The lavish welcome feast continued.
Havinsson—handsome, charming, quick to smile—proved an excellent conversationalist. Witty and graceful, he made even the formal meal feel relaxed. After recounting the past glories of the Torrie family, he moved on to his current troubles.
With his father Anmissa bedridden for so long, Havinsson had been forced to take over Kaiton's administration earlier than expected. The direct bloodline of the Torrie family had dwindled to almost nothing—just himself, his younger half-brother Sessche, and Sessche's sister Wenlanduo. A few distant cousins existed, but they were barely related. So the burden of running the city fell entirely on Havinsson's shoulders.
When he spoke of his ailing father, his voice dripped with sorrow. According to family tradition, after the city lord passed, twelve-year-old Sessche would be sent to one of their provincial holdings to learn governance—a rite of passage meant to strengthen the bloodline.
Havinsson's handsome face twisted with worry. "My poor little brother, he's still a child! If he's sent to some remote territory, I'm afraid he won't be able to control those distant relatives. But I can't violate the family laws. All I can do is hope Father recovers soon."
Raymond murmured sympathy. Even rulers, it seemed, had their troubles.
He'd barely met Sessche—just a brief impression of an awkward, shy boy, still growing into his limbs. Polite enough, but nowhere near his brother's polished ease.
Havinsson's concern for his sibling seemed genuine. Raymond, who had never known brothers, found the sentiment slightly alien. He'd always preferred solitude.
Perhaps sensing Raymond's wandering attention, Havinsson smoothly shifted the conversation.
Raymond had prepared for this. The story came easily.
He was the youngest disciple of an old wizard, raised in an isolated forest hut. His only companions had been his powerful teacher, a talking tree, and various strange beasts. When his master decided he needed experience in the wider world, Raymond had set out.
The badge on his chest? A gift from his master, a token from years past. His task was simple: travel freely, and eventually find a ship to cross the sea—specifically, to reach a place called Golan Heights, where an old friend of his master resided.
Havinsson listened intently, his expression growing serious. He asked polite, curious questions, and Raymond elaborated—describing the talking tree that had been his childhood guardian, and the red fruit with a child's face that he'd often eaten.
Havinsson's face flickered with surprise, then wonder. When Raymond finished, he sat silent for a long moment before speaking.
"Master Raymond," he said finally, his voice hushed, "trees like that are incredibly rare. Even a full wizard would think twice before challenging one. And that red fruit—it's a priceless alchemical ingredient. I only know of it because my family once had wizard blood in our veins."
He shook his head in awe. "Your master must be a truly great wizard. To have raised you among such beings... your future achievements will be limitless."
Raymond accepted the praise with a modest smile. He knew better than to overshare. The less said, the safer.
When the feast ended, they retired to the drawing room for desserts. Raymond took the opportunity to speak humbly.
"This is my first time away from the forest, away from my teacher. I'm still unfamiliar with customs and manners. If I've done anything amiss, please forgive me and set me straight."
Havinsson waved away his concerns with a warm laugh. "A wizard has privileges anywhere, Master Raymond. That badge on your chest—it grants you the freedom to do whatever you wish in Kaiton. No one would dare question you."
Raymond smiled but didn't comment. After a pause, he broached the subject that truly mattered.
"My master gave me no instructions on how to cross the sea. When I met Captain Haig, I simply followed the caravan here. Now I must ask: how does one reach the other side? Specifically, how do I find Golan Heights? That is the test my master set for me."
Havinsson's confident expression faltered. He frowned, thinking.
"I'm afraid..." he began, then sighed. "If you merely wanted to sail, that would be simple. Kaiton has ships aplenty. But Golan Heights? I've never heard that name. It might be a place, or perhaps an organization—I truly don't know."
He went on to explain: the Torrie family had once produced a second-level apprentice, generations ago, but the blood had thinned since. None of his recent ancestors had shown any magical talent. So the family's knowledge of wizard matters was limited.
"The only place you might find answers," Havinsson said, "is the Wizard Academy in Black River Valley, northwest of here. That's where those with the gift go to study. They'll know about Golan Heights."
He leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine.
"But I should warn you, Master Raymond: the old dean of that academy is a stubborn old mule. Don't expect a warm welcome."