Haugstad, Kingdom of Divinium, Eastern region of Rohana Federation, 2051 S.C. 161st day
Nature reclaimed what the flames had stolen. Wild grass pushed through the cracks of charred foundations where homes once stood. The ruins of Haugstad lay silent under the morning sky, left to nature to consume its past.
Heron stood at what had once been the village entrance, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Six cycles had passed since he'd last walked these paths. Not a single board had remained from what were once village cottages. He walked through the grass, reminiscing about what once stood here.
He could see the old mill from afar, the only building remaining. As he approached, Heron noticed that while time had worn at its walls and wildlife had claimed its corners, the structure still stood. Inside, the air hung thick with dust and abandonment, but the trapdoor beneath remained untouched.
He lifted it. The hollow space below held two leather pouches, exactly where he'd left them six cycles ago. He opened the pouch that contained the coins and pendant. As for the other... Heron's hand hesitated over the second pouch. His father's words echoed in his memory: "Only if there's no other choice..."
He took only the first pouch, securing it inside his shirt. The second, he left where it lay, covering it once more with hay before closing the trapdoor.
I'd better head back to the main road; I need to make it before night sets in. He placed the items in his rucksack and headed for the road.
As high noon approached, the truck arrived in Jamtara. The vehicle's steam engine had barely cooled when Heron found himself standing at a small square where it had left him off. Before him, Jamtara rose like something from a fever dream. It was a city where ancient stone merged with mechanical marvels.
A cathedral dominated his view, its white spires reaching toward the barrier above. To its left stood an older building crowned with an azure dome, its golden trophy catching the morning light. Between these monuments lay a narrow, cobbled alley.
As he emerged from the alley, Heron found himself before a building adorned with Divinium's banners. It was the city guard station. But it was the life of the street that captured his attention: stone houses lining cobbled paths, trees and crystal lamps intertwined along the sidewalks, steam-powered vehicles rumbling past.
"Hey, can you please move? You're blocking the way," a man's voice broke through his wonder.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Heron stepped aside, only to be drawn by the scent of grilled meat from a nearby stand.
The vendor, a man with a red hat and an impressive mustache, watched him approach. "One blue coin for a kebab."
Heron's eyes widened at the first bite. "This is amazing. What is it called?"
"Are you serious? It's a kebab. It is the staple food around here." The vendor's eyes narrowed. "You're from the villages, aren't you?"
"Yes. Here to join an adventuring party."
"Word of advice, kid: don't advertise that too loudly. City folk can be particular." The vendor leaned forward. "Guild's past the Cathedral of Creation. Look for Rohai's statue in the square, then take the right street. And if you need lodging, try "Your Second Home" tavern by the square. A former adventurer runs it. He'll treat you fair."
"Thank you." Heron pulled out another coin to tip the vendor, but the vendor waved it away.
"Keep it. Jamtara's expensive enough. Though if you want something to drink, I've got citrus water. It is good for stamina. Costs two blues."
With the cool drink in hand, Heron followed the busy street toward the cathedral. Children darted past him, their laughter echoing against the stone buildings. Heron was reminded of the games played in wheat fields, races through village paths. He pushed the thoughts aside.
Not now. Stay focused.
The square opened before him, dominated by a white statue that commanded attention even among Jamtara's grandeur. Rohai stood frozen in flowing robes, face obscured by a ceremonial helmet, one hand gripping a staff crowned with seven spikes radiating from a circle, and the other holding an open book.
Three streets branched from the square. Following the vendor's directions, Heron took the right path and soon found himself before the adventurers' guild. The building stood apart from its neighbors. It was a two-story timber-and-stone structure that wore its age with dignity. Blue tiles crowned its steep roof, and the Rohana Federation's emblems adorned double doors.
Inside, wooden beams supported the upper floor, and paintings of adventuring parties lined the walls. Behind a polished reception desk, a woman in a formal uniform arranged papers with practiced efficiency.
"Excuse me," Heron approached. "I'm here about the adventuring selection."
"You're a few days early." She looked up. "Already registered with us?"
"No, this is my first time."
"Ah, seeking the thrill of adventure! The adrenaline of danger! The fulfillment of serving our federation!" Her enthusiasm seemed rehearsed but genuine.
"Um, I guess," Heron managed an awkward smile.
"Come on, be more excited! It's not every day you get to be an adventurer."
"I'm just tired from traveling. I wanted to know the requirements, then find lodging."
"Of course, of course. First, you need to fill out the applicant's form, and then we'll run some identity checks. I'll need some basic information: your name for the registry, plus a blood drop and fingerprint trace."
"Heron of Haugstad."
Her quill paused. "Haugstad? That village that was destroyed a few cycles ago? Why identify yourself with ruins?"
"Because it's still here." Heron touched his chest. "I carry it in my heart. Through my quests, I want its name to live on past its end."
"That's a fine attitude right there." A male voice carried from deeper in the guild hall. "I can see an adventuring spirit. You'll do fine, kid."
Heron turned to see a tall man with dark skin and blonde hair pass through the hall, his military bearing evident even in casual dress. The man gave a slight nod as he walked past him, the peace symbol on his cap catching the light, and then went about his business.
The receptionist guided Heron through the rest of the registration: a small cut on his finger for the blood trace, pressing his thumb into a special paper, and signing his name in the ledger. Then she took his photograph with a device Heron has never seen. There was a loud sound and a flash from the box the receptionist held, and then a photo of him appeared. He stood there numb, his mind trying to process what had occurred. He returned to normal when the receptionist's voice reached him.
"Come back in three days," she said, handing him a numbered token. "That's when the selection begins."
Outside, the afternoon sun had begun to lengthen shadows across the cobblestones. Heron's stomach rumbled, reminding him that one kebab wasn't enough after a day's travel. Remembering the vendor's advice, he made his way back to the square, this time taking the path toward "Your second home" tavern.
"Your second home" turned out to be a modest establishment, its weathered sign depicting a flower wrapped around a sword. Through windows warmed by crystal lamps, Heron could see a handful of patrons scattered across wooden tables.
A bell chimed softly as he entered. The tavern's interior was warm, with dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling and faded adventuring memorabilia adorning the walls. Behind the counter, a heavyset man with a graying beard looked up from wiping glasses.
"Looking for a room?" the man asked before Heron could speak. "You have that fresh-off-the-road look about you."
"Yes. I was told this place treats adventurers fairly."
The man's eyes crinkled. "Planning to join a party, eh? Five blue coins a night get you a bed and breakfast. Ten more gets you dinner for the week." He started polishing the counter. "I'm Marcus. Used to swing a sword myself, before my knee met the wrong end of a monster's tail."
Heron counted out the coins. He chose to have both breakfast and dinner.
"I'm Heron, looking to join a party that visits other countries."
"Well, Heron, I wish you luck finding one. Your room's upstairs, third door on the right. Dinner's served till sundown if you're hungry." Marcus slid a key across the counter. "Word of advice? Get some rest. City's not going anywhere, and you'll want your strength for whatever the guild has planned."
The room was small but clean, with a narrow bed and a window overlooking the busy street below. Heron set his rucksack down and sank onto the mattress. It was softer than anything he'd slept on in years.
Above the rooftops, airships drifted lazily across the evening sky. Tomorrow, he could properly explore the city. But for now, he let the distant hum of steam engines and the murmur of voices from the tavern below lull him toward sleep.