It took nearly three hours for the entire Garrison to pass through the gates, a true testament to their sheer numbers. But they had more than just quantity. They had quality.
Every soldier among them was at least a Bearer of the Sigil. Each one a living weapon, capable of single-handedly turning the tide of battle.
Several more Vaelborn marched within their ranks, though none as awe-inspiring as the magnificent, reptilian Vyros.
Only then did Eldric understand why no kingdom dared turn them away from their walls. It wasn't for their "good deeds" or "influence on morale." It was fear. Simple, primal fear of their might.
'Things don't change, no matter where you go, huh…'
Strength demanded fear, and fear bred compliance. This seemed to be a steadfast law of nature, no matter what world you found yourself in.
At the tail of the marble procession, came a gargantuan carriage, the size of a mansion. It rumbled forward, drawn by a dozen horned Vizards whose heavy hooves shook the cobblestone streets.
The crowd followed the militia through the city, their cheers trailing behind. At the front rode the Vyros and its armored rider, alongside a nobleman dressed in lavish attire, that looked like rags beside the grandeur of the Herald warrior and his beast. The man's horned steed was a mere pony next to the towering Vaelborn.
Elaine tilted her head. "Isn't that Count Gymes? What's he doing there?"
"An envoy from the duke, most likely," Eldric replied. "To lead them through the city."
The girl kicked idly at the tiled roof as she paced in a circle. "That's stupid. They can obviously see the big shiny castle."
Eldric smirked. "Yeah. It's not like they're going to get lost. They just don't want them passing through the slums."
Elaine thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah! That makes a lot of sense!"
Eldric raised a brow. "That's it? No more questions?"
Most kids would've asked why anyone would avoid their home, even out of curiosity. But Elaine just looked thoughtful.
"If they pass through the slums," she said, "they'll see how bad it is... and might ask the duke to do something about it. Right?"
Eldric blinked, a little taken aback. "You're… smarter than you look."
Elaine grinned proudly, then changed the subject. "I'm hungry."
"Me too," Eldric agreed.
"Let's eat at the festival! We've still got an hour or two before sundown."
Eldric stood. "Sure… How are you planning to get down though?"
Elaine tilted her head. "Me? Oh, that's easy."
A slight glimmer appeared in the depths of Elaine's pupils, and before he could stop her, she bolted for the edge of the three-story building... and jumped.
"What the—?!"
Eldric rushed to the edge and peered down just in time to see his sister sliding down a long wooden pipe, landing safely with a grin.
"Come on, Elly! Don't be scared!" she called.
He stared down at her, expression flat. Then, with a sigh, he jumped as well.
His fall slowed just before he touched the ground, his clothes fluttering as his feet met the earth in a graceful landing.
Elaine's eyes sparkled. "So cool! Not fair!"
Eldric patted her head. "Come on. Let's get something to eat."
Elaine raised an eyebrow. "How are we gonna pay?"
"We'll put it on Uncle Rykard's tab."
She giggled. "Sounds good to me!"
---
The Half-Moon Festival took place at the appearance of a half-moon—hence its name. The moon assumed this form twice a month, once near the beginning, and once toward the end. Naturally, the festival did the same.
It happened so frequently that many stores didn't even bother putting away their lunar decorations.
The celebration was deeply rooted in Valtherrean faith. It was believed that the god of Life breathed souls into unborn children every time a half-moon appeared, making it a sacred day of joy and renewal.
For that reason, Valtherra was often called "The Moonlit Meadows". A land of vast green plains and people utterly enamored with the celestial space rock above.
'I wonder if there are aliens here,' Eldric mused, cheeks stuffed with food.
Elaine skipped beside him as they walked through rows of festival stalls. She leaned close and whispered, "I can't believe the Garrison soldiers came out for the festival!"
"Why not?" Eldric replied, picking at his teeth. "Even the esteemed Sigiled need breaks from time to time."
