The journey to the capital was a long, thrumming week of rolling hills and the endless, rhythmic beat of horses' hooves. The quiet of the road was a welcome balm after the turbulent events at home, a meditative space to simply exist within the Two-Heart Cadence. But on the fourth day, the peace was broken.
Ahead of us, a lavish, crimson-lacquered carriage was stopped, blocking the road. It was attended by a dozen guards in polished, silver-inlaid armor that shone with the tell-tale gleam of expensive Aetheric reinforcement. A young nobleman, clad in silks of the same garish red, stood berating a servant who was frantically trying to fix a broken axle.
Garrick, riding at the head of our own austere procession, raised a hand to halt us. "House Volanti," he murmured, his voice low and tight with distaste. "Capital peacocks."
The nobleman, Lord Marius Volanti, turned his sneering gaze on our snarling wolf banner. "Ah, the border lords," he called out, his voice dripping with condescension. "Come to see how civilized folk live? Don't let us stop you. We'll be on our way as soon as this idiot servant remembers how to use a hammer."
'So this is capital nobility,' I thought, a wry smile touching my lips. Less a wolf, more of a yapping, well-groomed terrier.
"It seems your axle is cracked, my lord," I said, my voice calm and pleasant. "A clean break. You'll need a blacksmith, not a hammer."
Marius's eyes narrowed on me. "And what would a brute from the West know of such things?"
"We learn to recognize the difference between what can be forced and what must be mended," I replied easily. We sat there for a long, tense moment, a standoff of Western granite against capital marble, until Marius finally scoffed and turned his back on us.
As we carefully guided our entourage around the disabled carriage, Seraphina, who had been watching silently from the carriage window, spoke in a low voice. "His guards, my lord. Their armor is for ceremony, not battle. Thin plating, too much filigree. And their swords… they've never been sharpened."
I glanced back, impressed by her sharp, practical eye. "An excellent observation, Sera. All bark, no bite."
The encounter left a sour taste, but it served a purpose. It was a perfect opening for the conversation we needed to have.
"They're all like that in the capital," I said to Seraphina later, as we rode on. "More concerned with status than strength."
"Then the tournament… will it not be a simple victory for you, my lord?" she asked, looking up from the notes she was taking on the region's flora.
I grinned. "Not that simple. The peacocks are just for show. There's real talent in the U18. The top competitors are almost always established Artisans. Sometimes, a true prodigy, a new Expert, shows up and sweeps the field, but it's rare."
"And you are a new Artisan," she stated, a hint of worry in her voice. "You'll be at a disadvantage in experience."
"That's exactly why I'll have an advantage they won't expect," I countered. "They'll see an Artisan from a border house and expect a brawler like Elias. They won't be ready for my Path. Their rules don't entirely apply to me. I'm not going there to compete, Sera. I'm going to win."
My confidence seemed to settle her. "The Grand Imperial Tournament, for the older competitors… it is much more difficult?"
"Leagues," I confirmed. "That was six months ago. The average fighter there is an Expert, and the finalists are almost always Masters. Damian took third place, and he's one of the strongest Masters I've ever seen. The man who won was a young Grandmaster from the North. A true monster." The context was important. I wanted her to understand the scale of the world we were stepping into. Winning here was just the first step on a very, very long road.
As the days passed and the landscape softened into the lush, fertile plains of the heartland, my thoughts increasingly turned to the Zenith. The awe of meeting a living legend was still there, but now, it was tempered by a deep, cold river of dread. I wasn't just a fan hoping for an autograph. I was the secret physician who knew the hero was dying of a sickness no one else could see.
I remembered the passages from the novel describing her, not in battle, but in her quiet moments. The hollow look in her eyes after a victory, the way she would stare at the horizon as if looking for an escape. She was a prisoner of her own strength, her own legend.
'How do you tell the sun it deserves to feel warmth?' I wondered, the thought a heavy weight in my chest. 'How do you convince a goddess she has the right to be human?' Seeing her would make it all real. She would stop being a character, a goal, a plot point in my memory of the book. She would become a person, and the weight of my responsibility would become infinitely heavier.
On the seventh day, we crested a large hill, and Aethelgard spread out before us. It was breathtaking. A city of impossible, gleaming white spires that pierced the clouds, connected by elegant bridges. A massive wall of pure white marble, inlaid with shimmering gold and glowing with the power of a thousand runes, encircled it.
The moment we passed through the city gates, the world became noise. Merchants hawking spices I couldn't name, the tang of forge-smoke mixing with rich perfume, a street performer's lute fighting against the clatter of a hundred cart wheels on cobblestone. After months in the quiet stone halls of home, Aethelgard was a living, roaring thing.
Our entourage, with the snarling wolf banner of House Ashworth flying proudly, cut a clear path through the throng. We traveled through the merchants' district, the artisans' quarter, and finally into the serene, opulent district of the nobility.
Seraphina stared out the window, her eyes wide. "The air," she whispered, her voice filled with a strange wonder. "It feels… thick. Like breathing in light. The Aether here is so rich." It was the first time she had spoken of her budding senses so openly.
Finally, we came to a stop before one of the largest mansions. The Ashworth Estate in the capital was a fortress in miniature, a stern, imposing structure of grey Western granite that stood out amongst the more elegant white marble of the capital's architects. It was a statement: a piece of the rugged, unyielding borderlands planted firmly in the heart of the kingdom.
The massive iron gates swung open, and our party rode into the quiet sanctuary of the main courtyard. Servants rushed out to take our horses.
I dismounted, my legs stiff from the long ride, and looked up at the imposing facade of the mansion. This would be my home for the foreseeable future. My base of operations.
I followed Seraphina's gaze up, past the mansion walls, to the highest spire of the Imperial Palace that was visible in the distance, a needle of pure white and gold against the clear blue sky. The Zenith was there. My first target, Aria Thorne, was somewhere in this sprawling city. The agents of the Void Cult were here, too, moving silently through the halls of power.
"Yes, it is," I said, a confident grin spreading across my face as I answered a question she hadn't asked. I took a deep breath of the city air. It smelled of power, of intrigue, and of a future that was waiting to be written. "Let's get started."