The chaos of the previous evening had faded. The would-be assassins had been dealt with, though how remained a mystery—one Wesley Valentine refused to share, his only answer a childish, knowing grin. Now, Leonard found himself wholly absorbed by the breathtaking sight unfolding before them in the light of dawn.


    Mistra.


    Leonard stared, slack-jawed, from his seat atop the carriage, the cool morning breeze tugging at his collar. In all his life, he had never seen a city like this — never imagined such a place could truly exist outside of storybooks and the drunken ramblings of travelers passing through Telones.


    Nestled within the cradle of jagged mountains, Mistra rose like a monument to stone and steel, carved directly into the rocky shield that embraced it. The city was vast, its towering walls hewn from pale gray rock, worn smooth by time and yet still formidable. Atop those walls, rows of gleaming ballistae stood like sentinels, their dark silhouettes sharp against the rising sun, aimed outward at the world beyond.


    And beyond the city''s northern edge, rising high above everything, stood the three mighty peaks of the White Crown, their snowy caps sparkling as sunlight poured over them like rivers of molten gold. The sharp points of the peaks seemed to scrape at the sky itself, jagged white against a sea of brilliant blue.


    Leonard’s eyes followed the way the sun caught on the ice and snow, glinting like shards of crystal. It was beautiful and harsh all at once, a reminder that nature and civilization here lived side by side — neither yielding to the other.


    From each side of Mistra, massive stone gates opened outward like the mouths of caves, wide enough for entire battalions to march through. Roads stretched out from them like veins, vanishing into the rolling hills and distant forests beyond. Caravans and soldiers moved in and out of those gates, tiny figures in the shadow of the city’s walls, their movements orderly but hurried — as if Mistra itself were a living, breathing thing, always in motion.


    Even from this distance, Leonard could see the banners rippling on the high towers — the black and silver sigil of the Vanguard family, a sword crossed with a branch of laurel.


    He swallowed thickly.


    All of this — the walls, the weapons, the sheer scale — was too much for a man whose life had been shaped by rivers and forests, by the quiet murmur of water and the creak of wood in Telones. His world had been small, safe in its simplicity. This? This was the heart of power. The place where kings and warriors made their homes, where destinies were decided.


    “The first time’s always the best,” Wesley said, breaking Leonard out of his trance. His voice was casual, but there was a trace of nostalgia in his smile, like someone revisiting an old dream.


    Leonard blinked, realizing he’d been standing at the window far longer than he thought.


    “Are all cities like this?” Leonard asked, his voice quiet, almost reverent, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the vision before him.


    “Hell no,” Mara cut in, glancing up briefly from where she sat cross-legged on one corner of the carriage, running a cloth over the length of her staff. “This city''s been around since before the Great War. Nothing else like it. No city is as old or as fortified as this one.” She paused, giving the city a cursory glance, her eyes sharp and assessing even in admiration.


    “Well, not counting that one city built inside a mountain,” Wesley added with a chuckle, leaning back against the wall, arms folded.


    “True,” Mara admitted, smirking slightly before returning to her work, the soft scrape of cloth on wood punctuating the silence that followed.


    Leonard turned back to the window, taking in every detail once more.


    “Samantha,” Leonard murmured, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, “no one’s gonna believe us when we get home.”


    “Tell me about it,” she said softly, her gaze never leaving the view. There was a faraway look in her eyes, like she was already trying to memorize every inch of what lay beyond the glass.


    For a moment, Leonard let himself look at her — really look. With the sunlight pouring in behind her, catching in her hair and tracing the lines of her face, she seemed almost unreal, as if she belonged more to this magical city than to the world they’d come from. The gold and rose hues of dusk kissed her skin, and for a heartbeat, Leonard swore she was glowing. Ethereal.


    But then Leonard shook his head, hard enough to break the spell he’d let himself fall under. He couldn’t think like that — not now, not when so much was unknown.


    “Well,” Wesley said, breaking the silence with a lopsided grin, though a sharper edge lurked beneath it, “hope you enjoyed the sight. Depending on how the next conversation goes, we might not be seeing sunlight for a while.”


    Leonard blinked, turning to him. “What?” he asked, just as a sudden, sickening wave of vertigo slammed into him.


    It was like being hurled from a great height, only to hang weightless in midair — and then drop again. His stomach churned, a cold sweat breaking over his skin as though all sense of gravity and direction had abandoned him. Nausea surged like a rising tide, threatening to spill whatever he had eaten hours before.


    The sunlight, the carriage, the cityscape — all of it vanished in a flash.


