1 day passed — 13 days before meeting the king
The morning sun fell gently over Nareth'Mir. The city of peace, bathed in quiet winds and scent-laced breeze, felt almost too perfect. But the group had grown used to it, if only a little. One day had passed since their arrival—twelve remained before their audience with the king.
Kael stretched on the inn balcony, gazing at the sandstone spires that shimmered faintly in the desert light. Beside him, Ayra leaned against the rail, her arms crossed.
"Peace makes people restless," she muttered. "Too much quiet and we start looking for noise."
Kael gave a small smile. "I think we've earned a bit of quiet."
Below, Sylvi and Niera exited the inn together, Fenric following behind and still limping slightly. Niera slowed her pace and turned to him with a soft, curious look.
"Your hand," she said gently, nodding toward the bandage. "Is it healing alright?"
Fenric flexed his fingers a little and gave a sheepish grin. "Sylvi said it'll scar, but I can still throw a punch. So I guess that's a win."
Niera smiled. "Just try not to punch any more flames next time."
Sylvi chuckled beside her. "He'll find a way."
Fenric shrugged. "Can't help it. Fire loves me."
They all laughed.
Elsewhere, in a separate quarter of the city, Saerion moved through the open-air halls of a noble house. With papers in hand and aides trailing behind him, he looked every bit the part of a highborn emissary. But his eyes, sharp and thoughtful, weren't on the present.
"This is dull," he murmured under his breath. "I was meant for something more than sitting on cushions and pretending I care about trade routes."
He paused before a tapestry showing the old wars of the desert. His hand brushed it lightly.
"I'll finish this," he said to no one. "Then I'll find them again."
Far from the music and warmth of the city, Graveth walked alone.
Nareth'Mir's lower quarters twisted like veins beneath the sand. Not just roads—patterns. Every alley, every aqueduct, every carved relief followed geometry too precise to be natural.
He stood on a rooftop, eyes narrowed.
He'd been tracing it all day. A circle here. A hook there. A spiral embedded in the old stone baths. It was more than coincidence.
He pulled a worn page from his coat and compared it to the map etched in the city below.
"A forge," he muttered.
The entire kingdom was built—not just for function or beauty—but to mirror something ancient.
The sigil of the Paradox Forge.
And if that was true, then something lay hidden beneath this peace.
He turned without a sound, descending the stairwell like a shadow.
Whatever Nareth'Mir was hiding, he would find it.
Later that morning, the group wandered through Nareth'Mir's upper district. The city was calm, nearly utopic. Guards were present, but carried no swords. Music drifted from rooftop flutes and balconies were lined with glass lanterns. The peace felt earned, and for once, the group didn't feel hunted.
Fenric paused at a stall selling ornate scroll cases.
"Look at this. Bet this one has a fireball scroll in it," he grinned.
Ayra rolled her eyes. "You'd light yourself on fire."
Sylvi ran her hand across a crystalline orb on another stand. "This city... it's strange. It's too peaceful."
Niera nodded. "That's why people train here. Not for battle. But to remember how not to forget."
They reached the Adventurer's Guild near the edge of the trade quarter, a low, sunlit hall decorated with colored banners from old explorers. Unlike other cities, the guild here was more scholarly—quests were often retrievals or explorations, not monster-slaying.
A young attendant greeted them with a bow. "Looking for a commission?"
Kael nodded. "Something light. No blood today."
They accepted a simple quest: recover a satchel from a collapsed cavern just outside the city walls. The quest itself was trivial—but the walk, the desert wind, and the quiet camaraderie reminded them of something vital.
They weren't just survivors. They were adventurers.
That evening, they sat around a small fire in the courtyard behind the inn. No prophecy stirred. No enemy stalked them. Only laughter and stories filled the night air.
Ayra sat with arms behind her head, watching the stars. "Do you ever think... maybe this is what we're fighting for?"
Kael said nothing for a while. Then nodded. "Yeah. Moments like this."
Fenric threw a pebble at his boot. "Don't get all poetic. We've got twelve days left. I'm getting all the free food I can before the king shows up."
Niera laughed softly and leaned closer to him. "Just don't trip on any more walls."
As their laughter echoed into the stars, no one noticed the pattern of garden stones beneath their feet—subtle, winding, intricate.
But for now, the world was quiet.
And they were allowed to live.
Days Later
The city breathed slowly, and so did they.
In a place untouched by war and whispers of paradox, time moved without weight. Mornings began with light and not alarms. Evenings ended with stars instead of blood.
Kael didn't notice when the pain in his chest faded. Not all at once—just little by little. His grip relaxed. The edge in his thoughts dulled. Sometimes, he caught himself smiling, not because he had to—but because something felt warm again.
Ayra had stopped sharpening her blade every night. She still watched the shadows, but less like a soldier, and more like a sister guarding something fragile. And when she laughed now, it no longer sounded like armor cracking—it sounded like her.
Fenric counted his steps with a grin instead of a limp. He still made noise, still made trouble—but he no longer hid his fear behind it.
Sylvi's hands, once trembling between healing and horror, now moved with confidence. She tended not just to wounds, but to quiet moments. She sang, softly. No magic. Just her voice.
Together, they learned how to live again. Not as warriors. Not as hunted souls. Just as themselves.
And though none of them said it aloud, they knew the world wouldn't stay quiet forever.
But for now…
They had found a place where the past could loosen its grip.
Where memories did not vanish, but no longer ruled them.
Where the future could wait.
And in that rare, flickering stillness—
They began to remember what it felt like to be whole.