Most wars are lost before the first sword is drawn. Pride blinds before blades clash. Valiri, you want the advantage? Know your enemy better than he knows himself. And who knows Velamir, your brother, my son, better than I?
—Galath Areias, The First
"Hey! Watch it!" Cadyr hissed, voice caught between a whisper and a shout.
"You watch it, you're stepping all over my toes!"
"Yeah, 'cause your thick skull's right in my face!"
"You're one to talk," I retorted, squinting my eyes to focus on the two Walkers before us. Drefyr had sent us on a little quest to spy—or, as he put it, 'gather intel,' on the other participants for the Veilguard tournament in two weeks. This was our last stop, the city of Stormweld.
"What's the point of this? We'll see them fight in the tournament anyway. And don't you already know these guys?" I complained, gesturing towards the two sparring below.
"'Knowing your enemy is equally, if not more important than knowing your capabilities.'" Cadyr deepened his voice, quoting his Uncle. "Besides, it's been months since I've seen any of the royal heirs train. For all we know, they've been working nonstop."
"Ugh," I groaned. "Well, do we really have to sneak around?"
The prince deepened his voice yet again, "'Do not let your presence be known, lest they grow suspicious and begin scouting out your capabilities in turn.'"
"Since when were you such a scholar?"
"Since birth."
I ignored the boy, his feet still stomping on mine as we peered around the corner of the upper ramparts of the arena. Stormweld was on the northern edge of the Wildmarch, near Telmir's Crown—the mountain that the old man from Brimholt had spoken of.
Stormweld rose from jagged cliffs, its towers linked by arched stone bridges spanning a deep, fractured gorge. A glowing stream traced the ravine floor like a vein of liquid lightning. The city crackled with raw energy—its skyline dominated by serrated spires of blackstone that pierced the storm-heavy sky.
Lightning split the clouds in constant arcs, feeding the chaos above. The buildings, forged from obsidian-hued stone, loomed with sharp angles and cold precision. Windows of sapphire crystal flickered with an inner blue fire. At the city's heart stood a colossal central spire, its upper shell peeled open to expose a humming nexus of electric power, blazing like a caged storm.
"Why's it always thunderin' around here?" I asked. The constant roars had not ceased since we entered.
"Dunno. Some say it's cursed. Or it's 'cause we're so high up. Maybe just weird weather. The Caelbors have been here way before I was born. You should ask 'em."
Caelbor, the name of the royal house of lightning. Cadyr and Drefyr had explained the general gist of it to me. Seven royal houses, each responsible for one of the six advanced elements. House Drossar of the sands, house Myrrwin of the mist, house Verdanta of the forests, house Caldrith of the volcanoes, house Glacien of the tundras, and of course, house Caelbor of the storms.
Areias was the final major royal house, responsible not for a single advanced element but rather for keeping the other houses in check. Each house governed its own major city and split off into smaller vassal cities. Brimholt was one such vassal city, being controlled by House Caldrith. Lesser-known noble families controlled vassal cities, and I would be posing as one of them.
We had already journeyed to the other five major cities, each one allowed up to two participants in the royal showcase. Stormweld was our last stop, and their two Walkers were known as Zevar and Tyvara, brother and sister from house Caelbor.
"They are… strong," Cadyr muttered, almost disappointing himself to admit it.
I watched the two, Zevar, a tall, hulking, muscular boy. It was almost hard to believe he was near the same age as Cadyr and me. He wore a tailcoat of black, cobalt, and silver, nearly bursting at the seams. Silver threads lined his cloak, forming streaks of lightning blowing in the wind as he flew through the sky. It had the house Caelbor sigil inscribed on the inside, a thunderbolt curving around a storm cloud. Tyvara, the sister, wore a nearly matching outfit, but her cloak trailed longer, the fabric thinner, woven from silk that shimmered beneath the crackling storms. Her sleeves flared at the wrists, and her boots struck the stone with echoes of thunder.
They sparred, flying through the air with wind magic. Where Zevar moved like a heavy storm, Tyvara moved like the lightning it loosed—precise, blinding, and gone before you realized she'd struck.
They didn't fight with only lightning; however, Zevar seemed to favor other attacks, including fire magic, as I watched him procure a warhammer of pure flames.
