V2C1 – The First Step

Authors note:

Thanks for sticking with Lucen’s journey! Volume 2 begins now—expect longer chapters, more character growth, and the road ahead to get a whole lot bumpier.

The wind was gentle that morning. Like it knew.

My boots pressed into the dirt road just past the orchard. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. If I did, I might freeze again—and this time, I wouldn’t move forward.

I was fifteen.

Fifteen, and finally leaving home.

The village behind me was quiet. Tucked between hills and rivers like it had always been meant to hide. My home for as long as I could remember. The place where I learned to walk, to speak, to cast my first flicker of light.

The place where I learned what love really was.

I clutched the pendant my mother gave me—a soft silver charm with a rune carved on its back. Her warmth still clung to it. She hadn’t cried, not in front of me. But I saw the tears in her eyes when she tied it around my neck and whispered, “Don’t lose it.”

My father’s sword hung at my side. Balanced. Well-kept. He’d given it to me after the duel—a final test of everything he’d taught me. He didn’t say much afterward. Just nodded and said, “You’re ready.”

But am I?

I wasn’t sure. Not then. Maybe not now.

Falridge was northeast—five, maybe six days by foot if I didn’t get turned around. I had no map. Just a memory of its direction and a stubborn desire to see what lay beyond the hills.

The first day was all adrenaline and open sky. I walked fast. Too fast. By midday my legs ached, but I didn’t stop. I wanted distance. I wanted the village to feel like a memory already, not something still tugging at my back.

That night, I camped beneath a crooked pine. The fire I built was small, clumsy—but enough to boil water and warm my hands.

I stared up at the stars and tried not to feel the silence around me.

Day two brought rain.

Not a drizzle—a downpour.

The trail turned to mud. My cloak soaked through by midday, and my boots squelched with every step. I found shelter under a rocky ledge and waited out the worst of it, chewing on stale bread and jerky.

It was the first time I felt cold.

Really cold.

I missed home then. Not just my bed, or the stew, or the warmth of the hearth—but the feeling of being known. Of being watched over.

That second night, as I sat beneath the rocky ledge, listening to rain patter against leaves, I caught myself whispering memories into the dark.

My mother’s lullabies. The way my father adjusted my grip on the sword hilt without saying a word. I remembered my birthday—the stew, the fire, the way they smiled even though no cake was made.

What if I fail? What if I come back empty-handed?

But then I thought: there’s no going back. Not because I burned any bridges—because I made a promise. Not to them. To myself.

That I would live this life fully.

Even if the road was cold and quiet.

Day three, I met trouble.

A twisted grove near the ridge trails—shadowy and damp. I’d heard stories about whispervines, but never seen one. I got too close. One lashed out and nearly caught my arm.

I slashed it down with a clean arc of my sword, heart pounding. My breathing was shaky, but my form held.

A younger me might’ve panicked.

But I didn’t.

I pressed onward.

Day four, I woke to howling in the distance. Wolves. Not close—but not far either.

I kept my fire going longer that morning. Packed slower. Checked the sword more times than I needed to.

There was no fight that day. But the tension clung to my shoulders like a second pack.

Day four and a half, I slipped.

Not far from the final ridge, the ground gave out under my boot. Damp soil—too close to a runoff stream. I slid six feet down a mossy incline and slammed into a root. Winded. Dizzy.

My arm throbbed. The skin along my ribs burned. But nothing broke.

I sat there for a while—muddy, sore, staring at the sky peeking through the canopy.

I thought about turning back.

Just for a second.

Then I thought about my father’s sword. About the way my mother’s hands trembled when she handed me that pendant. About the promise I made to myself not to waste this new life.

And I got up.

Day five, I crested the final hill and saw it—Falridge.

Not a shining capital. Not a walled fortress.

But real.

Stone rooftops. Smoke rising in curls. The gleam of watchtowers catching the sun.

And people.

I stood there for a long while, chest tight, throat dry.

This was it.

The next chapter.

I adjusted the strap on my sword, tucked my pendant into my tunic, and took the first step down the hill.

Toward the city.

Toward whatever waited inside.

The stone road into Falridge was uneven but well-trodden. Boots, carts, hooves—it had seen them all. I passed a caravan on the outskirts, merchants unloading crates of smoked meats and fabric bolts. No one paid me much attention.

The city felt old, but alive.

