In the comfort of a horse-drawn carriage, I begin the journey away from the familiar sights of the fishing village of Eventide, my childhood home. As the cobblestone streets give way to a meandering dirt road, I find myself sinking deeper into the cushioned seat, my thoughts entwining with the parting words of my grandfather.
My gaze drifted out the carriage window as I parted the curtains, watching the core of the village recede into the distance. We passed one of the few farms along the outskirts, where I witnessed an older man raising his voice at a younger boy in the fields. Suddenly the carriage jolts violently as the wooden wheel strikes an unseen pothole.
In the wake of the sudden disturbance, a ghastly memory bubbles to the surface, a specter from the past I would much prefer to leave buried. The image grips my heart in a vise-like clench, the rhythm accelerating to a frantic pace. My breath becomes shallow, each inhalation a laborious struggle. I attempt to steady my nerves, drawing in deep, calming breaths in a futile effort to dispel the distressing thoughts. However, like a stubborn leech, the memory clings on, refusing to be dislodged from my mind.
Suddenly I was four again, cowering in a corner of the shadowflame manor as my father's voice echoed through my body, "You're a monster! I should have never fucked your mother!" his fist connected with my small frame, sending me crashing into a wall gasping for air.
As I lay there trying to breathe I am puzzled by his outburst. why does Father think I am a monster? Why is he hurting me? I feel more of his voice throughout my body. I stand rooted to the spot as his words reverberate in my ears, unable to make sense of their meaning. His raised voice overwhelms my brain, leaving me frozen in place and unable to comprehend his words.
Tears well up in my eyes, brimming over the edge like an overfilled glass, before spilling down my cheeks silently. The cacophony of my father's raised voice, each word echoing like a painful blow, becomes too much to bear. The hurt is so tangible it feels as if a physical wound has been inflicted upon me. In a blind fury, Father then storms out of the room.
I gasped desperately for air as I was dragged violently back to reality, my breathing ragged and pained. My heart pounded furiously, feeling as if it would burst right through my chest at any moment. My shirt was now drenched in cold sweat as I realized the vivid memory had completely overwhelmed me. I started to focus intently on regulating my breathing, just as my grandfather had patiently taught me to do over a decade ago whenever an episode like this occurred. I repeated the mantra in my mind while breathing, "It is just a memory...he can't hurt me anymore."
The carriage driver glanced back at me with evident concern etched on his weathered face, having heard my gasping through the open window in the front. "Are you alright there, milord?" he asked cautiously, a tinge of worry in his tone. I shook my head, willing away the residual tremors in my body as I replied, "Not really, but I will be fine... Just... Just a bad dream." The driver studied me for a moment but didn't press me further, nodding in understanding as he returned his attention to the long road ahead. I was grateful for his discretion. I leaned back into the plush velvet seat, taking a few more deep, calming breaths as I watched the lush countryside pass by out the window.
I think back to the day when my grandfather, Youssef Dawntide Shadowflame, saved me from that life over a decade ago. He had banished Brutus my father from our lands. Then he raised me mostly alone until my mother came home from the campaign. All these years he took up training me personally in a few meditation techniques as well as the way of the sword. Though he lectured me and treated me like a cadet. I hated that but I appreciate that he took his time to raise me in his old age as my father figure. I wished these days would never end it has been the happiest I have been since Father left.
A twinge of discomfort tugs at my heart, the telltale pang of anxiety beginning its stealthy encroachment upon my calm. This impending separation marks the first time I'll find myself distanced from the comforting presence of both my mother and my grandfather for an extended period. Their absence will echo in the cavernous chambers of my heart, their cherished memories taking the form of hauntingly beautiful ghosts that I'll yearn for with a fervor that words cannot do justice.
I shut my eyelids, attempting to drift into slumber. The journey to Luminaris will be extensive. Gradually succumbing to sleep in the carriage, I strive to silence the tumultuous whirl of thoughts in my mind.
I had been on the road for three days now, leaving behind the familiar coastline of Eventide for the foreign inland landscapes. Gone were the salty breezes and cries of gulls, replaced by the oak and pine forests that make up much of the interior of the Lumina Federation. Despite my apprehension about the journey ahead, I felt a swell of excitement to finally experience the wider world beyond my quiet village.
