Bart waved to Lowell as he left to follow the road back to his family's estate. Before parting ways, Bart promised to look into recovering Lowell's sword.

  Thanking him, Lowell left to follow his own path home. The two had agreed to meet up in the morning and walk to the academy together. Lowell was forced to admit to himself, though he'd been hesitant about Bart at first, it was nice having someone he thought of as a friend.

  Rina's words still echoed in his mind. You don't know what it's like to wake up every morning wondering if someone you love is still out there somewhere. The truth of it stung more than he wanted to admit.

  Battlefields had a tendency to forge fast bonds; as a former member of the Black Boars guild, Lowell knew as much from previous firsthand experiences.

  But then, I was abandoned. The thought slipped in, uninvited.

  Lowell frowned, the memory stinging like an old wound that refused to heal. Being abandoned by the Black Boars wasn't just a betrayal by comrades; it was the loss of a family he had trusted with his life.

  There were moments when he forgot that pain, but it was never truly gone. It always came flooding back.

  He pushed the thought from his mind and let his attention drift upward to the night sky.

  The two moons hung overhead, their pale light casting silver shadows across the cobblestones. One was whole, a perfect disc of luminous white. The other was broken, shattered long before anyone could remember when. Even now, Lowell could see the cracks that spiderwebbed across its surface, the way fragments of rock and debris still clung to its fractured core. Over the centuries, pieces had slowly broken away, continuing their slow fall toward the world below. They burned up in the atmosphere like shooting stars, brief streaks of light that reminded everyone of the moon's slow, inevitable destruction.

  Lowell stood there, hands in his pockets, watching the sky. It was strange how something so broken could still shine so brightly. He wondered if the people who had lived here thousands of years ago had looked up at the same fractured moon, if they had felt the same mixture of wonder and melancholy at its slow decay.

  Eventually, he let his attention drift to the city around him.

  This part of the city leaned more toward residential charm than industrial bustle. Streets were lined with illuminated billboards and the nostalgic clatter of trolleys, while radio broadcasts drifted from open windows. Cars glided smoothly over the dark, moltar-paved roads, and the faint blue-white pulse of the aetheric grid, woven into the very foundation of the city, flowed steadily, supplying bountiful energy to every home, guild hall, and business.

  As Lowell walked through the winding streets of Oldgate on his way back to the dormitories, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the past around him. Dahncrest was unlike any other guild-city. While most guild-cities were shaped by the communities that formed in the wake of the Great Ruin, a near-apocalyptic event of the past. Dahncrest's origins stretched far beyond that. This place had been the heart of the Heralds' civilization long before the Great Houses had established the city.

  Dahncrest was a city built from the ruins that surrounded it, a place where the past was constantly being reclaimed and rebuilt. The advanced architecture, materials, and magitech recovered from the Heralds' ruins were seamlessly integrated into new construction, creating a living testament to both ancient wisdom and modern innovation. Powered by aetheric energy, the city led the scientific and magical renaissance sweeping the world.

  Oldgate, especially, was a district where the past and present danced in a delicate balance. The ornate facades of row houses, adorned with intricate wood carvings and stained glass windows, seemed to whisper stories of a bygone era. Their weathered stones bore the marks of time, yet stood resilient against the march of progress. Amid these ancient structures, sleek glass-and-steel buildings punctuated the skyline, their modern designs a testament to Dahncrest's rapid ascent into the future.

  Lowell's path took him the long way around Heritage Green, the park that separated the dormitories from Orus Guild Academy. The park's ancient trees, their gnarled branches stretched skyward, cast long, twisting shadows under the moonlight.

  A faint rustle of leaves stirred in the cool breeze, accompanied by the distant chirping of night insects. The gentle rain that had recently passed left a glossy sheen on the cobblestones, reflecting the interplay of modern aetheric signage and the city's timeless architecture. The breeze carried on it the mingled scents of freshly baked bread from late-night bakeries and the faint metallic tang from nearby blacksmith forges.

  Bells chimed as one of the trolleys approached a stop, exchanging passengers with quiet efficiency. Engineers had worked swiftly to repair the tracks after the accident earlier that day and, though it would have made his trip home quicker, Lowell welcomed the solitude of his walk.

  Solitude gave him time to think and to remember.

  His thoughts drifted to Bethelhold, the academy dormitory where he stayed. It wasn't just a building. It was where the raw potential of students from various guild academies were tempered into unity and purpose. In Bethelhold, every creak of the ancient wooden floor and every whisper of the stone walls told a story of bygone eras, of youthful ambitions and trials long past.

  It wasn't the grandest or most luxurious dormitory in Dahncrest, or even in Oldgate, but it was a sanctuary in its own right. The halls were filled with history and tradition, even if the interior walls of the living quarters themselves were rather thin. Each creak of the floorboards was a reminder of the generations of students who had passed through its halls.

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  Every student was allocated a single, modest room—barely large enough for a desk with a built-in data terminal, a neatly made bed, and a small bureau for personal belongings. Despite their functional simplicity, the rooms were imbued with subtle touches of modern convenience: ambient aether-powered lighting and digital interfaces that allowed instant access to the vast libraries of knowledge available on the data exchange.

  Towering above the cityscape, the iconic Citadel Tower soared like a needle of light against the night sky. Its core, an ancient edifice that had survived the Great Ruin, had been restored over the years using state-of-the-art magitech. Sleek glass and steel now encased its historic heart, transforming it into a beacon of hope and progress.

