Chapter XXVI – The Heart of Wolves and Kings
The gates of Ashford rose like a fortress against the horizon
Three hundred feet of obsidian and brass loomed above them, etched with roaring lions and the runes of House Veyrin.
Sunlight poured off the metal, blinding and holy. The smell of the city drifted through the air; spice, smoke, oil, and something else: power.
They joined the endless queue snaking along the road. Thousands waited in disciplined silence. Wagons creaked. Mana engines hissed. The capital's pulse was steady and immense.
Finn whistled under his breath. "I think I just saw a man wearing a snake as a scarf."
Auron's mouth twitched. A small, dry smile. He said nothing, eyes flicking up the gate's height. Each engraved lion head seemed to stare down with judgment.
The line moved slowly, and the world paraded before them. Scholar mages in indigo robes argued about mana density and star theory, their fingers leaving faint arcs of light in the air. Dwarven engineers grunted as they rolled heavy siege engines toward the forges. The smell of coal followed them like perfume.
Elven guardians stood near the walls, their pale armor seamless as grown bone. Faint silver light pulsed from the cores in their chests. They looked bored of the crowd beneath them. Further down, fur-draped barbarians from the Western Marches argued over spoils, gold rings glinting on scarred fingers.
Merchants guarded carts wrapped in shimmering anti-magic seals, their chests plated in silver and gold. And then there were the nobles; children no older than ten, carried in velvet chairs, their eyes glowing faintly with inner mana. The crowd parted for them instinctively, as though they were already kings.
Rodrik walked among them. His armour shone clean, his posture perfect. Nothing in his face betrayed the fatigue of the road.
Finn nudged Auron and whispered, "Do you think they'll even let us in? We're dragging three hundred guards and half a forest's worth of dirt."
Rodrik turned his head, a grin cutting across his face. "You overestimate yourself, boy." His voice carried the edge of steel. "See those cannons up there?"
Finn followed his gaze. Mounted along the wall were twenty enormous barrels, each glowing faintly red at the rim.
"made from wyvern cores," Rodrik said. "One blast could burn a Star Four beast out of the sky. My men? We'd be ash before we could even draw our swords. This city doesn't fear us. We're not an army to it; we're a parade."
Finn gave a low whistle and rubbed the back of his neck. "Remind me never to piss off whoever's in charge here."
Rodrik laughed once; short and cold and kept walking.
Hours passed. The line crawled forward until, at last, they reached the front. A Star One guard stood before them, his armor smooth and unadorned, but the way his aura pressed outward made Finn's chest tighten.
"Identification and purpose," the guard said flatly.
Rodrik handed over stamped documents and a small, engraved gold token. "Captain Rodrik of House Arvel. Returning from Northern Operations on behalf of Lord arvel. Three cadets for Academy registration."
The guard turned the token over in his hand, eyes flickering with recognition. He gave a shallow nod, stamped the papers, and waved them through. The bribe wasn't for entry it was for smooth sailing.
When they passed beneath the shadow of the gate, the world changed.
Ashford's capital unfolded before them; alive, radiant, and terrifying. The streets shone with mana-lamps that burned like perpetual dawn. Floating stalls drifted lazily above the crowds, their sellers shouting prices that sparkled in the air. Clockwork towers loomed above rooftops, ticking in perfect rhythm. Steam carts rumbled past, leaving trails of light smoke.
The air was thick with the scent of spice and molten metal. The murmur of thousands blended into a steady roar; a sound that made Auron's chest feel both small and alive.
They rode through the high wards. Marble bridges arched above canals filled with blue mana-water. Elves and nobles passed on mana-drawn carriages, their banners marked with house sigils.
Finn's jaw hung open. "It's like the gods themselves built this place."
Rodrik's eyes never left the road. "They didn't," he said quietly. "Men did. That's the scary part."
In the center of the plaza stood a colossal statue; a knight of gold crushing a dragon beneath his heel. The dragon's eyes were carved from ruby, glowing in the sun. The knight's sword pointed skyward, its blade split by a line of pure mana.
