Chapter 1 - Ebonhold
The third day of the sixth month, Year 1467
The mist never sleeps.
This wasn't some philosophical proverb, nor a metaphor favored by poets. It was a cold, simple truth—as solid as the stones Ebonhold was built from. It was a truth the people of Ebonhold learned before they learned to read, before they learned to swing a sword, and before they learned that some truths are better left unknown.
Morning was still in its infancy when a boy reached the stairs of the North Wall. A guard stood at the base of the steps; he was old, his face etched with the wrinkles of passing years. He was sipping something from a small cup, his breath and the steam from the cup rising together into the biting air.
'Bram. He's stood here every morning for as long as I can recall. We haven't spoken much over the years—a few words at best.'
Bram raised his eyes as he heard the footsteps.
"Loomis," he said in a flat tone that neither welcomed nor forbade. "You're early today."
"As usual," Loomis said.
"As usual," the guard repeated, returning his gaze to an unchanging horizon.
I climbed the stairs slowly, my hand grazing the cold stones at my side.
At the top, Tarn and Coyle were standing guard over the wall.
'Tarn on the left, always. Coyle on the right, always. They haven't traded places once in all the months I've come up here. I don't know if it's habit, an order, or if they simply haven't spared a single thought for it.'
Tarn turned when he heard the footsteps. He saw me and went back to staring ahead. Coyle didn't even look.
I stood at the edge of the wall and looked down. My grey hair stirred in the cold air, a shade not much different from the gloom sitting at the base of the plateau. My pale eyes gazed at the slopes beneath me in silence.
The grey mist was there as always, sitting quietly at the bottom of the heights, shrouding the rocky inclines until it vanished into the distance. The resonance torches along the edge of the wall glowed with a white light in the air. I never understood exactly how they worked. I only knew that they did, and that Ebonhold had not fallen in twenty-two years.
That was enough for me.
"You know," Tarn said suddenly without turning.
I looked at him.
"You come up here every morning," he said. "Every morning you look at the same thing. Don't you get bored?"
I thought for a moment.
"No," I said.
"I do," Coyle said from the other side, still not turning. "Six years of looking at the same mist every day."
"That's because you look at it as just mist," Tarn said.
Coyle fell silent.
"And what's the difference?" he finally asked.
No one answered.
'A good question. What is the difference, really? I don't even know why I come here every morning myself. Perhaps because it's the only place in Ebonhold that doesn't ask me questions.'
I remained there, staring down into the silence.
___
By the time I descended from the wall, Ebonhold was waking up slowly.
Life in the fortress had its own rhythm—it didn't start all at once but accumulated gradually, like light after dawn. First, you hear the sounds of the kitchens in the South Wing; the clatter of pots, the roar of fires, and the voice of a woman giving orders in a tone that brooked no argument. Then come the voices of the guards as they swap shifts on the walls—low murmurs and heavy footsteps on cold stone. Then the houses in the West Wing begin to stir one by one; doors opening, the voices of children, and the occasional morning squabble that wasn't worth noticing.
I walked through the main thoroughfare with my hands in my pockets. The guards nodded to me as I passed. The women in the kitchen would sometimes press a loaf of bread into my hand without asking.
No one was cruel to me. But no one was close to me either. I was simply the child Walter had brought back from the mist one day—that is how everyone here saw me. Mostly, that is how I saw myself too.
'It's fine. That's just how things are.'
I stopped at the edge of the Eastern Courtyards and watched.
The training had just begun. The Sentinels were in pairs, their breath coming out as white steam in the cold air. Their bodies moved in a way that differed from ordinary people—heavier, more economical, as if every movement was pre-calculated. The sound of resonance swords clashing was deeper than ordinary iron, a vibration you felt in your chest rather than heard in your ears.
'In three months, I'll start training like this. I don't know if I want to or not. But apparently, no one is asking me.'
