The sun hadn't even cleared the horizon when we started walking again.
Mist clung to the grass like a sleeping veil, soft and pale, curling around our boots as we followed the trail out of the forest. The birds had just begun to stir, singing broken melodies that echoed through the trees like half-remembered dreams.
I walked a step behind the others, letting the distance cushion my thoughts. Every breeze that touched my chest stung—my scars weren't bleeding, but they still ached like hell. The kind of ache that reminded you you'd survived something you shouldn't have.
"You're quiet today," Brynn said without turning around. He was walking with his hands clasped behind his back, like a professor out for a casual stroll. "Still thinking about last night?"
I didn't answer. What was I supposed to say?
That I'd trusted a monster? That I nearly died again? That something inside me had burned bright enough to erase a demon from existence—but I had no idea how or why?
"Come here," he said after a moment. He slowed his pace until we were side by side, his voice low enough that the others wouldn't hear.
"You've got power," he said. "But you're carrying it like it's going to explode. That's not how Essence works."
I glanced at him. "Then how does it work?"
"Essence is part of you," Brynn said simply. "Like blood. Or breath. Everyone has it—some more than others. But what matters is how you shape it."
He paused to pick up a thin stick from the ground and snapped it clean in two.
"Imagine this is Essence. You don't throw it. You don't force it. You guide it. You shape it into what you need. That's the first thing every child in Reslau learns."
"That easy, huh?" I muttered.
"Of course not," he smiled faintly. "It's simple. Not easy. But if you don't learn it, Holy Essence will eat you alive."
"Great."
We kept walking.
The path curved gently upward until, at last, the trees began to thin. And then I saw it.
A city.
Far larger than I expected.
Stone walls ringed the outskirts, maybe fifteen feet high, reinforced with iron bands and smooth golden runes glowing softly near the gates. Beyond them, rooftops stretched into the distance—sharp angled wood and tile, red and slate-colored. Spirals of smoke rose lazily from chimneys, and somewhere a bell rang, distant but clear.
Brynn tilted his chin forward. "Vallin."
The name was unfamiliar, but the sight struck me hard. I'd imagined something more primitive—this world, after all, had elves and monsters and glowing magic rocks. But Vallin looked more like an old European city from back home, just… touched by something stranger. Smoother stone. Lamps without fire. Runes that pulsed faintly on the arches above doors.
"Looks like a fantasy RPG hub town," I muttered under my breath.
"Say something?" Leif asked, turning.
I shook my head. "Just… taking it in."
As we neared the gates, a group of merchants passed us—one pushing a cart full of shimmering stones, another leading a small beast with six legs and moss growing on its back. People were laughing, bartering, arguing. It was noisy. Crowded. Alive.
I kept glancing around like an idiot.
I wasn't used to this. I wasn't used to any of this.
And yet… something inside me stirred. A weird flicker. Maybe it was hope. Or maybe it was just the fact I hadn't almost died today—yet.
"This way," Brynn said. "Let's find a place to rest first. We'll hit the guild after."
We followed him through the gate, and for the first time in days, I felt something strange in my chest.
It wasn't peace.
But it was close.
The streets were wider than I expected, paved with smooth gray bricks that clicked under our boots. Houses rose on either side, two or three stories tall, built from polished stone and timber with steep, tiled roofs. Hanging lanterns swung gently above shopfronts, glowing faintly despite the daylight—probably magic. Ornamental trees lined the edges of the main road, their pale blue leaves rustling in the breeze. And people—so many people—moved with purpose and noise and life.
Vallin didn't feel like a backwater town.
It felt like a crossroads. A place people passed through on their way to something bigger.
"Not bad, right?" Brynn said, glancing over at me. "Used to be a merchant city before the Darkzone expanded. Now it thrives on adventurers."
"And tax," Toma muttered. "Don't forget tax."
Leif chuckled. "Toma hates paying for beds."
"Beds are a luxury," he shot back. "I prefer trees. They don't charge you five silvers and a shitty breakfast."
Mira snorted. "You just hate people."
"Also true."
I stayed quiet. My eyes were too busy drinking everything in.
It was strange. The buildings looked like something from the 17th century, but better. Cleaner lines. Subtle magic woven into their structure. There were things that looked like gas lamps but didn't run on gas, carts without horses—gliding slowly thanks to glowing blue runes under their wheels. No giant airships or skyscrapers, but it wasn't medieval either.
Just… different.
Familiar in shape. Alien in soul.
"Let's head to the guild," Brynn said eventually. "Drop off those damn wolf pelts. Then we'll get rooms."
"And food," Mira added. "Something that doesn't scream when you bite it."
"I liked the last one," Leif said.
"You're disgusting."
We weaved through the crowd and turned down a side street that opened into a large circular plaza. The Guild Hall dominated the far end—an enormous building of dark marble and warm oak beams, with wide steps leading to twin iron doors. Symbols of swords, shields, and scrolls adorned the entrance like medals of honor.
A group of armored adventurers sat on the steps, laughing and comparing scars. One of them had a wyvern's skull strapped to his back like a trophy.
Inside, the hall buzzed with motion—clerks behind long wooden counters, walls covered in mission boards, and a tavern tucked into the right wing, already half full with men and women trading stories over ale and fried bread.
We offloaded the items, and Brynn handled the talking. He always did. I just stood off to the side, watching. Listening.
And then I heard it.
"…Reslau's tournament is next month. Biggest one yet, they say."
"Course it is. Word is, three royal heirs are entering. Plus some of the Top 4's bloodline."
"No shit? You think the Gray-Haired One'll be there?"
