Kael walked slowly through the vibrant streets of Arvalen, his new sword strapped to his back, wrapped in a makeshift cloth. The weight of the weapon was comforting—not only because of the familiar feeling of being armed, but because, at least, it was his. A small step toward some stability.
The city was a whirlwind of magic, noise, and movement. Floating carriages passed over enchanted waterways, driven by enchanted golems and accompanied by small messenger dracos that delivered packages with precision. Wizards in robes of all styles traded mana crystals on street corners, while adventurers laughed loudly in front of taverns, proudly displaying their scars and trophies.
Arvalen was not just a city. It was a living arena, a pulsating center where magic and steel met with promises of glory — or death.
Kael crossed a narrow bridge made of arcane glass, watching below as a group of students practiced basic spells on the surface of an enchanted lake. He felt a tightness in his chest.