    When Leonard dared open his eyes again, he was no longer sitting in the carriage. Darkness pressed in from every side, cut only by the flicker of pale candlelight that bathed the room in an eerie glow. The air smelled faintly of wax and old stone, cool and unmoving, as though sealed off from the world above.


    Wesley stood casually, as if nothing had happened, hands tucked into his coat pockets, while the rest of them — Leonard, Mara, and Samantha — lay scattered on the polished stone floor, struggling to right themselves.


    “Forced teleportation?” Mara groaned, pushing herself up on her elbows, her staff clattering beside her. “They’re really serious this time, Master.”


    “When were they not?” Wesley replied with a nonchalant shrug, though a glint of sharpness flashed in his eyes.


    As Leonard pushed himself upright, the candlelight swelled, and more of the room was unveiled. Four massive banners, each looming high and heavy with embroidered sigils, unfurled from the vaulted ceiling. The golden thread of their insignias caught the firelight — a bear, a lion, a hawk, and a shark — each one emblems of power, ancient and unyielding.


    Behind the banners, dark silhouettes stood, each distinct in shape and stature — some tall and imposing, others lean and sharp as blades.


    A woman’s voice, smooth as steel under silk, emanated from the shark banner, cutting through the heavy silence:


    “Wesley Valentine,” she said, his name laced with suspicion. “What are you up to this time? Involving yourself with Byron Meyers and bringing two unverified strangers into Mistra.”


    Wesley let out a soft laugh, tilting his head as though speaking to an old friend. “Elisa, didn’t expect to hear from you so soon — what, only a few months after giving birth?” He grinned. “How’s the baby boy? Already throwing around spells like a proper Samonel?”


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    From behind the bear banner, a deep bellow of laughter echoed through the chamber.


    “Valentine’s still got the same spunk, huh?” the man rumbled, his voice full of rough amusement.


    “Far too much for his age,” came a drier, more tired voice from behind the hawk banner — layered in weariness but sharp underneath.


    “Spunk or not,” said another, a deep, regal voice that seemed to fill the room, speaking from behind the lion banner, “the question remains, Valentine. What purpose do you have in making contact with Byron Meyers and binding him to a boy whose pedigree is of no significance?”


    Wesley glanced over his shoulder at Mara, who was now seated with her staff across her knees, looking equally amused and resigned.


    “What?” she said, shrugging. “You know they stuck me with you so I could rat you out if needed.”


    Leonard stiffened, feeling the weight of every gaze — unseen, but palpable — bearing down on him.


    Wesley turned back toward the banners, his voice calm, almost flippant. “The boy is a coincidence,” he began. “An opportunity handed to us by fate — a perfect way to keep Byron Meyers alive just long enough to make Barthold Valentine’s dream come true. You know, make Byron’s life as humiliating and inconvenient as possible if he ever dares show his face again.”


    There was a pause — a rustle of fabric as the figures behind the banners shifted.


    “So you’re telling me,” the lion’s voice rumbled, “that the Valentine family had no intention of neutralizing Meyers as his wife ordered? From the start?”


    “Nope,” Wesley said, popping the ‘p’ casually. “Though my predecessor only wanted to punish his old friend for being a grade-A dumbass, following through on that vendetta actually presents us a rare opportunity.”


    “Opportunity?” Elisa scoffed, her voice sharp, disbelieving. “For what?”


    Wesley’s smirk widened, a glint of mischief — and something darker — in his eyes. “The North,” he said simply.


    The air in the chamber tightened in an instant. Even Leonard could feel the sudden spike of tension, as if every figure behind those banners had stopped breathing.


    “What do you know of the North?” the lion asked, his voice lower now, but no less commanding.


    “Oh, you know, little things,” Wesley chuckled. “Like how Param’s propaganda machine is working overtime to bury whatever mess they’ve got up there. And don’t even get me started on the West—”


    “Enough,” the lion snapped, a flicker of unease slipping into his words. “I see your sources remain... persistent.”


    “And you’ll never know who they are,” Wesley shot back, all teeth in his smile.


    Silence stretched long and heavy, as though the room itself was holding its breath.


    Finally, the hawk banner stirred, and its speaker addressed Wesley directly:


    “You speak of an opportunity,” they said carefully.


    Wesley’s grin sharpened. With a sudden movement, he reached out and gripped Leonard’s shoulder, pulling him to stand at his side. Leonard swallowed thickly under the weight of unseen eyes.


    “Within this boy,” Wesley announced, “is the entirety of Byron Meyers’ mana and magical capability. The Bloody War Mage, reincarnated to aid us when we need him most.”