Auron stared at it as they passed. The crowd cheered around the monument, but to him, it didn't look like triumph. It looked like hunger cast in metal.
They moved deeper into the city, but Auron slowed. Something thrummed through his chest not sound, not sight, something else. A call buried in the air itself. He turned.
At the edge of a narrow alley stood a crooked shop, its wood warped and dark. The windows were clouded, the paint peeling. It didn't belong here; not among marble and gold.
"Auron?" Lucian called. "What is it?"
Auron didn't answer. The pull was too strong. He stepped inside.
The air changed the moment he crossed the threshold. It smelled of rain and old spice. Lightning hummed faintly in the walls. Shelves of glass beads and metal trinkets lined the room. A single lantern flickered blue.
Behind the counter sat a woman with bright red hair. Her eyes crackled faintly, like stormlight caught in glass. She didn't look up.
"This isn't a place for the newly forged," she said, her voice soft but cutting. "Go back to your safety, Auron Stromrider."
The name hit him like a blow. His breath caught. His hand went instinctively to Vowkeeper's hilt.
"What did you call me?"
The woman finally looked up, eyes burning like static. "A name that hasn't yet been written."
Before he could speak again, the world tilted.
Flame. Screams. The city aflame beneath a red sky.
He saw himself; older, colder - wielding Vowkeeper like a god's executioner. Buildings crumbled. Silver light devoured the horizon. The sword in his hand cut through everything — men, beasts, even light itself.
He couldn't breathe. His heart thundered. The roar of the vision drowned everything.
Then nothing.
He woke to Lucian shaking him. "Auron! Can you hear me?"
The noise of the city returned in a rush. His throat was dry. "The shop," he rasped. "There was—"
He pointed.
Only a tailor's guild stood there now. White stone, bright banners. No trace of storm or spice.
Finn frowned. "You've been out cold for two minutes. Maybe the road's catching up to you." He laughed, uneasy. "Or maybe that stew from last night wasn't meant for humans."
Lucian didn't laugh. His silver eyes lingered on the empty wall, thoughtful and tense.
They said nothing more.
By the time the sun dipped low, they reached the inn near the military quarter — a sturdy stone building that smelled of ale and oil. The common room buzzed with soldiers trading stories.
Rodrik took a seat near the fire. "Rest tonight," he said. "Tomorrow, you enter the Academy trials. They don't care who you were before; only who survives."
Lucian watched him. "You studied there once, didn't you?"
Rodrik gave a short nod. "Three years.it was too hard for me and the politics inside drained. Turns out, fighting on the front lines was easier than fighting in the student Council."
Finn stretched, already half asleep. "Sounds like a fun place."
Rodrik's grin was tired. "Fun's not the word."
The others headed upstairs, but Lucian hesitated. Rodrik caught the pause and gestured to the chair beside him. "Sit."
The room quieted. Only the crackle of the fire filled the space.
Rodrik leaned back, shadows flickering over the scar across his cheek. "Listen, to put it bluntly we are getting wrecked in the northern border, the barbarians up north are uniting it is getting harder to hold on, our coffers are going dry too."
Lucian frowned. "That sounds... exaggerated, we have you and multiple great knights how are we losing, we are one of northern great houses"
"It is," Rodrik said. "The duke's advisor, Lord Perimus. Smiles like a saint, eats like a wolf. He's been shifting resources to his own vassals for years."
Lucian's hands curled into fists. "Then why hasn't Father—"
"Because Father can't fight a man who has that strong of a backing" Rodrik cut in. "You can. You'll be in the Academy. That's where the future is forged. Build allies here. Win influence. remember the future of house arvel relies on us."
Lucian stared into the fire. "You really think I can change that?"
Rodrik's eyes hardened. "You have to. I've fought beasts my whole life. You'll fight something worse."
"What's worse than beasts?"
Rodrik looked up. "Men with power."
The fire popped, sending a spray of sparks between them.
Lucian stared into the flames, his reflection warping in the orange light. Outside, the capital roared with life; trade, laughter, ambition. Inside, the air felt heavy with quiet warning.