Two days ago...
Beyond the bustling gates of Dreadholm Dominion, a winding road stretched through a forest dense with ancient life. Towering trees loomed overhead, their bark veined with glowing moss, and their branches dripping with silvery vines that shimmered like morning dew laced with magic. The air was thick with the rich scent of pine and earth, touched with a subtle electric hum — the signature of enchantment embedded in every stone and leaf.
The road itself was a marvel: smooth and rune-etched, it pulsed gently beneath the sunlight filtering through the canopy above. Lampposts of twisted iron and crystal lined the path like old sentinels, their softly glowing orbs mimicking the light of distant stars, casting a dreamlike hue over those who passed.
Carriages moved steadily along the road, though not in great number. One, drawn by a pair of horned elk, groaned under the weight of spiced wine barrels and bundles of rare herbs. Another, heading in the opposite direction, jingled with crates of enchanted trinkets and shimmering bolts of silk. The driver hummed a tune that hung in the air like a ghost of some long-forgotten ballad.
Among the travelers, Raphael trudged forward, two bulging bags weighing down his shoulders, the fabric straps biting into his fur. His breaths came out uneven, every step dragging slightly on the gently glowing stones beneath his boots. The forest around him whispered — rustling leaves, distant bird calls, the soft hum of enchantments woven into the trees.
Up ahead, Subaru walked like a man with no burdens at all. His stride was relaxed, arms swinging lightly at his sides, cloak fluttering just slightly in the breeze. He whistled an old tune — tuneless but cheerful — and grinned at every passerby, as if the road itself were a friend.
From a passing carriage, a merchant called, "Good day, traveler!" not knowing Subaru from anyone, but warmed by his easy smile.
Subaru tipped an imaginary hat. "And a fine morning to you too!"
Raphael, lagging behind, grunted as he adjusted one of the straps digging into his collarbone. "They don't even know who you are."
"That's the point," Subaru replied over his shoulder. "Isn't it nice being liked just for your face?"
Raphael muttered, "Or maybe they're just glad you're not carrying anything."
Subaru chuckled, pausing just enough for Raphael to catch up before letting his pace drift forward again.
"What's wrong, Raphael? Don't tell me you're winded already?"
Raphael huffed. "I'm fine."
"Mm-hm."
"I'm just wondering," Raphael said between breaths, "when exactly you plan to carry your own bag."
Subaru gave a laugh — not cruel, just amused — the sound rich and honest, echoing through the trees. "Now why would I do that? You'd have me shame the whole elder generation like that?"
"I'd like to see the old man actually act his age for once," Raphael muttered.
Subaru turned his head slightly. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Raphael said quickly, though his voice cracked from the effort of walking and pretending not to be annoyed.
"Good," Subaru said. "This is good training for you."
Raphael rolled his shoulders with a slight wince. "More like good for your convenience."
There was a pause. Birds chirped overhead. Somewhere nearby, water trickled faintly, hidden beneath the underbrush. The air buzzed faintly — not just with life, but with distant spells and the quiet hum of a magically maintained road.
Subaru glanced back again, softer this time. "You've got strength in you, you know. Just don't always realize it."
Raphael didn't answer right away.
Then, under his breath, "You say that, but I still haven't beaten you once."
Subaru's smile faded slightly — not gone, but subdued.
"That's not really the point," he said quietly. "You'll see."
The gates of Dreadholm Dominion loomed ahead, twin towers of blackstone and polished obsidian etched with ancient protective runes. Above them, shimmering glyphs hovered in lazy spirals, shifting subtly as if aware of each traveler passing through.
Sleek-uniformed guards flanked the entrance, their armor glinting with subtle enchantments. Their movements were sharp, efficient — no wasted motion, no idle chatter.
A line had formed. Merchants murmured to each other, Common travelers adjusted their belongings, eyes scanning the guards with quiet unease. Every step toward the gate carried weight.
One guard stepped forward — a half-elf woman with a long ash-blonde braid pulled tight, not a strand out of place. Her arcweave uniform clung to her like a second skin — sleek, tactical, laced with enchantment. Compartments at her belt clinked softly as she moved, filled with small tools, perhaps even traps.
Her eyes, pale teal and coldly precise, swept the line like measuring instruments.
"Next," she said, voice clipped but not unfriendly.
An elderly beastkin stepped forward, her hands trembling slightly as she passed over her permit. The half-elf scanned it, then nodded, her expression softening just a touch. "Welcome to Dreadholm."
The old woman bowed her head, relief clear on her face as she moved on.
Then came Subaru and Raphael.
Subaru strode up with the same carefree confidence he always carried, while Raphael remained a step behind, bags still tugging at his shoulders, ears flicking with caution.
The guard's gaze flicked toward them. "Permit, please."
Subaru patted his robes. "Yes, yes... permit... now where did that thing go—"
He paused, patting deeper, then sighed. "Hm. Did I drop it again?"
Behind them, a gruff voice grumbled. "Come on, old man. Some of us have places to be."