Tyvara, on the other hand, seemed attuned to the winds, evading her brother's attacks with much more control and finesse.
"Does your advanced magic change based on attunement?" I asked Cadyr, suddenly curious.
He nodded, still watching the two fight. "Yeah, a lot. When I just had wind, my lightning was fast and precise. But now that I've got fire too, it hits harder—hotter—without slowing down."
"Interesting," I responded.
And so for me, will all of my advanced magics become as strong as Drefyr's one day? I wondered, thinking back to our mentor's incredible control over all six advanced elements.
The pair of siblings began to wind down their battle, landing on the floor of the tall arena we were watching from. I could just barely make out their conversation.
"Ya'know, Zevar, you're never gonna beat anyone going that slow."
"And you'll never beat anyone flying around like a damn pest!" The tall, muscle-bound boy responded hotly.
"At Least they won't be able to hit me." She said, still as water.
"Whatever."
"C'mon brother, we gotta make it to registration."
She must've been referring to the Veilguard registration, a building in Darrowmere that had opened up today to allow participants to enter themselves. Cadyr and I were planning on heading there right after we were done 'gathering intel' on the Caelbors.
"I don't know what we learned from this other than that they are pretty strong," Cadyr said, scratching his head in embarrassment.
"Well, Zevar is strong but kinda slow. If we stick to wind magic, we can stay ahead and wear him down."
"Makes sense," the boy responded, placing a hand on his chin. "And Tyvara, she acts all calm and cool, but if you hit her once, she gets pretty shaken up." He smiled as he spoke, as if remembering a humorous memory.
"Well, that's enough for today, let's head—" The prince's speech was interrupted, a huge shadow encompassing his lean frame.
"And what exactly do you think you're doing, your majesty?" A strong, deep voice called out, respectful but with an air of hostility.
"Ah! Sir Caelbor! You see, I was just showing my friend—"
"Friend?" The man turned, looking at me, no, through me, as if he could see something that piqued his interest directly behind my chest.
He wore a cobalt tailcoat similar to Zevar's, but his cloak was instead pitch black, blending in with the surrounding stone. The cloak was draped across broad, strong shoulders. His hair was a pale blond, falling in short strands against his forehead. He had an imposing and powerful jaw and stood roughly the same height as Drefyr. His eyes were a striking blue, mirroring the storms above.
Careful, a whisper resounded through my head. The Veil. A warning.
"Allow me to introduce Ren—" Cadyr was cut off this time by a stern look. The man, almost definitely the patriarch of house Caelbor, focused his gaze on me. His bright, cobalt eyes bore into me, like an axe through lumber.
"Your name, friend of Cadyr?"
"Renric."
"Surname?" He questioned, almost a threat.
I looked nervously at Cadyr, but he only shrugged, not knowing what was going to happen next.
"Thalorind. Renric Thalorind, sir." It was the name Drefyr and I agreed I would adopt for the tournament. Thalorind was a small noble family near Stonewick, and they had a minor vassal city owned by House Verdanta. It would fit well with the nature magic I had recently unearthed. Drefyr said that no one from House Thalorind had participated in the tournament for a few years now, and it was unlikely anyone would be suspicious.
"Thalorind?" The man questioned, more to himself than us. He paused, like he was trying to recall a distant memory.
"The Verdanta blood, then? Interesting. I didn't realize our prince was capable of making friends, what with Tharion being so strict and all." The man chuckled, but with an edge of danger.
"Well, you know me, Stravos! Just a friendly prince! Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to get going!" The boy at my side grabbed my arm, gently but firmly tugging me away from the imposing man.
"Wait."
We both froze, his voice like the roaring thunder above us.
"Next time you plan on spying on my children, make sure you aren't being so loud."
"Will do!" Cadyr hurriedly shouted, before taking off into the air, almost dragging me along with him. We took to the skies, making our way back towards Darrowmere.
"Who was that!?" I shouted, trying to be heard over both howling winds and cracking thunder.
"Stravos Caelborn, Zevar and Tyvara's dad!" He shivered, as if the man were still standing before us. "He's the reason I didn't wanna come over here in the first place!"
"Why not?" I questioned, but even the Veil felt the man's presence, dangerous and lurking.
"He's the Primarch, general of the royal armies, second-in-command only to my father."
