The doors clicked shut, leaving Alhen alone with the Baron.
The silence in the study was heavy, broken only by the crackle of a dying fire. Baron Kaelen Valencrest didn't sit. He paced slowly, his boots clicking against the polished marble floor.
"You speak of a library," the Baron said, his voice low and calculating. "A book with no title. A dream of an ocean you had never seen."
Alhen nodded, his pulse steadying. "It was the only thing that felt real in my village."
"And your father," the Baron continued, stopping in front of a tall window overlooking the estate. "A man who trains his son to fight beasts with a wooden sword for ten years. A man who knows exactly how to test if a boy is ready for the 'real world.'"
Kaelen turned, his grey eyes piercing. "That is not the training of a peasant, Alhen. That is the discipline of a soldier. Perhaps an exile."
Alhen frowned. "He never spoke of the past. Only the path ahead."
"Typical," the Baron muttered. He leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. "And then there is the Essence. You awakened it without a catalyst. Without a master to guide the flow. In my records, that only happens to those with a certain... bloodline. Or those pushed to the very brink of death."
He stepped closer, his shadow stretching over Alhen. "The figure you saw in the woods—the one who watched the beast fall. He was not a traveler. He was a scout. Someone is looking for power like yours, Alhen. And if they found you in my woods, they will find you again."
Alhen tightened his grip on his cloak. "Then I need to be ready."
The Baron studied him for a long moment, then a ghost of a smile appeared on his sharp face. "Indeed. You have potential, boy. But potential is just a candle in a windstorm if you don't know how to shield it."
The meeting ended with a heavy purse of coins tossed onto the desk. "For the village," the Baron said. "And for your silence regarding my daughter's recklessness. Go. See the city. Learn what it means to be a part of this world."
As Alhen stepped out of the manor, the world opened up in a way he had never imagined.
The City of Oakhaven.
It was a forest of stone and silver. Buildings rose like giants, their roofs tiled in shimmering slate that caught the afternoon sun. The air was a chaotic symphony—the shouting of merchants, the rhythmic clashing of blacksmiths, and the distant chime of the Great Clock in the central plaza.
Alhen wandered the streets, his eyes wide. He saw people dressed in silks he couldn't name and heard languages that sounded like music. He passed fountains that flowed with clear water and markets filled with spices that made his nose sting.
"It's just like the book," he whispered. "Only louder. More... alive."
But he knew he couldn't just watch. To move forward, he needed a purpose. And in a city like Oakhaven, purpose was bought with blood and sweat.
He followed the signs—crossed swords etched in gold—until he stood before a massive stone building. The air here smelled of old leather, sweat, and sharpened steel.
The Adventurers' Guild.
The interior was crowded with men and women carrying scars and weapons of all kinds. Some laughed over large mugs of ale; others stared intensely at a massive wooden board covered in parchment slips.
Alhen walked up to the heavy oak counter. A woman with a jagged scar across the bridge of her nose looked up, unimpressed.
"New blood?" she asked, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment.
Alhen reached for the hilt of his sword, feeling the faint hum of Essence still lingering in his fingertips.
"I want to register," he said, his voice firm.
The woman dipped a quill into black ink. "Name?"
"Alhen."
"Origin?"
"Eldervale," Alhen replied, his voice carrying the weight of the quiet woods and the dusty library he had left behind.
The woman paused, looked him up and down, and then began to write. "Well, Alhen of Eldervale. Welcome to the bottom of the ladder. Try not to fall off on your first day."
As he walked away with his copper guild plate, Alhen looked at the mission board. The world was no longer a picture on a page. It was a map, and he was finally holding the pen.