    A snort of disbelief came from behind the bear banner. “I can see some mana in the boy — but a mere bucket’s worth,” the man scoffed.


    “And Mara reported seeing Byron’s apparition,” Elisa added. “Yet there’s no trace of him now.”


    The lion was silent for a moment, as though studying Leonard through the veil. Then he spoke, voice thoughtful. “Meyer’s apparition aside, the boy’s body is adapting well to foreign mana... which speaks of a strong compatibility. Given time, he could fully assimilate Meyers’ powers.”


    “Your eyes are as sharp as ever, Stock,” Wesley said, throwing the lion a knowing wink.


    Though Leonard couldn’t see behind the banner, he could almost feel Stock smiling.


    “I’ll give you three months,” Stock finally declared, his voice cutting through the room like steel. “If the boy does not prove himself worthy of the war effort by then—if he fails to demonstrate Meyers’ strength—we will neutralize him, along with Byron Meyers, as the Vanguard Families have decreed.”


    The finality of the statement settled over them like a guillotine.


    Silence followed, heavy and suffocating. Leonard could barely breathe under its weight, as though the room itself was closing in around him. His throat went dry. His hands trembled, though he fought to hide it. Three months... Three months to prove he was something other than a mistake.


    Beside him, Samantha tensed, her fingers tightening into fists.


    Then, as though brushing away a mild inconvenience, Wesley clapped his hands together with a grin that was far too wide for the moment. “Alright. Deal.”


    The word echoed in the now-quiet chamber.


    Just as suddenly as they had appeared, the banners and their hidden lords dissolved, as if the candlelight itself had swallowed them. The room flickered and shifted, returning to a simple, dimly lit space with wooden beams and stone walls — empty, as though nothing monumental had just taken place.


    Samantha broke the silence first, arms crossed as she stared at the space where the banners had floated only moments ago. “Not even one of them asked about me,” she muttered, her lips pulling into a pout that couldn''t quite hide the edge of frustration in her voice.


    Wesley, already pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a casual flick of his fingers, chuckled around the first exhale of smoke. “Which means Leonard’s doing his job properly.”


    Leonard blinked, confused. “I am?”


    Wesley gave him a crooked smile, sharp as a blade. “You kept all eyes on you. Trust me, that’s a good thing.”


    Before Leonard could respond, Wesley reached into his coat and tossed a small, heavy bag. Leonard barely caught it, the metallic clink of coins unmistakable.


    “There. Use that to get whatever you need. I’ll teach you some basics this week then you’re heading to the mage barracks,” Wesley said, rolling the cigarette between his fingers like he was already bored of the conversation. “Your girlfriend here is going to the regular soldier training camp.”


    “Wait, what?” Samantha snapped, straightening up. “When did I agree to that?”


    “What?” Wesley let out a small chuckle. “Would you rather sit around the Valentine estate in silk robes while the kid here gets beaten to a pulp? I could make arrangements if you want.”


    She shot him a glare.


    He smirked and leaned in slightly. “Come on, kid. You’d lose your mind in two days. Besides…” He paused, the grin faltering for just a moment as his voice grew more serious. “I know you’re more than capable in a scuffle.”


    Leonard’s gaze sharpened on Wesley, unable to hear what he just whispered to her. “What about Byron?” he asked. “He’s been quiet for now, but what if he’s planning something?”


    Wesley studied him for a long moment, his usual smirk fading just enough to betray a flicker of concern. “He... won’t. Maybe? From the stories that my ancestors passed down, he doesn’t seem the type. But then again, I don’t know how much he’s changed.”


    The words carried more weight than Leonard wanted to think about.


    Without another word, Wesley turned on his heel, flicking the last embers of his cigarette to the floor. Mara, silent until now, gave them both a lingering look — something between sympathy and warning — before following Wesley out the door.


    As the door creaked shut behind them, Leonard finally exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.


    “Sorry to drag you into this,” he murmured, looking over at Samantha.


    She snorted, though a faint smirk pulled at the corners of her lips. “Leonard, if I didn’t wanna be here, I wouldn’t be. Just… being a soldier better not ruin my hair.” She raked a hand through her already messy locks for emphasis, trying to lighten the mood.


    Leonard chuckled — a real laugh this time, brief though it was — and glanced down at the bag of coins in his hand.


    Outside, the city hummed with life — unaware of the countdown that had just begun.


    As he stared into the flickering candlelight, Leonard realized that the real fight wasn’t in three months — it started now.


    And he wasn’t sure if he was ready.