Houses leaned close together like neighbors sharing gossip. Flags fluttered from windowsills. The scent of firewood, baking bread, and horses drifted through the air.

It wasn’t the grandeur I’d imagined.

It was something better.

Real.

Before I reached the guild, a child bumped into me near the baker’s stall. He couldn’t have been more than seven, dirt on his face and bread in hand.

“Sorry, mister!” he squeaked and darted off into the crowd.

The baker shouted after him, then looked at me and gave a tired smile. “They grow like weeds.”

I nodded. “Yeah. They do.”

She tilted her head. “New in town?”

“Just arrived.”

“Stick around. Falridge’s quiet, but you won’t find friendlier people.”

I thanked her and continued on, warmth flickering under my ribs despite the gray sky.

And then I saw it.

The guild.

Circular and solid, like a giant had pressed its palm into the ground and left a fortress behind. Stone columns braced its edges. Above the entrance, symbols were carved into a ring: sword, staff, wing, and sun.

I hesitated at the threshold, hand on the hilt at my waist—not out of fear. Just to remind myself it was there.

Then I stepped inside.

The main hall buzzed with energy.

High ceilings arched above polished beams. Mana lamps hung from wrought-iron hooks, flickering with steady blue flame. The center space was packed—adventurers chatting, arguing, sharpening gear. Quest parchments covered an enormous board like autumn leaves.

Behind a long curved desk stood several receptionists.

One of them spotted me first.

“Hey, traveler,” she called, spinning a pen between her fingers. “You look like you’re about to bolt. Don’t worry—nobody bites. Unless you start a bar fight.”

She was younger than I expected. Short brown hair, bright green eyes, a teasing smile. Her uniform sleeves were rolled past her elbows.

“You registering?” she asked, setting down the quill with a twirl.

“I am.”

“Good. I’m Eyla. Fill this out.” She slid a parchment across the desk. “Name?”

“Lucen.”

“Family name?”

“…Just Lucen.”

“No problem. Hometown?”

I paused. “Doesn’t have a name.”

She smirked. “Mysterious. I like it.”

Eyla scribbled a few notes. “Occupation?”

“Adventurer.”

“Skills?”

“Swordsmanship.”

She looked up. “Any magic?”

I nodded slowly. “Light… and fire. I’ve only cast simple bursts, but they happened during intense moments. I’m still figuring it out.”

She raised a brow. “Fire, huh? That’s not exactly beginner-friendly.”

“It wasn’t intentional the first time,” I admitted. “But the last time… it was.”

“Any martial styles you follow?” she asked, nodding at the hilt on my hip.

“Dawnbreak,” I replied. “It’s something my father taught me. Clean footwork, fast counters. It’s not flashy, but it works.”

“Haven’t heard that name in a while,” she murmured. “Old-school. I like it.”

“Known affinities?”

“Just what I said. Light and fire. Maybe wind, too. But I’ve never cast anything else.”

“‘Maybe’ is fine. We’ll confirm it.” She handed me a small obsidian plate—etched with a faint circular glyph. “Your temporary guild sigil. Don’t lose it.”

It pulsed when I touched it. Just a flicker of warmth. I pocketed it carefully.

Eyla stepped out from behind the desk. “Follow me. Let’s see what you’re really made of.”

She led me through a side hall lined with wooden doors. We passed signs for training chambers and storage rooms before reaching a circular vault-like chamber.

The center of the room was empty—except for the glowing silver disk suspended midair.

The Prismic Conduit Table.

“Put your hand on it,” she said. “Let your mana flow naturally.”

I reached out. My palm brushed the surface.

And the light exploded.

Red. Blue. Green. Brown. White. Violet.

Fire. Water. Earth. Wind. Light. Darkness.

All six.

Eyla’s mouth fell open.

Behind us, footsteps. A few adventurers had wandered close.

“He lit all six.”

“No way.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Is that even safe?”

I heard it all.

But I didn’t move. I kept my hand on the table until the glow softened.

When I turned to look at Eyla, her grin was gone. Replaced by something I didn’t expect.

Respect.

She straightened, then said quietly, “We’re going upstairs. The guild leader’s going to want a word.”

As Eyla led me past the training halls, two adventurers turned to glance.

“You see the glow off that table?” one muttered.

“Six colors. You don’t fake that,” the other replied.

“Think he’s sponsored?”

“Or cursed.”

