The road wound ahead in silence, cobbled stones catching the orange light of the setting sun. Renil, walking beside the taller boy, seemed unusually talkative.
"I work at a small blacksmith's," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a worn hand, "Not much, really… just enough to scrape a few coins to feed myself—and maybe give a bit to the orphanage. It's the only family I got, anyway."
Tovan's eyes narrowed, puzzled. "What's a coin for?"
Renil blinked at him. "You serious?"
"I lived in a forest. We hunted, shared what we had. We made our own clothes. No one talked about coins."
The street was lined with makeshift tents, cracked windows, and the smell of smoke and sweat. Renil gestured with his chin toward the gutter, where an old man sat on the edge of the road near a pigsty. His body was all bone and skin, a mess of rags clinging to him like withered leaves. He waited silently beside the swine, hoping to eat after they were done.
"You see that man?" Renil said softly. "That's what happens when you don't have coins. You don't eat. You don't get warm. You don't live long."
Tovan followed the sight, his expression unreadable. "So... you trade these coins for food, for clothes… to survive?"
"Exactly." Renil looked at him, then added, "This city... it doesn't care who you are. If you got nothing in your pocket, you're nothing. You don't get to eat because you helped someone. You eat because you paid for it."
Tovan felt the air grow heavier. "In my village… men hunted, women sewed and traded, food was shared."
Renil snorted. "Sounds like paradise."
Their steps came to a stop. In front of them stood a crumbling house, its roof patched with mismatched wooden planks and cloth, as if trying to keep out both rain and the world. The walls bore the scars of age—splintered wood, faded paint, rusted hinges. Children ran barefoot on the cracked earth, laughter echoing like distant music. Their clothes were threadbare, their limbs thin, but their eyes sparkled with unbroken spirit.
"This is the orphanage," Renil said, voice tinged with pride.
Before Tovan could respond, the children spotted them and ran forward. Their shrill greetings surrounded Renil like waves crashing to the shore. He smiled, tousling their hair as they greeted him like an older brother returned from war.
Tovan bent down and passed the bags of fruit and vegetables to a young girl. "Give this to Nina," he said gently. "Tell her to cook these so everyone can eat."
The children barely waited. With a cheer, they scurried off, their skinny arms struggling to carry the load as they vanished into the house.
Tovan stood still. His eyes followed them, but his thoughts were drifting—pulled backward through blood and memory. In those children's laughter, he heard the voice of his little sister… and then, as quickly as the joy had come, so did the darkness.
The memory of her—fragile, broken, dying—flashed before his eyes.
She died in front of me.
The cold crept into his fingers.
"Hey," Renil said, snapping him back, "Come on. Let's wait for the food. You can have some soup while eating that bread you stole."
Tovan nodded slowly, returning to the present.
They sat on a crooked bench behind the orphanage, the old wood creaking beneath their weight. The scent of smoke and herbs drifted faintly from the kitchen.
Tovan looked up at the distant guard tower, then to the streets where armored figures patrolled. "Who are those men? With the heavy armor."
Renil followed his gaze. "Ah, them? City guards. They enforce the rules, catch criminals, stuff like that."
Tovan furrowed his brow. "They look like warriors… guardians."
Renil let out a sharp laugh. "Warriors? No way. Maybe they catch a thief or two, sure, but they're no real protectors. Most of 'em are just men with nothing better to do. You know who the real warriors are?"
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"The Velkorrs."
Tovan tilted his head. "The Velkorrs?"
Renil nodded solemnly, as though saying a holy name. "They wear black, shining armor, forged from an alloy no blacksmith here can mimic. Their capes bear the sigil of Ashvalar—the three-fanged serpent entwined with flame. They are the sword and shield of the continent, chosen to protect its people in times of war, to defend the Realms of Aeclipsar and Vaethar."
Tovan stared, absorbing every word. "Vaethar… is he the ruler of this continent?"
"He is." Renil's voice lowered. "Vaethar, the Ember of Thorns. The sovereign who does not show his face. We know little about him, except that his power is immense. He is both feared and revered."
Tovan nodded slowly, mind replaying the name. Vaethar.
"You like the Velkorrs," he said after a moment. "Do you want to become one of them?"
Renil smiled, but the light in his eyes changed. "No. The Velkorrs are noble, sure… but they serve. They follow rules. They are bound by duty, loyal to Vaethar till death. That's not the life I want."
Tovan turned to him, surprised. "Then what do you want?"
"I want to be free. To be an adventurer." Renil looked toward the horizon, where the city ended and unknown lands waited beyond. "I want to walk the frozen ridges of Althrial, cross the endless sands of Zyran, and explore the cursed ruins of the Thal'Mire. I want to see everything."
Tovan smiled faintly. "That's a cool dream. I… want to explore the continents too."
But in his heart, he whispered another truth—I want to find the thing that slaughtered my people. I want to know what it was... and I want it to know that I survived.
Renil turned and studied him. "You know… you don't look like you're from here."
Tovan blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Your skin," Renil said. "Bronze. That shine… it's not from Ashvalar. Maybe Cindralith. That continent is known for its sun-blooded people."
Tovan glanced down at his hands. "Maybe I am from there," he said, quietly. "I never knew my father."
Before Renil could say more, a loud voice boomed from inside.
"Dinner!"
The voice belonged to a plump, warm-eyed woman with flour on her cheeks and a wooden spoon in hand. She stood in the doorway like a mother hen calling her chicks.
Renil grinned. "That was fast. Come on, let's eat."
He led Tovan inside, where the smell of hot broth filled the air and the table was surrounded by smiling children—thin, hungry, but happy. It was a sight Tovan had never known. Family, though forged not in blood but in survival.
He sat beside Renil, the old wood beneath them groaning in protest, and for a moment, just a moment, he felt… human again.