A week had passed since that night. A week since Cal had stopped to save a boy from depraved scavengers. A week since he tried — perhaps foolishly — to offer some respite for Vincent Aurelian.
A week since that question had started to fester intrusive curiosity in Cal's mind.
He tried to bury himself in errands to burn it away. Toiling away in the workshop, hauling ironstone around, buying bread for the meals of the next few days, and many in between.
Mundane tasks. Necessary tasks.
Yet, it did nothing to quell what was stirring within him.
The current day was cloudy. No sun pierced the gray veil that lay above the city. No rain for now either, but it seemed possible.
The forge was much quieter than normal this morning. Only the occasional clang of metal striking metal broke the stillness. Cal wiped the sweat from his brow, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness that never seemed leave him, much like the burning inquisitiveness within his head.
"Careful with that end," he muttered, adjusting a bundle of steel rods balanced on Vincent's shoulder.
Vincent grunted, his boots scuffing against the uneven cobblestone as they made their way through the narrow street. The gray clouds above hung low, the kind that made sound travel strangely muted, yet close.
"I got it," Vincent said, puffing slightly. "Didn't think this stuff would weigh as much as an ox."
"You'll get used to it," Cal replied. "Iron won't get any lighter, but your back will though."
That earned a short laugh. For a moment, the sound cut through the dull quiet like sunlight between clouds. They reached the shop's rear entrance, setting the rods down with a clatter that made the walls vibrate. The scent of oil and char filled the air again, grounding Cal in something familiar, something steady.
Vincent leaned against the doorframe to catch his breath, and as he did, he gazed at the floor with a gentle smile. A smile of deep thought and a hint of something else.
"Something wrong?" Cal asked.
Vincent looked up and met Cal's gaze, shaking his head before replying. "No, nothing's wrong. It's just... this doesn't feel real, you know?"
Cal quirked an eyebrow. "How so?"
"I mean..." Vincent began, gesturing vaguely. "One week ago, I was... stealing from you of all people and trying to pay a fee I didn't know was real. My life was in Gravenmoor Hold. Move around, sleep, find some loose coin or some scraps. That's all I had... and for a while, I made peace with it. I even liked it... to an extent."
Cal didn't answer. He began sorting through the rods instead, aligning them by length out of habit. But Vincent's voice softened, cutting through the rhythmic scrape of metal.
"...It's strange," he said again, quieter this time. "I feel more welcome here than I ever did back there."
That made Cal pause.
Vincent's gaze was fixed on the floorboards, as if ashamed of the admission. "Maybe I'm getting too ahead of myself, huh? Sorry..."
He let out a somber chuckle; his gait filled with exhaustion that came from the past. An exhaustion that came from years of having nothing but the bare minimum.
Cal let the words hang between them. He didn't say that belonging was a fragile thing. That even home could feel hollow when one's thoughts turned against themselves.
Maybe it was better to be silent. Maybe it was better to let him enjoy it. Maybe it was better to just... be.
At least for now.
"Don't apologize. Just don't get used to lazy hands." Cal said.
Vincent's grin widened a little, his eyes drifting back up to Cal's face. "Got it..."
------
The two had finished their errands for the day. Well, for the time being anyway. Nothing was to be done, and Darius didn't seem to have any more tasks for them.
Cal arched his back while feeling the faint crackle of joints that he didn't think would loosen. Vincent stretched his arms above his head with a groan.
"We stay here for any longer, I think I'm gonna melt."
"We're done here," Cal replied. "Walk. Air will do you some good."
Vincent didn't argue. His clothes clung to his skin, still damp with sweat from the morning's grueling work. "Lead the way."
The pair stepped out of the Hollow Anvil and roamed the streets of Lamnor City, leaving behind the muffled clangs and fumes of the forge. Whoever still lived here, they moved in an unhurried pace. And even that was so scarce to the eye, this looked like a ghost town.
Cal took a slow breath. He looked around, seeing abandoned buildings and storefronts that sold broken goods. Pale vegetables and worn trinkets were some of them. Vincent walked beside him, hands tucked into his pockets, eyes tracing the uneven rooftops as though seeing them with new clarity.
