there has been stubborn lately." She dusted off her hands, studying the shimmering gateway.
"Let's finish up here, then. Maybe we can convince Garron to buy us tea for once."
Together, in the quiet glow of the South Gate, they set to work—steady hands keeping Valoria's balance, one rune and one ward at a time.
As dusk fell and the last checks were finished, Halric and Sera made their way back toward the heart of town. The streets were gentler now, bathed in the soft orange of lamplight and the low murmur of evening voices. It was the hour when Valoria relaxed, when the weight of duty gave way—if only for a little while—to camaraderie and comfort.
They agreed, without much discussion, to head for the bar where they'd shared lunch. Its windows glowed invitingly, and the laughter spilling out into the street was a promise of warmth. Pushing open the door, Halric paused, his eyes catching something strange: around the cluster of young awakeners near Garron, and even around the old magic lamp above the counter, flickered bright, shifting lines of color—like ribbons woven from light and air.
For a heartbeat, the world felt charged, the colors dancing and twining in impossible shapes. Halric blinked, startled, and rubbed his eyes. When he looked again, the colors had vanished, leaving only the golden glow of lamps and the familiar faces of friends.
Sera noticed his hesitation. She leaned closer, voice quietly concerned.
"Are you alright? You looked like you saw a ghost."
Halric forced a small smile, shaking his head.
"Just tired, I think. Maybe I've stared at too many runes today."
Before she could press further, Garron's booming voice cut through the hum of conversation.
"Oi! Halric! Sera! Over here—don't make us eat all the pies without you!"
They joined Garron at a broad table crowded with plates and a handful of new awakeners—eager, bright-eyed, still wearing the day's training dust. Garron introduced each one in turn, pride clear in his rough voice.
As the evening wore on, the group talked about the day's drills, the quirks of old gates, and the small triumphs and blunders of training. Halric listened, offering advice when asked, laughter when it was needed, and a reassuring presence throughout. Sera, too, shifted easily between gentle teasing and quiet guidance, her presence a steady anchor for old friends and new recruits alike.
Outside, the city's bells marked the passing hours, but inside the bar, time slowed to the peaceful rhythm of good food, shared stories, and the simple comfort of belonging.
Laughter and the clatter of mugs…
After dinner, the group began to drift apart, each heading in their own direction beneath the soft glow of Valoria's lantern-lit streets. Halric and Sera exchanged a quiet farewell at the corner, Sera watching him for a moment longer than usual before disappearing down her own lane.
Halric walked alone through the winding avenues, the cool evening air tugging at his jacket. The city felt both familiar and strangely distant, as if he were seeing it through a fog. His mind replayed the strange vision from the bar—those bright, shifting lines around the awakeners and the lamp, vivid for a heartbeat, then gone. He tried to reason it away: Maybe it was just fatigue. Maybe the runes and mana fields he'd worked with all day had left some imprint on his eyes. But the memory of that brilliance lingered, unsettling and electric.
He muttered to himself as he walked.
"Mana afterimage? Or something else? I've never seen colors like that before. Not even in the Academy's old labs." Another thought surfaced: Was it just exhaustion, or something beginning to stir—something inside him, or in Valoria itself?
Questions tumbled over each other in his mind: Why now? Was it connected to the surges, the old note, or just coincidence? Did Sera notice anything? Should he mention it to the council? Or would they just chalk it up to stress and too many hours spent in the glow of mana lamps?
By the time he reached his attic room above the bakery, the city had quieted to a gentle hush, broken only by the distant clatter of a late tram.
Clickety-clack… clickety-clack…
Halric set about tidying his desk, stacking ledgers and sliding his battered mana tablet into a drawer.
Thump… slide…
He folded his jacket neatly, placed his notebook on the nightstand, and tried to will his thoughts into order.
Night pressed in at the window, the city's lights twinkling below. He lay on his narrow bed, staring up at the shadowed ceiling, replaying the day in his mind. The vision flickered behind his eyes—ribbons of color, moving with purpose, full of meaning he couldn't grasp. His fingers found the old scrap of parchment tucked under his pillow.
Rustle…
"Let the silent gears turn, and he will find the key," he whispered, the words a comfort and a challenge.
"Am I finally seeing something I wasn't meant to?" he wondered aloud, voice barely above a breath.
"Or is this just the beginning of another mystery?"
Sleep came slowly, curiosity and worry threading through his thoughts. Somewhere beyond the city's rooftops, the mana lines hummed, and in the stillness, Halric felt the gears of fate—silent, patient—begin to turn once more.
Hum… click…