They fell silent when we passed. I kept my eyes forward, but I heard every word.

Even Eyla’s tone changed—less teasing now, more serious. She didn’t walk fast, but she walked straight. Like she already knew this would be the start of something complicated.

When we reached the stairs, she finally said, “Just… be honest with her. The guild leader sees through lies.”

I nodded.

— Part 2: Paper Shields and Second Floors —

The stairs creaked beneath my boots as Eyla led me up to the second floor. The steps weren’t grand, just narrow and well-worn from years of use. Lanterns mounted along the stone walls gave off a soft glow, their light steady and unbroken—a clear sign of enchanted magic rather than natural flame.

We passed a hallway lined with thick wooden doors, some cracked open—revealing conference rooms, private lounges, or storage chambers filled with scrolls and crystal-bound ledgers.

At the very end stood a door that looked no different from the rest.

Eyla knocked once.

“Bring him in,” came a voice—low, steady, female. Not harsh, but not warm either. A command voice.

Eyla pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter.

The room was tall and circular, the ceiling supported by blackwood beams that met in a rune-carved hub overhead. Sunlight streamed through a tall arched window behind the desk, framing the silhouette of the woman seated there.

She didn’t rise.

Didn’t need to.

Her presence alone filled the space.

Selvaria Kaelthorn.

I recognized her name from whispers I’d overheard even before entering Falridge. A once-legendary adventurer, said to be the closest anyone had come to reaching Aether rank in a hundred years—before she disappeared and took up leadership of the Falridge Guild.

Now she watched me like a hawk.

“Lucen,” she said, folding her hands on the desk. “Close the door.”

I did.

Eyla offered a quick salute and slipped out, leaving us alone in the heavy quiet.

Selvaria leaned back slightly, her dark green eyes narrowing. Her silver-black hair was tied in a loose braid that reached one shoulder, and the dark coat she wore was crisp, marked with the emblem of the guild—a rising sun bisected by a sword.

“You lit all six affinities,” she began slowly, her voice commanding yet oddly calm, “That hasn’t happened in this guild in… three centuries, give or take.”

I nodded. “So I’ve heard.”

“I imagine you’re feeling overwhelmed,” she said, folding her hands again. “Or perhaps confused. You’re not the first to come in here with such power, but you’re the first I’ve seen with all six affinities.”

I frowned. “So… what does that mean?”

“It means,” she said, standing and walking to a nearby window, “that you have something very rare. In fact, you have the potential to rise higher than most ever will. And that’s what makes you dangerous.”

She turned to face me again, her expression more serious now. “The guild’s rank system is simple. Copper, Bronze, Silver, Gold. Those are the starting tiers. After that, there are the rare ranks—Platinum and Diamond. But none of them are as important as what’s above them. The highest rank in this guild is Aether. It’s reserved only for those who’ve earned it by performing feats of legendary status. Not just anyone can achieve it.”

“Aether…” I repeated, tasting the word on my tongue. “What does it mean?”

“Aether is for those who’ve defeated an abomination-level threat,” she explained, her voice steady. “Only adventurers who have faced the world’s darkest dangers and prevailed can reach this rank. Think of it as the pinnacle of an adventurer’s career. An Aether doesn’t just have power—they’ve altered the course of history.”

She walked back to her desk and placed her palms flat against the wood. “The last known Aether adventurer disappeared three hundred years ago. There have been no records of anyone reaching it since then. But with your potential… well, it’s not impossible.”

I swallowed hard, uncertain. “And you? You were close, weren’t you?”

Selvaria gave a small, knowing smile. “Yes, I was. But close doesn’t count for much when it comes to Aether. I was among the few to come close—perhaps the closest in the last century. But even I fell short. The trials to achieve it were… beyond my reach, at the time.”

Her expression hardened, and she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “It’s been a long time since anyone even attempted the challenges worthy of Aether. So, when I see someone like you, with six active affinities, I can’t help but wonder… Perhaps you’ll be the one to finally break the silence.”

I swallowed hard. “You think I could reach it?”

She gave me a sharp look, her eyes serious but not unkind. “Your potential is unlike anything I’ve seen. With six affinities, you’re not just another adventurer. You’re a rare anomaly.”

I blinked, unsure how to respond. Six affinities? I hadn’t even begun to understand what that really meant.