I occupied my time on the long carriage rides reading some of the many books I had packed. Tales of adventure, romance, and magic provided a temporary escape from my anxious thoughts. Whenever we stopped at a coaching inn for the night, I explored the new surroundings, soaking in the crowds, smells, and architecture of the villages and towns along the way. The diversity of people and places amazed me.
Just before sundown on the third day, the man driving the carriage announced, "We're nearing Lumina, sir! We should be there within the next hour." I put my book aside and looked out the window eagerly. The distant shimmering white towers of the illustrious Lumina began to appear. Even from a distance, the city was teeming with life and vibrancy.
As we neared, the carriage came to a halt, and the driver informed me, "This is as far as I go, sir! Your grandfather's orders. You'll have to manage on your own from here." I alighted, looking around apprehensively. The driver passed me my trunk and bags before doffing his hat and driving away, the horses keen to escape the crowded streets. I found myself alone amidst the crowd, awkwardly holding onto my luggage.
Scanning the buildings after I entered the City of a Thousand Spires, I spotted a sign for an inn called The Dancing Donkey hanging above a timber door. I pressed through the bustling foot traffic and slipped inside the noisy inn. The common room was filled with patrons eating, drinking, laughing, and arguing loudly. I secured a simple room for the night and arranged to store my trunk until I could retrieve it later. Exhausted from the days of travel, I planned to rest this evening and start fresh in the morning. But first, I needed to find some food to fill my grumbling stomach.
Venturing back outside as the sun set, the streets were still lively, with citizens finishing errands or heading to taverns for food and drink. Following my nose, I found a small bakery selling meat pies. The savory aroma made my mouth water. I purchased two pies and found a stone bench to sit to eat. The flaky crust and seasoned beef filling tasted like heaven after days of traveling rations.
As I finished my meal, I noticed a city guard eyeing me suspiciously. Belatedly, I realized how out of place I must look, a young man with a dark hood over his head sitting alone as darkness fell. Not wanting to draw more unwanted attention, I hurried back to the inn and retreated to my room for the night. Stretching out on the lumpy bed, I mulled over the day's events. I had made it to Lumina in one piece at least, though now the real challenge would begin. Starting tomorrow, I needed to make my way to the prestigious Arcanum Institute and undergo the Affinicrystal test that would reveal if I had any talent for magic.
I need to petition for entry to the school after the mandatory Affinicrystal test according to my grandfather. Then I need to pass their entrance test, I better pass it too, or else I will surely be lectured at again. My stomach was knotted with anxiety at the uncertainty ahead. For now, I needed rest and I headed back to my room. Then I lay down and drifted off to sleep dreaming of possibilities.
In the morning I gathered my things and journeyed through the bustling, vibrant streets of Luminaris, I found the sun, radiating an almost tangible heat. Towering, majestic spires stretch into the sky, casting long, intricate shadows around me. The city's populace is a diverse mix of races; humans and elves are common, but I even catch a glimpse of a lizardfolk, its scales glinting in the sunlight. The atmosphere of this metropolis is a stark contrast to the humble, serene fishing village of Eventide, my home. The cacophony of voices, the clattering of vendors, and the general urban clamor overwhelm me. Taking a moment to adjust, I pull up my hood, hoping the soft, worn fabric might serve to dampen the onslaught of noise echoing from the city's busy arteries.
Nearing the heart of the city, where the esteemed Arcane Legion Institute reputedly resides, I behold towering, unblemished white walls rising to a daunting twelve feet. These formidable barriers encase the institute, a reflection of its esteemed reputation and the knowledge stored within. Ahead, the welcoming school gates, ajar in silent invitation, reveal a winding stone path. This path, like a sinuous serpent, disappears into a forest of towering, ancient trees, their dense foliage a testament to the city's harmonious coexistence with nature. Off in the distance, a regiment of young adult figures clad in glinting chainmail marches with purpose through the forest, their disciplined steps echoing through the otherwise tranquil expanse.
I see a young adult female elf standing in the middle of the open school gates. She has long, flowing ocean-blue hair that cascades gently over her slender shoulders. Her build is lithe and willowy, with delicate purple eyes peering out from an unblemished porcelain face. She wears the distinctive uniform of the prestigious Arcane Legion Institute. The Institute's standard uniform consists of a crisp military-style blue dress coat adorned with gleaming metal buttons, paired with black slacks. Underneath is a pristine white collared undershirt and a shimmering silver tie. Black cuff boots complete the professional ensemble.