"Hardly anyone around... Mr. Virell wasn't kidding."
The words faded into the hushed stillness. Their footsteps echoed louder than they should have, swallowed by the abandoned feel of the place. Every shuttered window and half-collapsed signpost was a reminder — Lamnor was a ghost town wearing the mask of normalcy.
Cal's gaze lingered on a patch of cracked stone beneath his boots.
They didn't get far before a strange sound drifted from the northern road — hoofbeats, steady and measured. Not the frantic clatter of a trader in a hurry. These were deliberate. Commanding.
Cal's posture straightened without thinking.
"What's that?" Vincent asked.
Cal looked ahead to the northern road, trying to piece together what he heard.
"Someone's coming."
From beyond the bend in the road, a procession emerged: four armored riders, cloaks bearing the deep violet sigil of the Evervoid Empire. Behind them came a man in a dark coat trimmed with silver thread, the kind of attire reserved for those who acted in the name of the royal family.
Vincent blinked. "No way..."
Cal's eyes widened. Men from the royal family? Here? That was anything but expected. This backwater place had nothing for the royal family to attend to.
So, what could messengers from the Evervoid Kingdom even want with this place?
The riders halted in the middle of the street, with the man in the dark coat — the lead emissary — stepping forward. He pulled a dark horn out before blowing into it, creating a resounding noise that drew the attention of the few people who were roaming around.
"Citizens of Lamnor," the emissary called, voice cutting through the dead stillness like a blade. "By order of his majesty, Arthur Evervoid of the Evervoid Empire, we grace you with a message from his highness himself."
Everyone froze, staring at the emissary, their eyes wide, mirroring Cal's reaction.
"By decree of the Evervoid Empire, the next cycle of Merlin Trials is upon us."
Silence.
Not a single person moved. Not even the sound of footwear on the ground could be heard.
"We seek candidates from each province," the emissary continued. "Those who show promise, strength, or potential aptitude for combative arts. Whether innate or trained."
Vincent leaned closer, whispering harshly, "An actual message from the king? Here! Lamnor! Cal, this is-"
"Shhhhh..." Cal replied.
He said nothing. But his pulse thudded once, hard. This was unexpected. Too unexpected. He tried to shuffle away, to the direction of the Hollow Anvil before a voice stopped him in his tracks.
"You there," the emissary said, his eyes zeroing in on the faint scars tracing Cal's forearms. "Your build is... notable for someone of your stature."
Cal felt his heart beat a touch faster than normal, but he tried to keep a neutral expression. He couldn't bear to show his disbelief.
"Where did you train?" the emissary asked, studying the faint scars tracing Cal's forearms. "Few common laborers bear marks like those."
Cal kept his expression as flat as he could. "Here and there."
The emissary's eyes narrowed in suspicion, his gaze boring into Cal's physique. "Vague," he muttered to himself. "But worth noting, nonetheless."
He turned away at last, addressing the sparse crowd. "Rest. Consider this glorious opportunity. If you wish to attend, you shall make your way to Nareth via runecarriage if you desire. Upon arrival, the Empire will test you... and what comes after is all up to you."
With that, the riders wheeled their horses and departed as quickly as they'd arrived, leaving only the fading echo of hooves.
The few people who stayed still for the message started to exhale, as if they just realized they had the ability to do so. Cal's heart began to beat normally again, his shoulders dropping. Vincent, on the other hand, was almost jumping on his feet.
"Cal… this is — this is huge! The Merlin Trials? So, it's not a myth!"
Cal didn't respond at first, trying to gather his racing thoughts into one place, but he didn't know how to. Instead, all he could manage was a simple reply.
"You know of it?"
Vincent nodded. "Of course! The people who walk by Gravenmoor always talked about it. I never believed them though... But these guys... They came on orders from the king himself! You know what that means? It's real!"
Cal swallowed before responding. "You're... awfully eager."