Primarch—almost a foreign word. A military title far removed from the life of a common-blood villager like me, born and buried in Stonewick.
"No wonder he's so scary!"
"I thought you were gonna piss yourself!" Cadyr taunted.
"Speak for yourself!"
We hurriedly rushed back towards the capital, but the imposing figure of the man, Stravos Caelbor, lay in the back of my mind. Why had the Veil warned me to be 'careful?' I thought, half asking the Veil itself—sadly, it did not answer back. It seemed it didn't care about being addressed directly.
—
We landed in Darrowmere, the registration building ahead of us. It wasn't big, only a single story with a roof made of slate black, contrasting the golden walls that made up most of the buildings in Darrowmere. Intricate turquoise-stained glass framed the several windows along its exterior, and a small crop of colorful flowers populated the garden beds along its perimeter.
A small line was forming, mostly younger nobles and royals looking to enter the royal showcase. Participants could choose any of the three events to enter: the elemental bouts, the race of the winds, and, of course, the Veilguard tournament.
"Less than usual," Cadyr remarked, glancing around. "Where is everybody?"
I only shrugged in response, knowing little about the lives of royal bloods.
"Well, whatever. Let's go!"
The line wasn't long, and it was only moments before we had reached the receptionist. Their eyes widened at the sight of Cadyr, but only momentarily, maintaining their professionalism.
"Welcome to the registration hall for this year's royal showcase. What are your names and events you would like to participate in?"
"Cadyr Areias, veilguard tournament."
"Renric Thalorind, same as him." I stumbled slightly on the false surname, letting it roll off my tongue in an uncoordinated fashion.
"Alright then, in one week you will meet here at sunrise to begin preparations. A small, private session will be held to determine seeding and weed out the competition before the true event. Any questions?"
"Nope, thank you, ma'am!" Cadyr tipped an imaginary hat, and we turned to exit the building.
As we were exiting, however, I noticed the Caelbor boy, Zevar, and his sister Tyvara walking in behind us. I realized now that he was strikingly similar in stature and looks to his father, the Primarch.
"Whatcha starin' at, boy?"
I shook my head, not realizing how I had been intently analyzing the boy's face.
"Oh, leave it, Zevar, we've got better things to do."
"You got a problem, huh?" He said, ignoring his sister.
"Ironic of you to call him boy, considering he's older than you." Cadyr taunted, not intimidated. I shot him a glare, but he seemed unbothered.
"How have you two been doing, my good friends?"
"Better without you in our way." The sister said, still calm, but with a hint of venom.
"Oh, it's no good to hold grudges, Tyvara, hasn't your father taught you that?"
"Don't talk about our dad!" Zevar warned, voice growing louder, "Anyways, who the hell is this guy you're with? Didja adopt a peasant?"
I barely had time to be offended before Cadyr spoke up in my defence. "Oh, this? This is just a friend of mine, House Thalorind. He will be fighting in the tournament with us, ya' see, I was just showing him the way around Darrowmere."
"Thalorind?" the brute muttered, squinting. "Aren't they the ones who stopped showing up years ago? Are you sure this kid's even a noble?" He finished, speaking about me as if I weren't even in the room.
"You'll find out when I see you in the tournament," I said back, voice unwavering. Compared to his father, this boy was hardly intimidating. Tyvara
"What was that, runt?"
"Now, Zevar, aint'cha got better things to do than bother our prince and his friend here?" A new voice interrupted. She had a familiar face, and I realized it was the participant from house Drossar that Cadyr and I had scouted a few days back. Atea Drossar.
She wore a sandstone beige tunic with no sleeves, a sun tempered brass shoulder plate, and an arm guard attached to her right arm. Geometric patterns reminiscent of shifting sands decorated the top, and she had plain brown pants reaching down to her boots, cuffs lined with a pale bronze. She wore a brown hood and cloak, rimmed with the same bronze color. Medium-length brown hair flowed from inside the hood, a golden circlet around her head. The inside of her cloak was adorned with the Drossar sigil, a coiled serpent in a sandstorm.
She slithered forward, not unlike the snake hanging on the inside of her cloak, placing a hand on Zevar's shoulder. I knew from watching her train that she was powerful, her mastery over sand magic being both a threat offensively and defensively.
Zevar's face reddened, something I had not expected from the humongous boy.