The school insignia is proudly displayed on the right breast pocket, an open book with a sword in the middle. A number of engraved stars is pinned above the insignia representing the student's year of study. The material of these stars indicates the student's estimated combat strength, according to the institute's ranking system.
This elf's insignia bears four orichalcum stars, marking her as a fourth-year student. If I recall correctly, the combat ranks at the institute progress from weakest to strongest as follows: wood, tin, copper, bronze, iron, steel, silver, gold, platinum, mithril, and finally orichalcum. Wood denotes unranked students, while each subsequent rank represents one hundred positions higher in the combat rankings.
With a palpable lump in my throat, I swallow hard, attempting to quell my rising anxiety. I muster the courage to approach the young elven student, her orichalcum stars glinting in the afternoon sun. Offering her a respectful bow following etiquette, I manage to stammer out my query. "Hello, miss," I begin, my voice wavering slightly with nervous respect. "My name is Kepler. I hope you'll forgive my curiosity, but I can't help but wonder why someone of your remarkable combat rank would be lingering here at the institute's gates?"
She met my question with a warm, radiant smile that illuminated her delicate elven features, casting them in a halo of charm and grace. In response, she began," “Good day, Kepler my name is Evelia. I am hither to serve as a tour guide to prospective students. Might your presence signify an inclination toward embracing the hallowed halls of our esteemed institute?”
She considers this youth to appear naive and insignificant. However, his eyes convey a depth and sagacity beyond his age, causing her to hesitate. Despite his modest attire and unassuming presence suggesting he's merely a country lad, his careful articulation and contemplative behavior suggest an underlying complexity. Maybe she shouldn't form an opinion based solely on his outward appearance. This youngster might hold more surprises than initially perceived. For the time being, she decides to withhold her judgment and observe the ensuing events.
I relax my tense shoulders and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. Then I pull myself up tall and straight, just as my grandfather had patiently taught me over the years. I inform her in my most polite and refined tone, "Fair lady Evelia, my grandfather sent me here to take the prestigious AffiniCrystal admission test. It is his deepest wish that I apply to study at this esteemed institute. I would be most honored and grateful to receive a tour of the fine campus from someone of your high status and achievements."
I make sure to mind my manners and diction, speaking in the elegant style my grandfather had drilled into me since I was a young boy. Though I may appear a simple provincial in dress, I hope my courteous words reflect the education and upbringing my grandfather provided me, proving I am not merely some common bumpkin. I glance up timidly, hoping I have not overstepped my station in asking for her time and guidance. Perhaps this refined elven girl will show mercy and grant my humble request.
She nodded and replied, “Very well, follow me closely as I guide you through the campus grounds.” Then she gestures elegantly toward the forest path and says, “This way young Kepler and doth mind the cobblestones. Some hast become uneven from the growth of the roots.”
A subtle voice whispers in Evelia's mind, suggesting that there is greater depth to Kepler than she initially perceives. Though his shy demeanor paints him as unassuming, she senses a glimmer of untapped potential within this human boy. His refined speech hints at a noble upbringing and the glint of intelligence in his eyes reveals a keen intellect behind that awkward exterior. Perhaps mentoring this young Kepler could be worthwhile.
With Evelia leading the way, I keep a cautious eye on my footing. Indeed, her cautionary words hold true – the sprawling roots of ancient trees have twisted the cobblestones, making the path treacherously uneven. As we continue our journey, her voice floats back to me, casual yet inquisitive, “So where doth thou originate from, Kepler?” The question catches me off guard, but I respond instinctively, “I hail from a quaint fishing hamlet nestled on the western coast. It's known by the name of Eventide.”
Soon we reach a gothic structure made of weathered grey bricks. Tall arch crystal windows line the walls. Evelia explains, “This is the academic building, classes, and clubs are hosted here. Let me show you inside.” Within I look around curiously. Students linger in the halls and stairs, some chatting in small groups while others hurry between classes. The arched crystal windows cast faint rainbows on the stone walls and floors where the light hits. The vaulted ceilings tower over two stories above the lecture halls and club rooms on the ground floor. Each of the heavy reddish brown oak doors appears hand-carved with elegant scrollwork designs. Intricate tapestries depicting famous knights and mages from Lumina's history line the hallways, adding vibrancy to the ancient grey stone.