  The juxtaposition was not lost on Lowell. Here in Oldgate, the weathered stone and wood of buildings like Bethelhold stood in stark contrast to the sleek glass and steel towers that dominated the skylines elsewhere. It was a city of contradictions: ancient foundations supporting modern marvels, old traditions coexisting with new innovations. In some ways, it reminded him of himself, caught between the past he'd left behind and the future he wasn't sure he belonged to.

  As Lowell neared Bethelhold, he passed by a group of first-year students gathered around a small, floating orb of light, their faces lit with youthful excitement and nervous anticipation. Their laughter echoed off the walls, a stark contrast to the quiet weight in Lowell's heart. He gave them a nod, a silent acknowledgment of their shared journey, before turning his gaze back to the path ahead. The night's shadows seemed a little less heavy now, tempered by the warmth of new friendships and the hope of what tomorrow might bring.

  The three buildings of Bethelhold formed a half-circle, their weathered facades bathed in the pale glow of streetlamps. The central structure housed the mess hall, recreational rooms, and a library. Its courtyard, nestled in the curve of the buildings, lay hidden from the bustling streets of Oldgate, offering students a rare pocket of serenity amidst the chaos of Dahncrest.

  But tonight, the dormitory felt anything but serene.

  Lowell trudged up the cobblestone path, his steps weighed down by exhaustion. The night air clung to him, cool against his skin. His limbs ached with every movement, muscles protesting from the strain of facing down a nightmare armed with nothing more than a broom and sheer stubbornness.

  The warm glow from the dormitory windows might have once felt welcoming. Now, they felt like the eyes of some lurking beast, watching, waiting. Bethelhold loomed not just in size but in presence, the weight of what lay inside pressing down on Lowell harder than the fatigue in his bones.

  The dormitory warden was waiting.

  He paused at the bottom of the front steps, staring up at the doors that seemed too tall, too imposing. The soreness in his shoulder, where the nightmare's claws had grazed him, throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He could have stood there all night, letting the cool wind soothe his battered body, if not for the voice that shattered the fragile stillness.

  "LOWELL BRANDT!"

  The words boomed through the lobby and out into the night, a primal roar that pierced the stone walls and chilled him to his very bones. He stiffened, his heart skipping a beat. Gol's voice was unmistakable—deep, rough, with a gravelly texture that reminded him of the nightmare's growls from only hours ago.

  For a fleeting moment, he considered fleeing. He could vanish into the winding streets of Dahncrest, maybe find a quiet alley to rest until dawn. But he knew better. If he tried to hide, Gol would find him. If he left, she'd still be there when he returned, her patience as unyielding as her grip.

  Climbing the dormitory walls to sneak into his room? Impossible. Gol would somehow know. She always knew.

  So, with a sigh that felt like it carried the weight of the entire day, Lowell climbed the steps, each one a reluctant march toward the inevitable confrontation.

  The lobby inside was softly illuminated, with pools of light casting shadows that hung quietly like large tapestries draped across the walls.

  And there she stood.

  Gol.

  The dormitory warden and former cook of the Black Boars stood in the center of the lobby, her towering frame covered in scales that gleamed faintly under the light. Her arms were crossed over her broad chest, and her piercing eyes, a molten gold, locked onto Lowell the moment he stepped through the door.

  "I see you're back from your... adventure," she rumbled, her voice carrying a note of gentle reproach.

  Lowell winced at her choice of words. His hand instinctively rose to rub the sore spot on his shoulder, the ghost of the nightmare's claws still fresh in his mind. Gol's gaze flicked to the motion, and for the briefest of moments, her expression softened, a flicker of maternal concern breaking through her usual stern demeanor.

  "Ah, poor boy," she murmured, though her tone held more steel than sympathy. "You look like you've been through the wringer today. Come here."

  It wasn't a request. It was an order.

  Lowell's feet moved before his mind caught up, bringing him closer to the imposing droga. As he stood before her, Gol reached out with one massive, clawed hand, tilting his chin up to inspect his face. Her touch, surprisingly gentle, belied the strength he knew she possessed.

  "The healers did an adequate job," she muttered, releasing him with a nod. "But if you kept up your studies and practiced more, you wouldn't have needed them at all."

  Lowell bit back a retort, knowing it would do no good. Gol had always been like this: tough love, emphasis on tough. She didn't believe in coddling, not when the world outside the dormitory walls was as brutal as it was.

  "Off with you," she barked suddenly, stepping back and pointing toward the kitchen. "Get your apron. You're going to help me out this evening. Maybe that'll teach you some discipline... and sharpen your skills with a blade."

  Lowell blinked, momentarily stunned. After the day he'd had, fighting off bullies, battling a nightmare, saving Helena Oxford, he was being conscripted into kitchen duty?

  But there was no arguing with Gol.

  Dragging his feet, Lowell moved toward the kitchen, his body aching in protest. As he tied the apron around his waist, the familiar smells of cooking oil and roasting meat filled his nostrils. His stomach growled, reminding him just how long it had been since he'd eaten.

  Gol handed him a knife, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and challenge. "Let's see if you can handle this blade better than the broom you had earlier."

  Lowell groaned inwardly, but despite himself, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. After all, compared to the nightmare, how bad could chopping vegetables be?

  He was unable to escape, so he just stood there. Bracing for yet another challenge to test him, one more among the many he'd already faced today.