City Of Zacra

     The bustling town square of Harrinhold thrummed with life, a chaotic symphony of sounds and colors. Merchants shouted their prices, hawking everything from spices to steel, their voices competing with the laughter of children darting through the crowd. The aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the tang of iron from a blacksmith's forge.

At the far end of the square loomed the recruitment center, a sturdy stone building adorned with banners bearing the kingdom’s proud crest—a silver phoenix rising against a backdrop of flames. To many, it was more than a building; it was the gateway to a life of purpose, glory, or escape. For some, however, it was an unreachable dream that demanded a price not everyone could pay. The hum of anticipation filled the air as eager young men lined up, their eyes shining with aspirations of becoming warriors, heroes, or something greater.

Kael approached the center, his heart pounding with a mix of determination and anxiety. The heavy sword strapped across his back felt foreign but comforting. He joined the line of eager young men waiting to enlist, their chatter filled with tales of battle and heroics.

When Kael reached the front, a grizzled guard with a thick mustache and weary eyes looked him up and down. "Name?" the guard asked curtly.

"Kael Veythar,"

he replied, standing as tall as he could.

The guard squinted.

"Age?"

Kael hesitated for a split second.

"Seventeen."

The guard’s brows knitted together.

"Seventeen? Applicants must be eighteen to enlist. Come back next year."

Kael’s heart sank.

"But I can fight! I’m ready now," he protested.

The guard shook his head firmly.

"Rules are rules, boy. We can’t have children playing soldier."

Kael clenched his fists, but there was no point in arguing. He turned and walked away, his steps heavy with frustration. The bustling energy of the town square seemed to mock him, each laugh and cheer reminding him of his failure.

Kael wandered aimlessly through the lively streets of Harrinhold, his thoughts a swirling storm of rejection and helplessness. Merchants barked out deals, the laughter of children echoed, and the hum of life surrounded him, yet he felt utterly alone. He kept his head down, letting the crowd carry him, his hand brushing against the hilt of the sword strapped to his back.

As he turned a corner, his eyes caught a flicker of movement—a figure cloaked in a dark cape, moving with an air of calculated purpose. The man’s hood obscured his face, but something about him stirred an unease deep in Kael’s chest. He paused, frozen in place as recognition hit him like a blow. It wasn’t just unease; it was memory.

"It’s him,"

Kael whispered under his breath, his pulse quickening. Images of his village burning, the screams of his people, and the shadowed figure commanding the chaos flooded his mind. He could never forget that man—the invader who had orchestrated the slaughter.

Anger ignited within him, sharp and consuming. Without a second thought, Kael pushed forward, weaving through the throng of people. His eyes stayed locked on the cloaked figure, the distance between them closing and expanding as the bustling crowd created barriers. The man’s movements were deliberate yet swift, his every step purposeful, as though he knew exactly where he was heading.

Kael’s breath quickened, and his heart pounded louder with every step. "Don’t lose him," he thought, his desperation mounting. He ducked and weaved, his shoulder brushing against market stalls and passersby, ignoring the irritated looks and muttered complaints. At one point, the man glanced over his shoulder. Kael’s stomach dropped as their eyes almost met, and he quickly ducked behind a vendor’s cart, his heart hammering in his chest.

The man’s head turned back, and Kael exhaled shakily. "He’s onto me," he thought, his resolve hardening. Summoning his courage, he continued his pursuit, following the cloaked figure as he turned into a narrow, shadowed alley. Each step Kael took felt heavier, the noise of the marketplace fading behind him, replaced by the echo of his boots on cobblestones.

The alley opened into a quieter part of town, where the cloaked man joined a group of similarly dressed figures. They whispered among themselves, occasionally glancing around. Kael crept closer, hiding behind a stack of crates, straining to catch their conversation.

"Do you think he’s a spy?"

one of the men asked, his voice low but sharp.

Kael’s breath hitched. They had noticed him. He pressed himself against the crates, trying to steady his nerves. The figures began scanning the area, their sharp eyes searching for any sign of an intruder.

Realizing the danger, Kael slipped away as quietly as he could, darting through side streets until he reached the outskirts of town. His legs burned, and his stomach growled, but he didn’t stop until he was certain he was safe.