“Right now, you’re a Copper rank,” she said, folding her arms. “But those six affinities… they could change everything. If you continue your training, continue facing challenges, there’s no telling what you might achieve.”

Selvaria took a deep breath, the weight of her words settling between us. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. Aether is not just a reward for defeating strong monsters or completing difficult quests. It is earned through unimaginable feats. Battles with threats that most can’t even imagine. Dragons that could burn entire cities to the ground. Demons that threaten to tear apart the fabric of reality itself.”

She steps closer, leaning toward me with a subtle intensity. “It’s not just power—it’s a burden. A responsibility. If you do decide to pursue that path, Lucen, you’ll have to face things that may change you forever.”

I can feel the pressure of her words, heavy like a stone in my chest.

“I won’t sugarcoat it,” Selvaria says, her voice softer now but no less serious. “But I will help you in any way I can.”

I nod, processing everything she’s said. “So, if I keep working hard, I might one day reach Aether?”

“That’s the goal. But you need to understand—there is no easy road to Aether. No shortcuts. You will face things that will challenge your very soul. But if you are strong enough, if your heart and your resolve hold true…” She lets the sentence trail off, as if the possibility itself is still a question in her mind.

“Then maybe,” she finishes.

Eyla waited just outside the office, arms folded.

“You’re still in one piece,” she said. “That’s a good sign.”

“She’s intense.”

“She’s fair,” Eyla replied. “And she’s saved more people in this region than you can imagine.”

We walked down the stairs together, back into the pulsing energy of the main hall. For the first time, I wasn’t just a traveler passing through.

I was part of this.

An adventurer.

The quest board towered over me. From a distance, it looked like polished wood. Up close, I realized it was laced with shimmering runes that lit up faintly as I approached. Dozens of quests hovered in illusionary script above it.

That last one caught my eye.

Rivvy. I remembered the name from guild chatter earlier. Blacksmith.

I tapped it. The listing shimmered and locked into the crystal on my bracer.

Eyla raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to start with forge work?”

“I figure it’s smart to get to know the people here.”

She grinned. “You might actually survive.”

I found the blacksmith’s forge behind the guild, tucked past a practice yard where adventurers sparred with blunted blades. I passed two older fighters mid-duel—sweat flying, breaths short, laughing as they swung. The air was thick with the sound of clashing steel, and the rhythm of their movements was fluid, like they’d been fighting together for years. It was clear from their playful grins that this wasn’t just training—it was a test of skill and camaraderie.

The forge itself was a squat building, with smoke billowing from the chimney and the sharp sound of a hammer striking metal. The heat hit me immediately, the fire from the furnace crackling in the background. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of burning wood and hot iron, almost unbearable but strangely comforting.

At the anvil stood Rivvy Calder, the blacksmith, hammering away at a glowing blade. Sparks flew with each strike, the red-hot metal flashing as she worked. She wore a thick apron, its edges singed from the heat of the forge, and her red hair was tied back in a messy knot, strands falling free around her face. Sweat gleamed on her forehead, but her movements were smooth and practiced—every strike from her hammer was controlled and deliberate.

She didn’t look up as I entered. Instead, she spoke without missing a beat. “You the new guy, huh? Grab the tongs. I need help before this thing cools down.”

I didn’t hesitate. Grabbing the tongs, I stepped forward and positioned myself by the anvil. The heat from the metal was overwhelming, but I held my ground.

“Hold it steady, will you?” Rivvy barked. “This steel won’t shape itself.”

Hours passed in a blur. My arms burned from the constant work, and sweat dripped down my face, stinging my eyes. Rivvy was relentless but fair, always giving instructions but never belittling me. Despite the long hours, I felt strangely fulfilled. The sound of metal against metal had a rhythm to it, a beat that settled deep into my bones.

Finally, Rivvy slapped a cooling cloth into my hands. “You didn’t drop anything, and you didn’t whine. Not bad for a first-timer.”

“Thanks.”

She wiped her brow, smiling faintly. “You’ve got potential. You glow, kid. Not just your magic. It’s like fate’s following behind you.”

I laughed, though I was too exhausted to even process her words. “Thanks, I guess?”

She slapped me on the back with a grin. “Hah, don’t get all mopey on me. You’re gonna do just fine.”

After the long, tiring but rewarding day in the forge, I finally stepped out and made my way toward the Hearthlight Inn—my destination to rest for the night. My arms were sore from the constant shaping of the metal, but there was a deep satisfaction in the work that kept me going.