Vincent scoffed. "Who wouldn't be? There's no way you don't know what the Merlin Trials are!"
Cal breathed out slowly. "I do know what they are..."
Vincent blinked, surprised at the quiet certainty in his tone.
Cal looked ahead at the empty street, at the dust drifting in the air where the riders had been. "Everyone knows about them. Even the people here. Even in places like this." His voice was low, almost reluctant. "Apparently, the trials is an event held by the Empire... and it's a way for people to 'become something greater'."
Vincent nodded eagerly, urging him on.
"That's just the story," Cal continued. "Most people in Lamnor don't even know where it's held. Just that the people who join get to go and see the kingdom in it's true glory. And the ones who pass..." He shrugged. "They become something more. Part of the army. Maybe they get to live in the kingdom and the live the lives of royalty. Champions of the Empire. Or so they say."
There was a faint bitterness there — not envy, not longing, but distance.
"But only people of potential can even dream to make it that far." Cal shook his head slowly. "Not for... people like us."
Vincent's excitement dimmed, replaced by a conflicted look. "But they said anyone is welcome to enter."
"Words." Cal replied. "Words from anyone — even the Empire — don't mean anything here."
Vincent didn't push. But the way his gaze lingered on Cal said he was still thinking about it.
------
The rest of the afternoon passed in a strange haze — part disbelief, part excitement that wasn't entirely theirs. Lamnor felt different now.
To some, it felt bigger. The excitement and amazement in Vincent's eyes did not wane in the least. It was as if it clung to his irises.
To others, it felt smaller. Like pity. Cal didn't even bother to say a word after the messengers left. It's not like there was any point to it.
By the time they returned to their room in the Hollow Anvil, the forge had gone quiet for the night. The faint glow of dying embers lit the hallway, casting long shadows on the walls. Vincent collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. His foot tapped nervously. His fingers drummed. He kept glancing at Cal, opening his mouth, closing it, opening it again.
Cal ignored him at first. Or pretended to.
Finally, Vincent sighed and sat up. "So... if you're not an ecliptic... how do you fight like that?"
Cal didn't look away from the table where he'd set his gloves. "Drop it."
Vincent hesitated — then, for once, didn't. "... Cal, I watched you take down three men like they were nothing. You saved... You saved my life without even trying! Normal people... just can't do that!"
Cal's jaw tightened.
Vincent swallowed, pressing on anyway. "I'm not accusing you... Not at all! I'm not scared of it. I just… I don't think it's wrong to have something unnatural. To be different. You deserve to know what you are!" He paused, trying to stop himself from getting so tensed. "Maybe you're overexaggerating how Mr. Virell might react. He might... tell you the... the truth."
Cal didn't answer.
The silence stretched long enough that Vincent shifted uncomfortably, unsure if he'd pushed too far.
Finally, Cal let out a slow sigh. "That'll never happen. Not now, not ever. Just... go to sleep."
That was all he said. And yet the weight in his voice made Vincent comply without another word.
He lay back down, pulling the thin blanket over himself. The room dimmed. The forge settled into its nightly stillness.
Cal laid in the bedding he made for himself again. Even with the new arrangement he settled himself into for the last week, it felt relaxing. Sleep was always relaxing. He could forget about everything that happened in a day.
Except for tonight. This was different. Annoyingly so.
Then he felt it.
A faint vibration pulsed through his palm — soft at first, then sharp enough to make him flinch. He shot up, staring at his hands.
What he saw made his eyes grow wider than they were earlier today.
Black veins mushroomed across his skin in a rapid flicker, glowing like ink stirred under the surface. Then... it vanished.
Cal froze.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. His heartbeat filled the space the way the forge's anvil once did.
He curled his fingers slowly, watching the skin for any sign of movement.
Nothing.
But the unease lingered. Something inside him was shifting. Waking. He stared at his hand a moment longer before finally lowering it, eyes dark and unsettled.
And for the first time since his youthful years, Cal began to feel a sense of voracity about who he was.
Or what he was. And he wanted answers this time.
Even though he didn't know if it was worth seeking them now.