Twenty meters away, at the well in the center of the fortress, children my age were chasing each other around the circular stones, laughing loudly. One of them tripped and fell to his knees, only to get up still laughing.
I watched them for a long time.
'It looks so easy for them. How do they do it?'
Finding no explanation, I turned and walked in the other direction.
"Loomis!"
The voice came from behind me—loud, enthusiastic, and without preamble.
'Cale.'
I didn't need to turn around to know. There wasn't another person in all of Ebonhold who called out like that.
I turned and saw him running toward me from the end of the corridor. His messy brown hair was windblown, and his round face looked as though it was always on the verge of saying something funny. He wore a brown coat that was at least an inch too short.
In his hand was an apple he was biting into with total indifference. Cale reached me and stood there, panting slightly.
"I was looking for you," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"No specific reason," he said. "I was just looking for you."
I kept staring at him. He smiled as if my stare was a compliment, then dropped into step beside me, walking as if he had been there the whole time.
___
We found a spot at the well in the center of the fortress. Cale sat on its stone edge and held the apple out to me.
"Want some?"
"No."
"I knew you'd say no," he said, taking another bite.
I sat beside him and looked at the black water in the depths of the well.
'No one knows exactly how deep this well goes. One of the kids once said he threw a stone and never heard it hit. I never believed him'.
"I heard the Academy opens in three months," Cale said after a moment, his tone shifting slightly.
"Yes," I said.
"I'm excited," he said. "My dad says anyone who graduates can go down into the mist alone without being afraid."
"Your father exaggerates a lot," I said.
Cale laughed.
"I know," he said. "But he exaggerates in a fun way."
We were silent for a moment. The light changed slowly above us as the sun rose, and the sounds of Ebonhold grew louder around us.
"Are you afraid of the Academy?" he asked me suddenly.
I thought about it.
"No," I said.
"I am, a little," he said with unexpected honesty. "Not of the training, I'm afraid of being bad at it."
I looked at him for a moment.
'That's strange for him. Cale doesn't usually admit to being afraid.'
"Everyone is bad at the beginning," I said.
"That's not necessarily reassuring," he replied.
"I didn't say it was reassuring," I said.
He laughed out loud this time.
___
We reached the small market next to the hospital in the southwest just as the sun hit its zenith. The market was in full swing—cramped wooden stalls, the voices of vendors and customers, and the occasional argument over a price.
Cale stopped suddenly in front of the honey stall, his eyes gleaming in a way that boded ill.
"I want that," he said with absolute calm, pointing to a small jar of honey.
"You don't have any money," I said.
"I know," he said. "But the merchant doesn't necessarily need to know that."
'This is not going to end well. I'm sure of it.'
Cale approached the merchant a short, broad-shouldered man whose thick mustache made him look perpetually angry even when he wasn't.
Cale gave a wide smile."Good morning, uncle," and said.
"What do you want?" the merchant said without looking up.
"My friend and I," Cale said, pointing at me.
'Don't point at me.'
"We were wondering if we could taste the honey before buying. To check the quality. Because we are very serious customers."
The merchant raised his eyes and gave him a long look.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Seven years old," Cale said proudly. "But I have the palate of a grown man."
'Omg'.
"Get lost," the merchant said, returning to his crates.
"Maybe if—"
"Get lost."
"Mayb—"
"Get lost."
Cale walked away with slow steps and a dejected face.
"Wait," the merchant called out.
Cale's eyes lit up, and he turned around quickly. "What?"
"You forgot your friend here."
___
"The man doesn't understand investment," Cale said finally with total seriousness.
'Why did I expect a different result? But thank goodness it ended that way.'
I looked at him without saying a word. We walked in silence for a few seconds. Then Cale stopped abruptly. I looked at him. He was standing there, eyes fixed on the honey stall from a distance, with that expression on his face that only appeared rarely.
'Oh no.'
"I have an idea hahaha" he said.
"No" I said.