While we were walking the halls of the academic building one of the tapestries caught my eye. I suddenly stopped and was slowly drawn to the tapestry hanging on the eastern wall. It seems to portray a pivotal battle from the Border Wars against the Ashen Empire to our south. The tapestry vividly depicts a raging nighttime battle in a rocky canyon pass. Ominous flames and bursts of magical explosions light up the night sky as the two armies violently clash.
At the center of the fray stands a lone female battle mage enveloped in ethereal violet energies. Her striking beauty is marred by an ugly scar running down the right side of her face. Her piercing emerald eyes spark with determination and desperation as she summons the last of her mana reserves to hurl a devastating Mana Bomb at the opposing battalion. All around her littered across the bloody battlefield lie the broken bodies and weapons of dead Lumina soldiers who sacrificed themselves to buy her time for this final gambit. The battle mage stands utterly alone against the vast army marching against her homeland.
The strain and panic are evident on her face as she unleashes the Mana Bomb in a blinding flash, deciding the fate of the battle and perhaps the entire war. Every detail seems vividly captured in the threads - from the agony and resolve etched into the mage's face down to the broken swords and scorched earth of the battlefield. I stand transfixed by the lifelike tapestry.
Catching sight of the sudden absence of Kepler's presence at her side, Evelia pauses and turns, tracing the direction of his fixed gaze. Curiosity piqued, she peers into the distance and abruptly, recognition dawns on her. The figure woven into the intricate tapestry is no ordinary mage, but one of legendary status, a figure from the annals of magical history. She remarks, “Ah, I see thou art taken by the imagery of Lilith Vale. She was arguably the most esteemed graduate of our institute. Though she was presumed fallen after this battle over 300 years ago, tales of her feats in combat remain legendary to this day.”
She holds her gaze steady upon me, observing with keen elven eyes as I immerse myself in the intricate details of the tapestry. A thought flickers across her mind, stirring uncertainty. Perhaps her initial evaluation of young Kepler was wrong. Evelia added gently, “If thou wishes to emulate such greatness, our institute can set thee upon that path. Come now, the hour grows late and there is still much to see of our campus.”
I tear my gaze from the tapestry. My eyes meet Evelia's as I see her offer a polite smile. I nod in return and say, "Please Lady Evelia, lead the way." As we leave the grand hall, I glance back at the tapestry one last time, something about the image woven there still bugging me, though I cannot quite put my finger on what unsettles me so. I refocus my attention on the elegant elf maiden beside me, pushing aside my nagging thoughts, and focusing instead on the task of learning about the prestigious institute's sprawling campus.
Evelia leads me a little further into the forested campus grounds. I take sight of a large tower in the distance. It is formed of white stone bricks. As we get close I notice more detail. Each brick has a magical rune engraved on it that glows faintly in the mid-morning sun. The cylindrical structure seems to be around 500 feet tall. Narrow arched windows punctuate the tower at regular intervals, letting light into the interior. A dwarven-steel door stands open, letting students and faculty pass through as they go about their daily business at the academy. The tower gives an imposing yet elegant impression, a testament to the skilled masons who constructed this centerpiece of magical learning ages ago.
Evelia comments with a glint of pride in her violet eyes, “Hither is the Artificery Workshop. Tis a place for those with magic affinities related to crafting magic items. Hither students and staff can craft in peace. The magic items produced Hither hast accomplished great deeds over the centuries. Maybe one day thou shall hast the ability to buy one of these magic items for yourself. Thou are in for a treat today. The head of the crafting division is offering a demonstration soon. Come let us observe him at his craft.”
As we step inside I notice it is very quiet despite the fact there are supposed to be artisans here. The expansive workshop is basically empty save for us. There is a wooden counter with a few students wearing the standard uniform.
