By the time they reached the ridge, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in violet and amber. Below, nestled between silver-threaded rivers and glimmering hills, stood Brackenreach.
It didn't look like any city Dillon had imagined. Towers of polished stone rose high, some crowned with spinning rings of crystal that caught the light and scattered it in brilliant rainbows across the streets below. Bridges carved with runes arched gracefully over the waterways, carrying streams of glowing lanterns that floated just above the ground. The city seemed alive — its walls pulsing faintly as if laced with magic, its rooftops humming with energy.
Chris gave a low whistle. "I've never seen a place like this."
Talia smiled faintly. "That's because there is no place like this. Brackenreach isn't just a city — it's where the four great magical traditions meet. Necromancy, Illusion, Alchemy… and the Holy Order. All in one place."
"Sounds peaceful," Dillon said, though his tone was wary.
"It's not," Zain replied, adjusting the strap on his satchel. "Peace here is… purchased. And the price is steep."
They descended the winding road toward the massive gate, which shimmered with a translucent ward. The guards wore sleek silver-and-blue armor etched with runes, their eyes watchful. As the group approached, the ward flared, scanning each of them in turn.
The guard's gaze lingered on Dillon. "Mixed aura," he said sharply. "Unusual combination."
"Family inheritance," Talia replied smoothly before Dillon could answer.
The guard's expression didn't soften. "Watch yourselves. Brackenreach doesn't take kindly to… anomalies."
Inside the gates, the noise and color swallowed them whole. Merchants hawked charms and glowing potions, street performers juggled spheres of water and fire, and sky-carriages glided overhead, pulled by winged beasts with silver scales. Dillon's eyes darted everywhere — to the massive crystal obelisks that hummed softly at the center of each district, to the tiny mechanical birds that zipped messages from rooftop to rooftop.
But beneath the wonder, Dillon noticed the subtler things — the way certain people stepped aside when robed Holy Priests passed, the way necromancer traders were given a wider berth. The city was vibrant, yes, but the division between its factions was like a fault line under polished stone.
Their path led to the Gilded Hearth Inn, a sprawling building lit with golden lanterns. The innkeeper, a broad woman with hair the color of molten copper, greeted them warmly but scanned Dillon's face a moment too long before handing over the keys.
Later, as they ate by the hearth, Zain leaned closer. "Three names you need to remember: Master Orvane, Lady Kaelis, and Varrin Dusk."
"Council members?" Dillon guessed.
Zain nodded. "They decide what Brackenreach does with people like you. Or to people like you."
Chris stabbed a piece of roast meat with his fork. "So… what now?"
Before Zain could answer, the inn's door swung open and a figure strode in — a tall man in silver armor marked with the crest of the Mirror Council. His gaze swept the room and landed on Dillon.
"The Council will see you," he said.
Dillon felt the weight of the entire city pressing in on him. Brackenreach was dazzling, alive, and powerful — but it was also a place where every choice could tip the balance between ally and enemy.
And from the way the armored man was looking at him, Dillon suspected the Council had already made its first judgment.
A/N:Surprise 🤣 🤣 😂