The sunlight pierced through the tree canopy at irregular angles, casting bright patches over the dirt path. He walked carefully, adjusting his stride to the body he now inhabited. Kaelus's legs responded well—almost too light for someone who had spent so long immobile—but they still required attention.
The woods began to recede. Ahead, something emerged on the horizon. At first, it seemed like a mass of stone and shimmer, a presence far too organized to be natural. A vast, high, geometric silhouette. Nothing there invited familiarity.
He slowed his pace. With every step, more details were revealed. Pale, extensive walls rose to a height that didn't fit a simple medieval defense. They were walls designed to resist, yes, but also to channel.
Towers appeared not just as lookouts, but as nodes in a system, linked by walkways, arches, and secondary bridges. In some spots, dark metallic plates covered sections of the stone, forming bands that reflected the light like still water. It was not the city of his memory—if he could even call it memory anymore.
As the path turned into a gentle slope, he managed to see more of the interior from above an elevation. A sea of rooftops. Some were traditional, sloped with dark ceramic tiles. Others were flat platforms sustaining copper structures, fixed lanterns, and small columns with embedded crystals.
Wide thoroughfares cut through the city like rivers, with smaller streets stitching entire neighborhoods together with their own logic. Above all, there were wires. Not physical ropes, but threads of light—thin, discreet, connecting high points. From tower to tower. From pillar to pillar. A nearly invisible web woven over the city itself.
He stopped in the middle of the slope. "Another great city. Yet another." The thought came without surprise. Throughout his life, he had seen centers like this grow, accumulate power, and become indispensable. And yet, he had seen them crumble from within.
Even so... this one was too large. Not just in height or extent, but in density. In the constant flux. In the sensation that everything here functioned without pause.
Closer now, the dirt path gave way to a paved stretch. The stones were not irregular; they were wide, polished, and fitted with precision. Between the joints, there were grooves filled with a dark material, like resin, forming repeating patterns. Some resembled runes, but they were not the runes he remembered. The logic seemed familiar; the script did not.
He stopped and knelt, touching one of the markings with his fingertips. The lines reacted with a brief, timid glow, as if recognizing heat and pressure. The response was immediate and then ceased, like a mechanism confirming presence before returning to a stable state.
The wind brought the scent of the city before he even reached the gates. It wasn't just food and smoke. There was heated metal, cheap incense, oil, and the perfume of plants growing on high balconies, irrigated by systems he could not comprehend. The line at the gates was visible from afar.
Structures resembling wagons passed through side lanes. Travelers on foot followed a central corridor. Guards controlled the flow without shouting. They moved with a quiet discipline, like those who trust in the machinery of everything around them. Their armor reflected the sun, but not like common iron. There were pale plates mixed with dark metal joints.
Small fittings, rivets, and junctions seemed to allow for quick adjustments. In some, small crystals were embedded near the shoulder or wrist. He realized, with a certain discomfort, that even common soldiers possessed resources that, in his time, would have been considered rarities.
Then, the insistent thought returned. Kaelus had died less than half a day's journey from here. He looked at the walls again. At the guards. "Nobody came."
A city of that size does not ignore such an event. Unless it chooses to ignore it. When he got close enough, he saw the gates clearly. They were massive, made of dark metal with stone integrated into the frame. They stood wide open.
In the center was a large circular mark—a magical sigil—marked by lines crossing at geometric angles. Around it, plates were engraved with script. He recognized the intent to convey information, but the strokes were unlike anything he had seen.
He followed the side of the main flow, blending in with those waiting. The cargo caught his attention. The wagons were not as he remembered. Some were still pulled by horses, but the animals wore reinforced harnesses with metallic plates fitted to their bodies, articulated rods, and small crystals encrusted near their chests and necks.
Other wagons had no animal traction at all. Structures of metal and wood advanced on their own, sustained by reinforced axles. The cargo remained stable even over the irregular pavement of the entrance, as if the movement were constantly corrected by some internal system.
He walked a few meters, feigning interest in one of the platforms unloading bales of fabric sealed with luminous tags. He watched in silence as workers touched simple symbols on the sides of the cargo, activating locks, releasing compartments, and reorganizing weights with almost automatic efficiency.