"Has to be. Last time he'll oversee it himself, if the rumors are true. Academy's officially transferring to that silver-haired witch of a woman."
"About time. Guy's probably older than the mountains."
I froze.
Gray-Haired One.
Cealith?
I didn't know if it was him, not for sure, but my gut twisted like it did when I knew a punch was coming.
I turned, pretending to look at the quest boards, but I wasn't reading anything. My thoughts were spinning too fast.
That tournament—whatever it was—was my only shot.
I had to be there.
We booked two rooms at an inn down the street. Warm light spilled through glass windows, and the smell of meat and herbs filled the air.
Even Mira looked satisfied.
"We're taking a bath," she announced. "And before you say anything—yes, you too, Aleks. You reek."
Leif patted me on the back. "Maybe we can wash off that Maiden curse."
"Fuck off," I muttered, already blushing.
Brynn grinned. "Let the boy breathe."
But they were already dragging me toward the bathhouse.
The water steamed around me, hot and clear, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, I relaxed.
The men's side was empty, save for me, Leif, Brynn and Toma. Mira was across the stone wall, her laughter faint but constant.
"So," Leif said, sinking deeper into the water. "Let's recap. First girl you like turns into a soul-eating demon. Second one turns into a naked corpse monster."
"Technically," Brynn added, "he didn't like the second one. She just manipulated his fragile, traumatized heart."
I groaned and dunked my head under the water.
"Don't worry, Aleks," Leif said. "You'll find a girl who isn't cursed eventually. Probably."
"Fuck you."
"Respectfully."
They laughed. I didn't. But I didn't stop them either.
Somehow, it helped.
Later that night, I sat by the window of our room, watching the streetlights flicker outside.
The cobbled street below was quiet now. The noise of Vallin had faded into a soft hum—distant laughter, a rattling cart, the occasional bark of a street dog. The lamps burned with steady, pale-blue fire, glowing through glass shaped like flowers.
I leaned my head against the wall, my breath fogging the window.
Cealith.
If that really was him—if the Gray-Haired One was the same man who once stood beside me—I had to see him.
No… I needed to see him.
He was the only one who could possibly explain what the hell was going on.
What the world had become during those ten thousand years I apparently slept through like some cursed fairytale prince.
I rubbed my hand slowly—the same one that had unleashed that blinding, white energy.
It didn't look any different now. Just a hand. Calloused. Tired.
But I remembered what it felt like. That heat. That force tearing through me like lightning down a copper wire. If I'd held it a second longer, it would've torn me apart too.
Brynn was right.
It was powerful—but dangerous.
So I needed control.I needed answers.And I needed someone to notice me at that tournament.
If Cealith was really there, the only way he'd even glance in my direction was if I proved I wasn't just another idiot waving a sword.
Which meant entering. Somehow.
Even if I didn't know the rules.
Even if I had no formal training.
Even if every other participant was some noble-born prodigy who'd spent their life learning how to turn butterflies into bombs.
I'd figure it out.
One step at a time.
The next morning, we met down in the inn's tavern. Brynn had already paid for breakfast. He always did when things felt heavy.
I sat quietly, chewing bread that tasted faintly of cinnamon, listening to the others talk.
Toma leaned over the table, looking between Brynn and Mira. "So, you're both heading to Reslau too?"
Brynn nodded. "We had business planned there even before the Grava detour. Supply drop, some training contracts. Also—figured we might stop by the selection rounds."
Mira smirked, sipping her drink. "He just wants to watch the fancy nobles embarrass themselves."
Toma snorted. "You're one to talk. You cried during that duel in Lowton."
"That was a tactical tear."
"Sure it was."
Leif leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. "You coming too, Aleks?"
I blinked. "To… Reslau?"
"Yeah. Thought that was the plan."
"I mean… yeah." I scratched the back of my neck. "I overheard something yesterday. About that tournament. The selection thing."
"The Ritual of Flame," Brynn said, wiping his mouth. "Annual thing. Only a few get accepted each year. Mostly nobles. Some wild talents."
"Think you'll try to join?" Mira asked, raising an eyebrow.
I hesitated. "...Maybe. If I want someone powerful to notice me, that's probably the only chance."
"Cealith," Brynn guessed, his tone calm. "You think he'll be there?"
"I don't know. But I need to find out."
Toma's expression shifted. Not mocking. Not pity. Just… thoughtful.
"Then I guess you better not die on the road," he said.
We left the inn a few hours later, the sun already high.
Outside the main gates of Vallin, a crowd had gathered—travelers, merchants, two small caravans preparing to head northeast toward Reslau. Painted signs nailed to posts listed destinations and fares. A tall woman with a clipboard barked names, taking coin and giving out brass tokens.
We joined the second group.
Brynn handled the talk. Mira flirted with a passing knight. Toma leaned against a post, bored. Leif stood near me, arms crossed.
The caravan began to move.
Wheels creaked. Hooves clacked. Voices softened to murmurs as the road ahead swallowed us.
I walked beside Brynn, just behind one of the carts, the morning sun warming my shoulders. He glanced at me, then at the path, then finally spoke.
"You need to start feeling it," he said.
"Feeling what?"
"Your Essence. Not forcing it. Not commanding it. Just… noticing. It's like breath. Or blood. It's already there."
I nodded, saying nothing. But I tried. As we walked, I focused on the quiet hum inside my chest. The strange warmth beneath my skin.
It was faint.
But it was there.
Behind us, Vallin shrank into the distance.
Ahead, the road wound into mist-covered hills, scattered trees rising like jagged spears from the earth.
And somewhere far beyond that—
Reslau.
The tournament.
Cealith.
My answers.