Teranbrath

The next morning, after rising and readying themselves for the last stretch of the road to Teranbrath, they repaired the broken door of the Lone Haven and took their leave of Fenric Thale.

“Why don’t you come with us?” Bard asked, his smile wide and genuine.

“Thank you,” Fenric raised his hand in refusal, “but this old man has seen enough adventures.”

“What will you do?” Cecile asked.

“I think I’ll restore the place,” he replied. “My wife would want me to keep the inn alive, even if only for a few travelers like yourselves.”

They all bid him farewell once more.

“Goodbye!” Fawks called in his usual bright, childlike way.

“Farewell, dear lad,” Fenric answered, smiling. His yellowed eyes glimmered as though they held some secret light. “Go on, all of you. The road is yours. May your steps carry you farther than mine ever did.”

He lingered a moment, watching them as though fixing their faces in memory, before turning back to his inn.

Before long, after they left, through breaks in the woodland, they glimpsed Teranbrath rising in the distance.

“So this is your cause?” Elias asked, his voice quiet.

“Ah, you figured us out, eh?” Cecile grinned.

“Aye… that’s it,” Bard said. “You’ll have noticed how more and more folk are fading in eye-color these days…” He trailed off awkwardly, realizing Elias had only just gone through the same ordeal. He let the silence carry and moved on.

Cecile took over. “If the imagination of a single soul could shape this whole world and sustain so many… imagine what could be achieved if many worked together – shaping and strengthening their imagination.”

Elias walked with his head lowered, eyes falling on his boots as if noticing them for the first time. He remembered how the designer back in Tarlmere had crafted them for him.

“Far greater things,” Cecile answered herself. “The Outskirts could expand, stabilize even further–” She broke off, then pressed on. “What am I saying? We could literally… Instead of one Common Ground we could have a Common Universe.”

Her words hung in the air, brighter than the morning sun breaking through the trees.

Elias felt a strange pull in his chest, equal parts awe and dread. Could imagination truly stretch so far? Or was it a burden too vast for any soul to bear? He glanced at Cecile, and for an instant, wondered if she had spoken what’s to come without knowing it.

“Wow!” Fawks breathed. Anything that hinted at endless possibilities lit a fire in him.

“And why isn’t the world moving in that direction?” Elias asked.

“Because there are always those who want to keep everything under their control,” Cecile answered, a trace of bitterness in her tone.

“Someone,” Bard corrected gently.

The road curled around, and then at last they came upon the final approach to Teranbrath’s gate: a great stone bridge arching high over a river that roared far below – so far down it seemed less like water than a sheer abyss.

The company crossed. Elias kept his eyes closed, leaning on the others for support, lest the dizzying height overwhelm him and send him stumbling.

Once they crossed the bridge, just a few paces beyond stood the gates. A wide road stretched before them, sweeping from the right and climbing uphill, running parallel to the mountains, toward distant Terenhal.

Fawks was staring upward in awe, his eyes wide. The boy could barely contain his excitement. From outside, the city looked intricately wrought, almost too fine to be real.

As they entered, the guards nodded respectfully – they knew Bard and Cecile.

It was perhaps the best hour of the day for a first glimpse of Teranbrath. Morning light from the suns poured down onto the painted walls and high-sloping rooftops, making everything gleam with sharp, vibrant color. Bakers, grocers, and shopkeepers had already flung open their shutters. The streets bustled with life, thrumming with movement.

The contrast hit Elias hard. After days of empty roads, after silence stretching over their entire journey, the sudden press of voices, faces, and sound was almost comforting.

It certainly explained Fawks’s elation – the delight was painted across his face.
“Look how many people!” he cried.

Teranbrath was vast, crowded, alive.

“Many?” Bard asked with a wry smile. “This is half the number you’d normally see, at this hour, on this day.”

“Maybe there’s a festival or some games in Orrendale, and people traveled there,” Cecile offered quickly, hunting for an explanation.

“May-be…” Bard muttered, doubt coloring his tone. His furrowed brow betrayed a deeper concern.

He stopped a passerby as they descended toward a half-moon opening where several narrow lanes converged.
“Say, is there a festival in Orrendale today?”

“Nay,” the man answered politely. “There are some contests in Terenhal, but only a handful would’ve gone.” He tipped his head and continued on.

“A handful?” Bard murmured, watching the man retreat, his suspicion sharpening.

The semi-circular square they entered was Teranbrath’s beating heart – part gathering place, part open market. Many shops still hid in the adjoining alleys, but here the city spread wide, like a vast balcony clinging to the cliffs. Beyond its edge, the canyon plunged away. The view alone was breathtaking; the wind rushed upward in sudden gusts, tugging at cloaks and hair, carrying with it the faint dizzying sense of being pulled down into the abyss. Even Elias, despite his fear of heights, couldn’t help but pause to admire it.

For Elias and Fawks, both seeing the city for the first time, Teranbrath seemed to pulse with endless life and motion. Yet as Elias studied the open market more carefully, he realized there was space – too much of it. The crowd wasn’t thin, but it wasn’t full either.

Fawks, meanwhile, had darted to a kiosk selling sugared treats. From one of his many pockets, he dug out a single dral and traded it for something Elias couldn’t name – some sticky, glistening sweet packed with sugar or syrup.

“I like this place!” Fawks declared with delight, chewing happily. “How long are we staying?”

“A few days,” Cecile answered, throwing Elias a guilty glance. Only yesterday he had been pushing hard to hurry. “We’ve got a lot to buy, and our budget’s tight. That means we’ll need time to chase the best deals.”

Elias gave no sign of caring. Either he hadn’t heard her – or he simply didn’t care anymore, not after Lone Haven.

