The road to Royal Vaelthar—the kingdom's capital—wasn't just made of stone and mud.
It was made of gazes.
From every village, every crossroads, every rotting wooden bridge, the eyes of travelers followed the two young people on horseback: a boy with a firm posture, sword at his waist, a gaze that seemed to cut through the wind; and a girl with a book tied to her saddle, her fingers always brushing the air, as if testing the world's temperature.
They wore no emblems.
They displayed no coats of arms.
They had no squires, no servants, not even a false coat of arms sewn onto their sleeves.
They only had one name: Kael and Lira, of Vaelmoor—but they didn't even say that aloud.
The landscape changed as they advanced south. The pine forests gave way to frozen golden fields, then to gentle hills where black coal was extracted by tired hands. In the distance, the towers of Royal Vaelthar loomed like silver thorns—tall, sharp, surrounded by walls that gleamed with protective runes.
It was there that the Three Great Clans met.
There that laws were made with blood and ink.
There that Elverest College loomed over the city like a watchful eye.
Before crossing the gates, however, the brothers stopped at a tavern by the royal road.
"The Sleeping Wolf"—the sign creaked in the wind, painted with a wolf with closed eyes, lying beneath a broken moon.
"Brother, is this… a coincidence?" whispered Lira, looking at the symbol.
"Or someone didn't forget," replied Kael, with a grim half-smile.
Inside, the tavern was full of teenagers—all with weapons, books, or both. Some wore Blood-Iron cloaks; others, capes embroidered with golden Luminaris feathers. Everyone went to Elverest. Everyone carried the weight of their lineages.
Kael and Lira chose a table in the corner, away from prying eyes. They ordered bread, barley soup, and hot water with honey.
Then the bard entered.
Old, with a patched cloak and a dark wooden lute, he climbed onto the small wooden stage near the fireplace. No one asked for silence—but everyone fell silent, as if the tavern itself were breathing deeply.
He played three notes.
Then he sang.
Ballad of the Broken Wolf
Three beasts ruled the frozen land,
Bear of stone, and Eagle grand.
But none roared like the Silver Wolf,
Who walked where shadows bowed the self.
He gave no oath, he took no crown,
Yet kings would kneel when he came down.
His fangs held truth, his eyes held night,
And peace was born beneath his light.
But fire came on snow-white wings,
With lies dressed up as sacred things.
The Bear struck fast, the Eagle watched,
While silver blood in silence caught.
The towers fell, the pact was burned,
The Wolf's name from the stars was turned.
Yet still… the wind sings low and cold,
Of pups unseen, of hearts untold.
For blood remembers what eyes forget—
The Wolf is gone… but not regret.
So if you hear a howl at dawn,
When all the stars have been withdrawn…
Know this, my friend, before you flee:
The Wolf returns… for you… and me.
A heavy silence fell over the tavern.
Some looked at the ground. Others, to the windows, as if afraid that the night itself would respond.
It was then that a young man approached their table.
He wasn't noble. He didn't wear an emblem. Just a simple brown cloak, worn boots, and curious eyes—very much like Kael's: attentive, but fearless.
"Hi, travelers," he said with an easy smile. "Everything alright?"
Kael nodded cautiously. Lira carefully closed the book.
"Everything's fine," Kael replied.
"I'm Gerald. From Alderbrook. You?"
"Kael."
"Lira."
"Siblings?" Gerald asked, sitting down uninvited.
"Yes."
"Lucky. Here, nobody has family who doesn't want something from you."
"And you?" Lira asked.
"I just want to survive. And who knows… learn something real."
For a moment, the three chatted like any group of young people before an exam: about tests, dreaded teachers, the north tower of the college where they say spirits still roam.
Then, the bard began to play again.
This time, the melody was slower… sadder.
But the lyrics, even clearer:
"Two shadows walk where none should roam… One blade, one spell, far from home…"
Gerald frowned. He looked at Kael. Then at Lira.
Suddenly, he slammed his hand on the table—not in anger, but with certainty.
"If this Silver Wolf really exists…"
"The two fools need to go back."
Kael and Lira exchanged glances. Their blood ran cold. Because no one should know what those words meant. No one… except those who were there.