As I approached the inn, the warm glow of the hearth inside beckoned me. When I entered, a soft bell chimed, and the cozy scent of freshly baked bread and stew filled the air. The Hearthlight Inn was warm and inviting, with low wooden beams above and a roaring fire crackling in the hearth. Behind the counter stood a woman—her warm smile the first thing I noticed.

She had a motherly air about her, though her sharp eyes suggested a life well-lived and full of stories. She was cleaning the counter when she looked up, and for the first time, I saw the woman behind the inn.

“Long day?” she asked, noticing my weary posture.

I nodded. “Very. Haven’t worked like that before.”

She smiled sympathetically. “You’ve come to the right place. A warm meal is the best way to recover.”

I glanced around, wondering if I should ask for something specific. “Could I get something hearty? Stew, maybe. With some bread, if you have it?”

“Of course,” Marella said with a grin. “I’ll get that ready for you. Take a seat by the fire. I’ll bring it over.”

I made my way to the corner near the hearth, the flames flickering warmly. As I sank into the chair, feeling the tension in my body start to ease, I could hear Marella moving around the kitchen, her soft humming adding to the comfortable atmosphere.

When she returned, she placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of me, along with a thick slice of freshly baked bread. The aroma filled the air, and I eagerly dug in.

Marella watched me for a moment, then spoke again. “I’ve added the cost of your room and meal to your tab. The guild’s system will handle the payment for you once your task is marked complete. It’ll be deducted from the funds already transferred to your guild account.”

I paused, wiping my mouth. “The guild system?”

She nodded. “Yes, the arcane glyph system. Your guild ID card is tied directly to it. When your task is completed, the payment will be transferred into your account. We’re able to see it right here—anything you owe for food or lodging will be deducted automatically. The guild’s network keeps track of it.”

I blinked, surprised. “So, I don’t need to pay in coin?”

“Not at all,” she said with a wink. “That’s the beauty of the system. It’s all tracked automatically. The guild shares the funds directly with the businesses that work with them. So when you complete your quests, you get paid, and we get our payment too.”

I thought about that for a moment. “So all guild-affiliated businesses use this system?”

“Yep,” Marella replied. “Everything from shops to inns to blacksmiths. If you’re a guild member, you don’t have to worry about handling physical coins. Just use your guild card, and it’s all taken care of. Makes life much easier, doesn’t it?”

I nodded, impressed. “That’s really convenient.”

Marella smiled. “I’m glad you like it. Now, rest up. Tomorrow’s another day, and you’ll need your energy.”

I finished my meal, the warmth of the inn wrapping around me like a blanket. For the first time since arriving in Falridge, I felt at home. The sounds of crackling wood from the fire and the soft hum of the inn’s quiet atmosphere settled my mind. The tension in my shoulders, which had been there all day, seemed to melt away with every bite.

Once I finished, I set the bowl aside and gave Marella a nod of thanks.

“Thanks again for the meal,” I said, my voice a bit softer now, the satisfaction of a good meal soothing me further.

Marella gave me a warm smile in return. “Anytime, Lucen. Your guild account’s been logged, and your room’s all set. Get some good rest. You’ll need it if you’re planning to take on more work tomorrow.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of the day settle over me. I stood up, stretching my stiff arms. “I’ll be sure to,” I said, offering her a tired but genuine grin.

I walked toward the stairs, my steps slow but purposeful, the exhaustion from the day making itself known. As I ascended, the soft creak of the wooden stairs beneath my boots reminded me of how long the day had been.

When I reached the top, I opened the door to my room, letting in the cool evening air. The flickering light from the hearth downstairs cast a gentle glow across the room, adding to the quiet serenity of the moment. The space was small but cozy, the bed inviting. I set my things down by the door, a sense of finality creeping in as I moved to the bed.

I pulled the blanket over myself, my body sinking into the soft mattress. The exhaustion from the forge, the streets, and the guild’s bustling environment hit me all at once. Yet, it was a peaceful exhaustion, one that meant I had accomplished something, even if it was just the beginning.

As I closed my eyes, I felt a slight smile tug at the corner of my lips. Tomorrow was a new day, a new beginning. For now, though, I had earned a bit of rest.

And as sleep slowly took over, I couldn’t help but wonder what the next chapter in this strange new world would bring.