They are helping the occasional visitor find their way to the various crafting rooms and offices that branch off from the main hall. I notice a shimmering holographic display projected above the counter as we approach. It seems to display item requests and job requests flickering in the air. However, the currency shown isn't in the standard gold, silver, or copper coins, but rather in something called ALIC, likely an abbreviation based on context. Looks like student crafters can make requests for materials, tools, or ingredients here, while non-crafters can post commissions for specific items or effects as long as they have the ALIC to pay for it. The jobs appear ranked by difficulty and material costs.
The closest student assistant, a youthful human female, speaks up, "Ah! Evelia, it seems you're showing this potential student around. Will you be attending Professor Thrain Ironbeard's demonstration with them?" Evelia nods to the student and replies “Indeed, young Kepler and I are on our way to observe the esteemed Professor Ironbeard's demonstration of his masterful crafting skills. I believe witnessing a dwarf of such renown engaging in his specialized artistry shall prove most educationary for this prospective student.”
To the peripheral, I spot a coiled metallic staircase ascending to the subsequent level. Evelia signals towards several steel entrances positioned ahead of us, apparently drawing a crowd, and addresses me. ”This way to the public demonstration hall. We should hurry up so we don't miss anything.” Her pace hastens with an anticipatory elegance, unwilling to let Kepler miss out on such an enlightening exhibition.
Without missing a beat, I fall into step behind Evelia, navigating our way past the bustling counter, through the towering, steel-framed doors, and into the heart of the grand hall. It's immediately apparent why this place commands such fascination; the sheer number of people present is staggering. The expansive room hums with the lively chatter of eager students and esteemed staff, all animatedly discussing the impending demonstration of the renowned professor. The cacophony of voices fills the air, creating a symphony of anticipation that resonates throughout the hall.
Sensing a growing surge of sensory overload from the clamor, I instinctively reach up to pull my hood back over my head, retreating somewhat into the comforting shadow it casts. This small action provides a semblance of a barrier, dimming the overwhelming noise around me and grounding me amid the eager crowd.
The room's focus is drawn towards a large, imposing stage situated at the far end, its grandeur demanding attention. A glowing forge, radiating intense waves of searing heat, stands poised and ready for use, its flames dancing in anticipation of the professor's touch. Thereupon the stage, dwarfed by the grandiosity of his surroundings yet standing with an undeniable presence, is a stout and muscular figure. This dwarf, with his characteristic reddish-brown hair that cascades down to his waist, is easily identifiable. His hair, along with his beard, is long and grizzled, carrying the weight of wisdom and experience. This is likely to be Professor Ironbeard. He is leisurely smoking a tobacco pipe, the tendrils of smoke swirling around him.
Suddenly, his sharp gaze lands on Evelia and us. A nod of acknowledgment is directed our way, a small gesture that nonetheless carries weight in the buzzing atmosphere. He must know Evelia that doesn't surprise me, to be honest. Evelia is likely popular in the academy.
I begin to eagerly study the dwarf, hoping to glean some understanding. This is my inaugural exposure to magic, and dwarfs are infamously tight-lipped concerning their crafting skills. My family has always maintained a distance between me and any magic or magical artifacts for reasons that remain obscure. Thus, this presents an excellent opportunity for me to expand my knowledge on the subject.
The dwarf draws in a breath from his pipe, casting his eyes over the collected assembly. A cough from him brings a hush over all present. With enthusiasm, he begins, “Ah, a grand assembly of eager thinkers! Aye, many among ye may recognize me, but for those unfamiliar faces, I am Professor Thrain Ironbeard, chief of the crafters' faction at the Arcane Legion Institute. Today, I'll be showcasing the most sought-after skill among smiths blessed with mana, Metal Mana Training!”
The educator raises a chunk of unrefined, lackluster iron ore, presenting it for all in attendance to observe. He proceeds, “Behold this lump of unrefined iron! Aye, before yer very eyes, it shall undergo a wondrous transformation. By infusing mana into each strike of the hammer, we'll forge it into a metal of far greater prowess. Keep yer eyes peeled now!”
The professor situates the ore amid the blistering embers of the forge, propelling the bellows. The ore rapidly takes on a crimson heat. With swift precision, he retrieves the ore using iron tongs, placing it upon the anvil. He then picks up a seemingly ordinary hammer, resuming his explanation. “Now, I'll commence the hammering of this heated iron. The hammer in my grip bears runes that channel mana with every mighty blow upon the metal. 'Tis a task demanding profound concentration and unyielding stamina, for any momentary lapse may condemn the ore to ruin. Yet, in the hands of a master like myself, we shall craft extraordinary metals fit for forging truly exceptional artifacts.”
