Reid tightened the strap of his pack and set off down the road.

  Genusrosa hung from his belt, its polished chain catching flashes of sunlight as he walked.

  Behind him, a box of food swung awkwardly from his shoulders — Betty’s “final act of love,” as she’d called it. He hadn’t been able to refuse her, even though it weighed almost as much as he did.

  The road stretched long and winding through the hills, blanketed in soft morning light. Birds sang in the trees, and the breeze carried the smell of thawing pine. After months of snow and silence, the world finally felt alive again.

  For a while, Reid almost forgot what waited ahead. The rhythm of his boots on dirt matched the calm flutter of his thoughts — until, hours later, the spires of Promia came into view.

  The city gates loomed high and gray, banners fluttering lazily in the wind. Merchants called out to travelers, carts creaked along the cobblestone path, and guards stood watch in gleaming armor.

  And right by the entrance — as if the gods had decided to remind him that peace never lasts — stood Brog and Drool, murmuring about something as they leaned against the gate post.

  When they spotted him, Brog’s grin split his face wide.

  “Well, well, look who’s here! If it isn’t our favorite little tavern knight!”

  Reid stopped mid-step. “Oh no,” he muttered under his breath.

  Brog crossed his arms, puffing out his chest. “You’re looking sharp today, Reid! Heading to the big leagues, eh?”

  Drool clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him over. “Aye, I can tell — he’s got that glow of destiny! I used to have that once, back in my youth. One of the strongest knights in the whole kingdom, I was.”

  Reid’s smile froze on his face.

  “Of course you were, Uncle Drool,” he said, voice dripping with polite disbelief.

  Drool beamed. “See? Even the lad knows!”

  “Sure, sure,” Reid muttered, his face stuck somewhere between admiration and exhaustion.

  Brog barked out a laugh. “Well, off you go then, boy. Don’t forget us when you’re famous! Write us a letter, maybe draw us a picture of your fancy armor!”

  Reid chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll make sure to send one — maybe with your faces on the shield.”

  “Ha! That’s the spirit!” Drool said, slapping him on the back again. “Now go! The world won’t conquer itself!”

  “Goodbye, Drool. Goodbye, Brog.”

  As Reid walked away, he could still hear their bickering echoing behind him.

  “Did you hear that, Brog? He said goodbye first — that means I’m his favorite!”

  “Dream on, you halfwit, he only said your name second because you talk too much!”

  Reid smiled at himself. For all their nonsense, those two were part of the strange patchwork of kindness that had carried him this far.

  He tightened the strap on his pack and stepped through Promia’s gates.

  The city was alive with noise, color, and purpose. And somewhere in that sea of sound waited The Iron Pike — and Harven Klutz.

  Even though it was only his second time in Promia, something about the city felt strangely nostalgic.

  The cobblestone streets, the smell of roasted nuts from street vendors, the faint clang of the blacksmiths in the distance — all of it brought him back to the day he’d come here with Frigg and Lucius to buy their weapons.

  The city hadn’t changed much.

  Priests still stood in front of the marble steps of the Temple of Purity, their voices rising in steady rhythm as they sang their daily prayer:

  “Oh, the holy flame of order,

  Let us find your truth.

  Send us your wisdom,

  Send your flame.

  The flame of light that shows who is right,

  The ones who are wrong shall be judged by your might.”

  The hymn echoed through the narrow streets — calm and haunting at once.

  Reid slowed down for a moment to listen. He had never been particularly keen on religion.

  He didn’t hate it; he just… never thought about it.

  “I’m just a child,” he told himself. “I have time for those things later.”

  No one had ever forced him to believe. But Melan?e — she had always prayed before meals, before journeys, before good days.

  She wasn’t a devout follower of the Church of Purity, but she always whispered her prayers to Shenrog, the Holy Dragon.

  Maybe, he thought, for her sake… he’d try to pray someday. Just once.

  He exhaled softly, shaking off the thought. “Later,” he murmured, and turned back to the road.

  The streets of Promia were alive with color — banners swaying between buildings, merchants calling out, carriages rolling past. Reid stopped a passing man and asked,

  “Excuse me, sir. Could you tell me where the Iron Pike is?”

  The man pointed down a long stone street. “End of the road, on your right. Big iron sign. Can’t miss it.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Reid nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” He adjusted his pack and started walking.

  But before he could take five steps, someone bumped into him hard enough to make him stumble.

  “Ah— hey!” he started, steadying himself.

  The man barely looked at him. Short, hooded, robes brushing the ground — and from beneath the cloth, Reid glimpsed the faint glint of a staff, half-hidden.

  The stranger didn’t apologize. He didn’t even glance back. He simply kept walking, disappearing into the crowd.

  Reid opened his mouth, ready to say something… then stopped.

  He didn’t know why, but something about the man’s silence sent a faint shiver down his spine.

  “Rude,” he muttered, brushing off his sleeve. “But fine. I’m not starting my hero journey by yelling at strangers.”

  He sighed, straightened up, and kept walking toward the Iron Pike —

  completely unaware that the robed man had paused just one street away, glancing back once through the crowd, before vanishing again into the alleyway’s shadows.

  When Reid turned right, he spotted it immediately — The Iron Pike.

  The sign was impossible to miss: a massive iron spear crossing two swords, hanging above the entrance like a challenge to the sky. The tavern itself was just as loud and oversized as the sign — nearly twice the size of The Wandering Flame.

  Reid pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside.