Among the crowds were figures who drew immediate attention. Some clad in dull white armor, others in black, skin-tight bodysuits, weapons of all kings resting on their waists, or perched next to them. Each individual carried themselves with noble poise, yet wore the cold eyes of a killer, similar to the personnel you'd encounter in the mercenary district.
However, unlike the warriors for hire found in the slums, these men and women held their heads high, faces marked by an unshakable confidence, as if the world itself owed them something.
'I guess that's what being a superhuman does to you.'
These were soldiers of the Garrison. They mingled freely with commoners and nobles alike. Drinking, laughing, all while recounting tales of the walls, and of the lands beyond.
It was strange to see the different classes of citizen mingle so easily, but it seemed that everyone wanted to hear the Sigileds' stories of mystical grandeur.
Eldric eavesdropped intently, hoping to glean something—anything—about the world's marked warriors. Yet, even drunk, none of them let anything slip.
"What the hell? Are these guys PR-trained?!" he muttered, annoyance finding it's way to his youthful face
"PR? What's that?" Elaine asked, sipping her juice.
Eldric pointed to the left. "Oh look, they're selling chocolate fruits," he said flatly.
Elaine's eyes lit up. "Where?!"
She dashed toward the booth, leaving Eldric behind. He lingered near a bar, noticing one soldier in particular. The blonde warrior was slouched, drunk, and clutching an empty glass. The man had even handed his sword, unsheathed and all, to his drinking companion.
"I used that blade there to finish off a Gridan," the Sigiled slurred. "Mighty bastard—second stratum, I think…" He hiccuped and reached for another drink.
The man beside him leaned in eagerly. "What does second stratum mean, if you don't mind me asking?"
Eldric grinned. 'Hell yeah, good question!'
The soldier blinked, then waved it off. "Anyway… there was a whole swarm of the bastards! Almost died, I did!"
'No, no, no! Answer the damn question!'
"The catacombs were crawling with 'em," the soldier continued, despite Eldric's pleas. " But it was worth it—we found some fine treasure at the end! Some writings too…"
He paused and raised his empty glass. "I'm outta booze 'ere!"
The bartender rushed over, refilled it, and left the bottle beside him. "There you are sir!"
The Sigiled downed the entire pint and sighed, dismissing the polite bartender. "Ah… what was I on about again?"
"You mentioned finding some writings?" the other man prompted.
"Right, right… writings," the soldier muttered. "They were in some foreign language. Even our specialists couldn't read it. In the end, we figured it was either lost to time… or came from…"
He suddenly laughed. "Ope! That's classified!"
He nudged the man's shoulder, yet by his pained groan, it seemed that it had enough force behind it to make the man wince. "Almost got myself fired there, eh?"
Eldric grimaced. 'Yikes. That tap looked like it hurt.'
How strong did one have to be to hurt a grown man like that? Eldric didn't even want to imagine fighting one of these monstrous fighters.
"There was a part in the beginning," the soldier added, his tone dropping, "written in common. It mentioned… Migrathis, or something like that…"
He froze, then smiled awkwardly. "Ah… that's classified too. Don't go telling anyone!"
But Eldric was already gone.
He moved through the crowd, his expression grave. 'Those writings…'
Spotting Elaine near a stall that sold what looked like pickled fish—"PICKLED MOJIN" painted on a crooked sign, he calmly approached.
"I'd like one of those, mister!" Elaine said brightly. "Make it extra spicy!"
Eldric grabbed her hand. "Let's go. It's getting late."
"Wait, Elly! My Mojin!" she protested, struggling weakly.
He turned to her, eyes calm but voice cold. "Let's go."
She shrank back, allowing him to pull her along.
'I have to get my hands on those writings… no matter what.'
They might be his ticket back to Earth. After all, "Migrathis" was a word very special to Eldric—no, to Ethan.
It was a term nearly erased from history—linked to Heathenism and dismissed as myth, even in a world of awe-inspiring magical swordsmen and horrifying abomination's that make your stomach lurch.
Eldric's eyes darkened as he muttered beneath his breath, determination flickering in the depths of his forest irises.
"Reincarnation…"