Lifting his hammer skyward, a sequence of runes on its surface burst into luminescence, their intricate patterns casting a hypnotic glow. There was an uncanny familiarity with the design of these runes, their complex geometry hinting at the barest whisper of mathematical principles. This was my initial exposure to the practical application of runes, yet there was a sense of déjà vu, though it could have been mere coincidence. Ironbeard, in a solemn tone, initiated a chant in what I surmised to be the ancient language of his dwarven ancestry.
Subsequently, he unleashed a series of powerful blows upon the radiating ore. With each strike, a shower of fiery sparks erupted, creating a mesmerizing spectacle of light and shadow. Seemingly impervious to the scorching spray, Ironbeard's rhythm remained unbroken. The amalgamation of his resonant chant and the rhythmic pounding on metal began to weave an oddly harmonious symphony, a strange cadence that echoed through the workshop, enveloping us in its arcane melody.
Ironbeard's hammering began to accelerate, the rhythm quickening like a fervent heartbeat. His muscular arms, as solid as the mountain stone of his heritage, flexed and bulged in response to the demanding task. His face, weathered by countless seasons and hardships, twisted into a grimace of intense concentration and effort. Rivulets of sweat, shimmering in the forge's fiery glow, traced a path down his furrowed brow, cascading and disappearing into the thick wilderness of his beard. Meanwhile, his hammer, a furious blur in his calloused hands, rose and fell against the glowing ore with unrelenting force and speed. Amid the cacophony of metal on metal, the haunting echo of his chant reverberated through the chamber, its ancient syllables permeating the walls and filling the air with an aura of primal mysticism.
Following a period of relentless toil, Ironbeard halts, scrutinizing the object. Subsequently, he expresses approval with a gratified nod. He then repositions the beaten mass back into the ravenous fire before continuing his dialogue. “Once more, I shall heat this iron, bringing it to a fiery glow. The cycle repeats as I embark on the hammering once again. This ritual shall persist until the anvil bears witness to a hundred strikes. Known as the first rank, the '100 Hammerings', it shall weave its magic, doubling the core essence of the metal. A meticulous dance, forging strength anew with each resounding blow.”
As the metal once more radiates intense heat, Ironbeard recommences his rhythmic pounding and incantation. It's now more accelerated and forceful than the previous round. The hall echoes with the resounding clash of the hammer and his resonant chanting. Eventually, soaked in perspiration, he presents the heavily pounded clump. Its former dull iron exterior now shines brilliantly.
He enthused, “Behold, marvel at the fruits of Metal Mana Training! This ordinary ore has undergone a remarkable transformation, emerging as the illustrious Glimmer Iron. A choice material for crafting peerless weapons and armor. The mana woven within bestows upon it a strength twofold that of mundane iron ore. A testament to the arcane mastery, turning the commonplace into the extraordinary!” He casually throws it to an arbitrary individual among the spectators. His face radiates with self-satisfaction, “And with that, we draw the curtain on today's showcase! Mayhaps, in the future, ye shall bear witness to more splendid dwarven smithing with yer own eyes. Until then, forge ahead with courage and craftsmanship!”
The applause begins. Lucky for me, my hood is up, offering some protection from the overwhelming sound. The rhythmic chanting and hammering were more tolerable, almost musical in nature. I reach into my bag and pull out a compact journal. Frantically, I begin to record everything I've observed from the professor's demonstration, including the runes. With luck, there could be a discernible pattern in the runes. Perhaps I might be able to deconstruct it.
Once I'm done scribbling, Evelia casts a glance my way. It piques her interest that not many pupils bother to jot down notes during or post a crafting demo. She ponders if I possess a magical knack linked to crafting. On completing my notes, I apologize, "My apologies, Lady Evelia. We ought to continue our exploration now." She concurs with a nod and guides me through various chambers within this establishment. Each room, dedicated to a distinct craft, seems to be adorned with runes for sound isolation, ensuring the noise of creation doesn't disrupt others.