  Warm air, thick with the smell of ale and roasted meat, washed over him. Behind the counter stood a red-haired elven woman, adjusting her glasses as she flipped through a ledger.

  Reid froze.

  He had never seen an elf before — not in books, not in life. Her sharp ears, porcelain skin, and the calm precision in her movements left him speechless. For a long moment, his brain forgot the concept of words entirely.

  “Um… h-hello,” he finally managed. “I’m looking for Harven Klutz. Is he here?”

  The elf looked up with a knowing smile. “Ah, you must be Reid. Yes, Sir Harven is staying here. I’ll go inform him that you’ve arrived.”

  “Oh, no need!” Reid said quickly, trying to sound confident. “I’ll tell him myself. Just — please tell me the room number.”

  Her polite smile tightened. “No, no, Reid. I’ll let him know. You should wait here.”

  “I insist.”

  “You really shouldn’t—”

  But Reid’s eyes had already darted to the guest list behind the counter. He spotted the name Harven Klutz — Room 2B, grinned in triumph, and bolted for the stairs.

  “Wait—! Reid!” the elf shouted, running after him, but the boy was already gone.

  He reached the door and knocked once.

  No answer.

  He knocked again.

  The door creaked open.

  And then — silence.

  Reid’s face turned pale.

  There stood Harven Klutz, half-dressed, holding a shirt in one hand — and behind him, in the bed, a woman stirred sleepily under the sheets.

  Reid blinked once. “Huh?”

  The elf — who had just caught up — froze beside him, her cheeks turning bright red.

  “Sir Harven!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t stop him!”

  Harven’s face twitched between amusement and pain. “Don’t worry, Liane. It’s… fine.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and gave an awkward chuckle. “I’ll be down in a moment. Both of you, please — out.”

  The door shut gently, leaving Reid standing in the hallway, his face burning.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered all the way down the stairs, tripping over every other step.

  Liane followed, sighing through her nose. “Humans,” she mumbled. “Always charging forward without looking.”

  By the time they reached the lobby, the woman from Harven’s room hurried past them — cloaked, embarrassed, and moving far faster than any normal walk of shame should allow.

  Moments later, Harven descended the stairs — now fully dressed in a dark coat, boots polished, hair tied back. Somehow, he still managed to look heroic, as if the past five minutes had been an illusion.

  Reid stared at him, then muttered under his breath, “Who the hell does this guy think he is?”

  He paused — then sighed. “Oh right. Vice-commander of King Rucon. My bad.”

  He gave himself a sarcastic grin. “Very professional, Reid. Excellent first impression.”

  “Let’s talk inside the tavern, Reid,” Harven said smoothly.

  Reid nodded meekly. “Yes, sir.”

  Inside the bar, it wasn’t exactly lively — just a handful of people scattered among the tables, quietly drinking or half asleep over their mugs.

  “Still more crowded than The Wandering Flame,” Reid thought to himself with a faint smirk.

  He and Harven took a seat near the far corner, away from the noise. The air smelled faintly of roasted barley and smoke.

  Harven leaned back in his chair, stretching with a sigh. “Ah, Reid… my academy days were glorious. You’ll love it there, I’m sure. The training, the people, the food — and the entrance exam—”

  Reid blinked. “Entrance exam?”

  “Oh, yes,” Harven said, waving his hand casually. “There’s a paper test first, then some fighting rounds. Nothing too serious.”

  “AN ENTRANCE EXAM?!” Reid shouted, nearly spilling Harven’s drink.

  Harven tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. “Oh, didn’t I tell you that part?”

  Reid’s face went blank. “No, Sir. You forgot the part about me possibly dying before I even enroll.”

  Harven laughed. “Don’t worry! You’ll be fine. Some of the participants are terrible — there are people who’ve failed the first exam for five years in a row!”

  “That’s… oddly not comforting,” Reid muttered.

  Harven just grinned, full of misplaced confidence. “Heh, relax. I can tell when someone’s got potential. My eyes don’t lie.”

  Reid forced a chuckle. “Hehehe, Sir Harven… can I ask, what’s the average age of the participants?”

  “Hmm…” Harven tapped his chin. “Fourteen, I believe.”

  Reid froze. “Fourteen?”

  “Yes.”

  Reid exhaled through his nose, eyes twitching. “Sir… I just turned ten last month.”

  Harven blinked once. “Really? I thought you were twelve.” Then, without a hint of concern, he shrugged. “Well, I don’t see a problem. Strength doesn’t care about age. I believe in you, kid.”

  He reached over and patted Reid’s head — firmly enough to ruffle his hair and his confidence at once.

  “Get a good night’s sleep,” Harven continued, standing up. “Tell Liane I’ll cover your room. We leave tomorrow at dawn.”

  Reid sighed, rubbing his temples. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  When Harven left, Reid went to the counter and found Liane. The elf smiled faintly, clearly still recovering from the awkwardness before.

  “Room’s ready, hero,” she said, sliding him the key.

  Reid nodded sheepishly. “Thanks.”

  He climbed the stairs, opened the door, and collapsed onto the bed. For a while, he just stared at the ceiling, the muffled hum of the tavern below fading into quiet thought.

  He thought of Arttu — his tiny smile, his soft laugh, the warmth of his little hands.

  Will he be alright?

  The question lingered in his chest. But he forced himself to breathe.

  Betty and Roy would take care of him. Arttu was safe.

  He closed his eyes, whispering, “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

  And for the first time since Priscilla burned, Reid fell asleep not out of exhaustion — but out of hope.