Kael stumbled upon a small river, its gentle current shimmering under the setting sun. Exhausted and starving, he knelt by the water’s edge, cupping his hands to drink. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat, but it did little to ease the ache in his chest.

He sank to the ground, his knees giving out as the weight of exhaustion finally crushed him. The blade on his back felt like a shackle, dragging him down not just physically but emotionally, as if the burden of his failure and his promise to Liora were entwined with its cold steel. His stomach churned from hunger, and his limbs throbbed with the ache of overexertion.

Kael stared blankly at the rippling surface of the river, its gentle current mocking the turmoil within him.

"What am I even doing?"

he muttered, his voice barely audible over the soft gurgle of water. A lump rose in his throat as guilt and anger clawed at his chest.

His vision blurred, not just from fatigue but from the tears he refused to shed. The edges of his world darkened, and his body swayed before he collapsed onto the grass, the world fading into silence.

Kael woke with a start, the rhythmic creaking of wheels and the clatter of hooves filling his ears. He was lying on a pile of blankets in the back of a wooden carriage. Panic set in as he sat up, his hand instinctively reaching for the blade.

"Easy there, lad,"

a voice called from the front. Kael turned to see an older man, his graying hair tied back and a smirk on his weathered face.

"You’re safe."

Kael frowned, his voice hoarse.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

The man chuckled.

"Name’s Ashis. Found you passed out by the river. Figured you’d be in trouble if I left you there, so I brought you along."

Kael’s suspicion didn’t waver.

"Why would you help me?"

Ashis glanced back, his expression unreadable.

"Let’s just say I’ve got a soft spot for strays. Besides, you’ve got the look of someone carrying a heavy burden."

Kael studied the man. There was something about his demeanor—calm yet commanding—that piqued his curiosity.

"Who are you, really?"

Ashis smirked again. "An ex-swordsman, if you must know. Once, they called me the Legendary Swordsman of the Northern Highlands. But those days are long gone."

Kael’s eyes widened.
"A legendary swordsman? You?"

Ashis chuckled, the sound tinged with bitterness.

"Hard to believe, I know. An injury ended my career, but I’ve still got enough left in me to teach a thing or two."

Kael leaned forward, his desperation clear.

"Could you teach me?"

Ashis’s expression grew serious.

"Wielding a sword isn’t a game, lad. It’s a path of blood and sacrifice. Once you take it up, there’s no going back."

Kael met his gaze, his voice steady.

"I’ve already lost everything. If wielding a sword is the only way to get my revenge, then I’ll do whatever it takes."

Ashis studied him for a long moment before nodding.

"We’ll see if you mean that."

As the carriage creaked to a stop, Kael looked up to see a sprawling wooden mansion surrounded by a peculiar boundary. The fence was made of dark, twisted wood interwoven with metallic runes that seemed to hum faintly. The sight sent a shiver down his spine.

"This is where I stay,"
Ashis said, hopping down from the carriage.

"You can rest here for now."

Kael hesitated, his eyes tracing the peculiar details of the mansion. The twisted wood of the boundary fence seemed almost alive, its metallic runes faintly glowing as though imbued with a mysterious energy. The sight unnerved him, yet it also piqued his curiosity.

"What is this place?"

he asked, his voice cautious.

Ashis glanced back, his expression unreadable.

"A relic from another time,"

he said simply, gesturing for Kael to follow.

"It’s safe, and for now, that’s all you need to know."

Kael’s unease lingered, but the exhaustion in his body overruled his wariness. As they entered the mansion, he was struck by its peculiar beauty. The wooden floors creaked underfoot, and the dim light from a handful of lanterns cast flickering shadows along the walls. Intricately carved beams and faded tapestries hinted at a grandeur long since faded.

Ashis led him to a small but comfortable room. A modest bed with a thick quilt awaited him, along with a sturdy chair and a washbasin.

"Rest,"

Ashis said, his tone firm but not unkind. "You’ll need your strength."

Kael nodded and sank onto the bed, his body sagging with relief. The mattress, though simple, felt like a luxury after days of sleepless nights and endless walking. As he lay back, Ashis’s words echoed in his mind: Once you take it up, there’s no going back.

Kael stared at the ceiling, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "I’ll do it," he whispered to himself. "No matter what it takes." With that thought, exhaustion claimed him, and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.