Conversations came in layers. Some close, others lost in the air. He listened while observing, linking stray words to gestures and tones of voice. The language did not sound strange to him. Nor did it sound familiar.
The sentences had a recognizable structure, but the sounds were shorter. Certain words seemed to have been compressed over time, losing syllables and gaining efficiency. Others appeared with endings he didn't recall hearing before. A merchant argued prices with a loader. He understood the topic without effort: payment, priority, weight. He didn't catch every term, but he understood enough to follow the tone.
Two travelers commented on a closed route to the south. He needed a few extra seconds to grasp the full meaning. The construction was different, but the logic was there. It wasn't a new language. It was the same one, transformed by constant use. Adjusted to time. Less formal. More direct.
He mentally tested a few simple responses. He reformulated sentences, cut complex verb tenses, and chose common words. The goal wasn't to look like a local; it was to not look like a problem. He adjusted the rhythm of his breathing. He watched a bit more.
A quick argument caught his attention. The heated tone came before the full comprehension of the words. He recognized the conflict before understanding every phrase. That was enough to confirm what he needed. With that, he returned to the line.
When his turn came, a guard with a vertical scar across his face raised a hand. The gesture was restrained and practical. It carried no threat. — Identify yourself. Where are you from and what is your reason for entry? —
He responded after a brief pause. Just enough not to sound automatic. — I come from the interior. I am passing through. I intend to stay a few days. — The pronunciation wasn't perfect. Some words came out with a slightly different rhythm. Nothing that sounded too wrong. Just... displaced.
The guard observed him with more attention than he had given the others. There was no open suspicion, but there was evaluation. — Interior of where? —
He then attempted to make signs with his hands to try and reproduce what he was attempting to say. The guard tilted his head, processing. Then, he raised his hand and drew a quick symbol in the air. A short, functional gesture.
Aslam felt the pressure move through his body like a distant touch. He didn't react. The symbol dissipated. — Foreigner — the guard said, without judgment.
He nodded. The guard pointed toward the central corridor. — You may enter. If you stay longer, register at the Guild. Avoid the entrances marked for insignias. —
He thanked him with a discreet gesture and moved forward, crossing the gates with the constant flow. The space immediately following the gates did not open into the city. The flow of people was channeled into a wide structure—a transition hall designed to absorb movement. The walls were pale and polished, reflecting light in a controlled manner without being blinding.
The ceiling rose high, supported by wide arches where plates and bands of reinforced glass alternated. He followed the others. The floor was smooth, made of large, pale tiles. Beneath the surface, lines of light moved slowly, tracking the pace of the people.
Along the walls, large mirrored panels reflected the movement. They weren't simple reflective surfaces; the images didn't repeat with perfection. There were small delays, subtle corrections. He saw his image pass by one of these panels and almost didn't recognize himself for a second.
Between the mirrors, thick glass structures formed large built-in aquariums. The water was clear, lit by crystals fixed at the base. Aquatic creatures moved slowly—some familiar, some not. Long plants waved in gentle currents controlled by invisible mechanisms. The space seemed designed to calm, to slow one down.
People passed without stopping, accustomed to the route. Children pointed at the aquariums. Travelers looked around for the first time, like him. Guards watched from elevated points, leaning on internal balconies, attentive without being intrusive. The air inside was fresher. There was a light mineral scent mixed with water and clean metal. He noticed discreet openings high on the walls where air circulated constantly.
He moved ahead. At the end of the hall, the light changed. It didn't dim; it changed tone. It became warmer, more open. The structure widened, and the flow began to spread. When he crossed the exit, the city finally revealed itself completely.
The streets opened in several directions, wide and full of movement. Tall buildings rose on both sides, some ancient at the base, others clearly rebuilt on top. Balconies overlapped in layers. Bridges linked structures above street level. The sound of the city enveloped him immediately.
Voices. Footsteps. Noise. Water running in narrow channels beside the main roads. He stopped for a moment, just to observe. People moved with familiarity, dodging one another effortlessly. Smaller carts, moved by mechanisms, crossed the streets carrying light loads. Hanging lanterns adjusted themselves according to the natural light.
He breathed deeply. The city did not present itself as a place to be understood immediately. It required time. It required adaptation. He did not follow any of the main thoroughfares right away.