"A-Atea! It's good to see you again! You know, I was thinking about going to see—"
"Oh, quit your blabbering." Tyvara complained, dragging her brother by the arm. "Father's gonna be mad if we make him wait any longer, c'mon."
"Bye Atea! I'll see you at the tourna—" His sentence cut off, the door to the registration hall slamming shut.
Cadyr turned, facing the newcomer. He dropped into a polite bow. "Why, if it isn't the princess of the desert sands, I am humbled to be in your presence."
"Oh quit it Cadyr." She laughed softly, turning to me. "And you are?"
"Renric. Renric Thalorind." I said, her eyes meeting mine. They were playful and endearing, the light brown hues reflecting against the light streaming in from the windows. I understood then why Zevar had reacted the way he did, the girl from house Drossar was… enchanting, to put it simply.
"Thalorind, interesting. Nature magic then? Or have you not progressed that far?"
Not wanting to give away any information, I responded cryptically, "You'll have to wait and see."
She smiled slyly, "I guess I will." Atea passed by, brushing against my shoulder as she made her way towards the receptionist, still clutching her pen with whitening knuckles. Probably afraid we were about to break out into a fight moments ago.
"Shut your jaw, Ren, you're embarrassing me."
"Sorry," I muttered, turning my gaze from the Drossar girl to the prince.
"Everybody looks at her like that, you've got no chance."
"I wasn't thinking about that!"
"Suuuure." He laughed.
—
I angled down, landing a few minutes outside the northern entrance to Stonewick. Balius lay waiting, tied up to the tree I had left him at.
"Hey there buddy," I called, rubbing his neck as I mounted his saddle. The soft galloping of his movements as we rode towards my village reminded me of what it was like in the past, when I had no magic, and when the Veil had not yet spoken to me. I studied the path, still unchanged after so many years. I was ready to rest, the day's long journeys having tired me out.
As we approached the gates, however, I noticed something odd. Two guards, clad in silver armour. Royal guards.
Walkers.
What are they doing here? I questioned mentally, arriving just before them.
"Hello sir, please state your name and business." The guard on my right said.
"Renric. I live here."
"Coming from where?"
"Darrowmere, I'm a hunter, I sell in the marketplace in the capital."
"Go on then." The second guard said, waving me through.
Weird.
"Hold on, what are you guys doing out here? I've seen academy adventurers chase rogue magic beasts this way, sure, but guards? You never come out this far."
"The King has requested security be tightened around the surrounding villages, sir."
"Why?" I questioned again, suspicious.
The second guard shrugged before responding, "We only follow the orders we've been given."
It seemed my questions weren't gonna get me anywhere.
I rode into the village, tying Balius to his stable next to my home. I pushed open the door, expecting my mother to be in her chair as always. But what I saw instead shocked me.
Elira crumpled to the floor, both her mother and my mother comforting her.
Tears fell, dropping to the ground and leaving behind a trail of soaked wooden flooring.
I rushed over, speaking in jumbled words, "What happened? What's wrong?"
Elira was hysterical to the point that she could not speak, and instead, her mother answered. "My husband, Rowan, has gone missing. We haven't been able to find him all day."
My mind raced with possibilities. "Where was he last?"
"He checked in on me this morning, making sure I had food…" My mother started, "Then he said he was going out for firewood. It should've only taken a few hours at most."
"There were guards outside. Maybe they saw him?"
"They're useless!" Elira screamed, lashing out a hand.
At the same time, something miraculous happened.
A bolt of fire careened forward, headed straight for the door to my bedroom.
I brought up a hand, willing the flame to stop in the air, snuffing it out of existence.
Elira looked down at her hand, completely petrified.
"What the hell is going on?" Ms. Thorne screamed, staring back and forth between me and her daughter, before promptly fainting. My mother rushed to the kitchen, wetting a cloth and laying it against the fallen woman's forehead.
"We need to find him, I can start searching the forests, I'm sure—" But my voice was interrupted by Elira's next words.
"He's gone!"
"How do you know?"
"It told me! The voice in my head! It told me!"
I watched as she crumbled, falling to the ground. I reached forward to comfort her, and she allowed me, falling into an embrace. We lay there, deep into the night, completely silent—aside from her stifled cries every so often.
Something was going on, and I had to find out what.