“So, shall we get started?” Bard asked Cecile.

“I’m ready,” she said firmly. “I’ll handle provisions and food. You take care of the building supplies, tools, and utility.”

“Alright,” Bard replied. “Do you have enough drael?”

“I think so. I’ll make sure to keep a jade crown for the compactor at the end.”

“A jade crown?” Fawks blinked.

“Well… okay,” Bard said, though uneasily. “Just remember what happened last time–”

“I said I’ve got it!” Cecile snapped, face flushing red. Whatever small mistake she’d made once clearly still haunted her, because even Bard recoiled with a sheepish grin. Elias noticed the cold sweat at his temple as he beckoned him along. Together, they started off toward the far side of the market.

Cecile turned back to Fawks, who was finishing the last sticky bite. She smiled warmly.
“Come, I’ll show you how it’s done,” she said, leading him toward the nearest stall.

The open square struck Fawks with its riot of smells: roasting meats, damp rope, iron dust, sharp spice. Bargains and shouts crashed like waves against one another – vendors calling, hagglers shouting, children darting past with sticky fingers and bright eyes. Fawks barely kept still; he bumped into a burly man carrying a sack of onions, muttering an awkward “sorry” before being immediately distracted by a stall glimmering with polished trinkets. His head turned this way and that, pulled by every curious sight like a moth to flame.

“Let’s get some dried meats and smoked fish first,” Cecile said, scanning the stall.

“How much?” she asked.

“Five draeli a kilo.”

Cecile pursed her lips. “What if I take fifty – mixed?”

The man blinked. “Fifty? Hm. Four draeli a kilo.”

“Three.” Her eyes flicked to the other vendors down the row.

“Three and a half,” he shot back, lowering his voice as though the number hurt.

Cecile’s smile was sharp. “Done. Have it ready. We’ll be back to mark it.” She pressed the drael into his palm before he could argue further. “You’ll still be here in one or two days, yes?”

“I’ll be here the whole week!” he said and looked down at his palm mumbling to himself “Two jade crowns and an azure mark – hundred seventy-five draeli–”

“Thank you.” Cecile pressed her palms together briefly in thanks, then strode quickly onward.

“What’s a jade crown? Or an azure mark? And why do you say drael-i?” Fawks asked, hurrying after her.

Cecile didn’t answer right away. She was leaning over a spice stall, lifting jars to her nose, breathing them in with practiced care. After a moment she moved on, and Fawks, distracted by the chaos and glitter of the market, struggled to keep up.

“What was it you asked? Ah – well. Not all drael hold the same value… nor do they renew your imagination in the same way.”

“They don’t all have the same worth?” Fawks stopped, puzzled.

“No, of course not!” Cecile snapped, then fixed him with a scrutinizing stare. Fawks wore the unmistakable expression of someone who knew he’d blundered – no child could hide that.

“What?”

“So far I’ve only been paying with one color –different sizes, sure– but just handing one over was always enough,” he confessed. “Blue.”

“Azure?” She almost choked. “Well, of course it was enough! Azure is one of the most valuable – second only to crimson!”

Fawks ducked his head, sheepish. Still… what did it matter? He had plenty, and where he’d gotten them from, there were even more.

“Here, let me explain before someone cheats you blind,” Cecile said. She pulled a few amber drael from her pouch and held them up. “There are three sizes the market accepts.” She pointed: a petite amber, less than two centimeters wide; a mark, two to three centimeters; and a crown, clearly larger than three. “This petite equals one draeli. This, three. And this, ten.”

She paused, allowing him to process the simple math before continuing.

“Now,” she continued, “there are four kinds, four distinct hues. Warm amber. Rocky jade – five times more valuable than amber. Then comes the deep azure hue, twenty-five times more valuable than amber – that’s why I nearly fainted when you told me you’ve been paying in azure!”

“And the red ones?” Fawks asked.

“Ah – the fiery crimson hue. Strongest, rarest. One small crimson is worth at least a hundred draeli.”

“Wow.” The number sounded impossibly large to Fawks – and it was. He remembered suddenly: “I’ve seen them glow vividly once…”

“They all have that faint inner glow, in their juicy core – like captured starlight pulsing with energy. But unless cracked, you only see it in absolute darkness. Otherwise, we tell them apart by their rocky hues.” She stopped, caught her breath.
“That’s enough for now. Let’s finish shopping first – I’ll explain more later.” She tugged him along.

Elsewhere in the market, Bard had just paid for fourteen meters of fence panels. Elias examined a sample; the timber was clearly first-rate.

“Did you stamp the sample so they’ll deliver to the Frostshore Wilds?” he asked.

“No, they won’t be delivered.” Bard shook his head. “There’s no such service for the outskirts – not anymore.”

“Then how are you planning to carry them?”

Bard grinned. “You’ll see… once we’ve got everything we need.”

Elias didn't register Bard's reply as his gaze had just snagged on a nearby stall of toys. He stepped closer.

“What is it?” Bard followed.

“Oh – nothing.” Elias blinked, as though waking. “This toy looks just like one my son had,” he murmured, turning the small plush fox over in his hands. The thought pulled his mind back to his family for a moment.

“Let’s continue,” he said at last, setting the toy gently back on the shelf. Together they moved on.

The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of bargaining and bustle. From stall to stall, side streets to small shops, they chased the best prices for every item on their long list. By evening they were worn thin – physically from the hours of walking, mentally from the relentless haggling.

When at last they gathered again, hungry and footsore, they climbed toward the Morven Ox Inn. The place, perched on the corner of a steep forked lane, was as colorful inside as out. After a hearty meal – over which Elias admitted his pure relief at the thought of a real bed for once – they retired for the night.