He let himself be carried into secondary streets—narrower ones where the flow slowed and voices became less overlapping. There, the city's sound changed. Less heavy movement, more everyday conversation. People discussing prices, complaining about the weather, commenting on delays, making simple agreements. He walked slowly, attentive.
The words were beginning to fit better. Not because he had learned anything new, but because his ear was adjusting. The rhythm of the sentences made more sense now. The way certain ideas were shortened and how some expressions replaced longer concepts he once knew. He heard someone ordering food at a nearby stall. He understood the entire request. The response was quick, informal, with an intonation he recognized immediately.
Further on, a group discussed entry permits for an inner district. He missed details but caught the tension. Bureaucracy. Restrictions. Something that required registration. Without realizing it, he began to anticipate words before they were spoken. This made him slow his pace.
The city continued to reveal itself in layers. Small squares appeared between high blocks. Shallow fountains ran through the center of some streets, conducting water through narrow channels controlled by discreet gates. Children ran across low bridges. He stopped near a wider intersection. Above, walkways connected buildings at different levels. People crossed them without looking down. To those who lived here, it was normal. To him, it was just another reminder that the city had grown in height, not just extent.
— Everything in Eldria gets expensive when it rains — a man said with contained impatience. — Then complain to the weather, not to me — she replied, without raising her voice.
He kept walking. Further on, two travelers talked while adjusting their backpacks. — If we had arrived earlier, we'd still get free entry into Eldria today. — — Free? Since when has that existed here? —
He took two more steps before it hit him. He stopped. The word returned, belated. Eldria.
It didn't fit. Not with that scale. Not with that flow. Not with the fact that Kaelus had died just outside. For a moment, he mentally searched for another explanation. Another name. Another city built upon ancient ruins. He found none. It was Eldria.
"So it grew like this," he thought. Even so. While walking, he noticed that the sidewalks reacted to people's presence. Small strips of light lit up beneath his steps—soft, just enough to mark the way. When someone moved away, the lighting turned off without fanfare. "They use magic even for this," he thought. A slight corner of his mouth turned up for a second. "Can't deny it works."
The city remained in constant motion. The flow didn't diminish, just redistributed. As he advanced, the view opened up more, and in the center of the horizon, one structure stood out above the rest. The Royal Castle.
It was impossible to ignore. Pale, gold, and silver edifices rose in layers, connected by elevated arches and suspended passages. Flags fluttered at the top, marked by symbols he didn't immediately recognize. The ensemble didn't look like a common fortress. There was something deliberately aesthetic about it, as if power and beauty had been conceived together.
Yet, it wasn't the castle that held his gaze the longest. Turning his head to the other side of the city, he saw the Tower. It rose isolated, black, absolute. Built of a material too dark to be common stone, resembling polished obsidian. Golden lines ran across its surface in vertical patterns—discreet but constant.
He followed the main street, drawn to the structure almost without noticing. As he approached, he noted the movement around him changing. Fewer stalls. Less commerce. More direct circulation. People passing here didn't stop to look; they already knew where they were. Near a wide intersection, a guard leaned against a metallic post, watching the flow. His posture was relaxed but attentive. Aslam approached, feeling confident enough to speak.
— Beautiful city. The guard shot him a quick look, evaluating him without haste. — If you say so, sir.
He didn't push. He just followed the soldier's gaze for a moment. — That tower — he continued, tilting his head slightly toward the black structure. — What is it? The guard looked in the indicated direction as if confirming something obvious, then looked back at him. — The Guild.
The answer came too simple for the weight of the building. — Guild of what? — Of Sorcerers.
He nodded slowly. — So that's where those entering the city register? — If you intend to use magic, accept contracts, or stay around here — the guard replied. — It's there. The soldier straightened his posture, shifting his hand on the shaft of his weapon. — Just keep going straight. You can't miss it.
He thanked him with a brief gesture and resumed his path. The black tower remained ahead, dominating his field of vision as he drew near. Now, seen up close, it seemed even larger. The golden lines on the surface pulsed almost imperceptibly. If that was the Sorcerers' Guild, then much of what happened in this city passed through there. Knowledge, control, records. Organized power.
"And now I know where to start."