The half-elf didn't even turn her head. "Remain patient," she said, tone firm enough to still the air.
Raphael exhaled through his nose, pulling a neatly folded slip of parchment from his coat. "Sora gave me a backup. Figured this would happen."
Subaru glanced at it with a shrug. "She knows me too well."
The half-elf accepted the document. Her posture was still, unreadable, as she unfolded it.
Then — everything in her shifted.
Her pupils dilated. A quiet inhale. The faintest tremble in her fingertips. For just a breath, the enchanted light from the nearby gate lamps flickered as if sensing the change in her.
She looked up — and bowed, low, her braid falling forward over her shoulder.
"I... I beg your pardon," she said, voice taut with sudden formality. "I didn't recognize who you were. Please... proceed."
Raphael curious. "Is something wrong with it?"
The guard straightened. "No. No — everything is... in order."
Her hands moved quickly, too quickly, as she returned the document with care. Her eyes no longer met his face.
From behind, the gruff man started again. "What's going on now—?"
The half-elf's gaze snapped to him — sharp, electric.
He swallowed whatever he was going to say.
Subaru scratched at the side of his head, voice casual but confused. "Well. That was... strange."
Raphael nodded slowly, his fingers brushing the edge of the permit again, almost like he could feel the answer hidden in the parchment. But he said nothing.
They passed through the gates.
And behind them, the half-elf touched a small crystal pinned to her collar. Her voice dropped to a whisper only the arcane could catch.
"Our lord... is home."
Inside, Dreadholm pulsed with life.
Warm sunlight spilled across cobbled streets, glinting off windows and the occasional shimmer of arcane wards woven into the stone. The scent of grilled meat, sweet fruit, and fresh parchment drifted through the air.
Laughter echoed — not the forced kind of staged joy, but genuine, easy. Children weaved through crowds like river currents: orcs, humans, beastkin, all tangled in play. A young cat-eared boy darted past with a stick-sword in hand, shouting a battle cry. He "dueled" a human girl, both collapsing in giggles as an older orc teen tossed a glowing ball high into the air, chasing after it with a yell.
Vendors stood behind colorfully shaded stalls, calling out above the din. "Chillfruit, still cold from dawnlight!" one barked. Another waved a cloak that shimmered between crimson and teal as the customer laughed, the colors echoing her changing smile.
Raphael paused. His ears twitched subtly, following the movement, the patterns. His head tilted slightly as if listening to something beyond the noise.
"This place…" he said softly. "It's... spacious."
Subaru smiled beside him, arms folding behind his back, his cloak catching the breeze like a banner. "Of course it is. And it's all thanks to the Order."
"The Order?" Raphael asked, still listening, still sensing.
"My people," Subaru said. "My family. My trust."
Raphael nodded slowly. He turned slightly, as if looking without looking — and took in more than most ever could. There were no cries of hunger. No ragged hands stretched from alley shadows. Only soft footsteps, laughter, the occasional hum of passing arcane energy. Even the guards, posted at corners, smiled when spoken to.
"They did a good job," Raphael murmured. "Way better than Balmount. That place always feels... closed in."
Subaru chuckled, low and fond. "Don't say that."
He paused, and when he spoke again, there was reverence in his voice — the kind that came from knowing pain up close.
"Balmount has its troubles, yes. But they also have a leader who'd die for his people."
Raphael scoffed faintly, unconvinced. "Sounds more like someone who hides behind castle walls."
Subaru's smile didn't fade, but it shifted — into something knowing, a touch amused.
"Oh no. The only thing keeping Thorn locked in his castle is his wife."
He leaned in slightly, as if sharing a story the world had forgotten. "Between you and me... he's a hopeless romantic. A dangerous one, too. But still hopeless."
Raphael didn't reply right away. He kept walking, slowly, absorbing the rhythm of the street. The smells. The tone. The feeling of safety — real or carefully manufactured.
A quiet city, pulsing with harmony.
It felt... rare.
Maybe even dangerous.
But for now, he said nothing.
But then —
Two figures stepped forward, cutting cleanly through the crowd.
The first was a beastkin — midnight blue fur catching the light like polished steel, ears flicking slightly as he moved. His arcweave armor hugged his frame like a second skin, reinforced along the limbs for vertical combat. Talon-grip boots. Fingerless gloves that left faint clawmarks in the stone.
He didn't walk — he calculated steps.
Beside him loomed an orc, broad as a forge wall, tribal tattoos coiled like runes across his bare scalp and jaw. His eyes were blood-red, yet still. A thick arcweave vest layered in enchantments rose and fell with his breath. Across his chest: a bandolier packed with stun orbs, their runes softly glowing.
The air shifted — imperceptibly at first.
Then the crowd stilled, like birds sensing a storm before it breaks.
Whispers broke the silence in uneven ripples:
"...are those elite?"
"Why are they here?"
"Are they stopping someone?"
"Did something happen?"
Raphael's ears twitched. His breath slowed.
He didn't need to see. He felt it — the change in the atmosphere, the way the city's rhythm stumbled for a breath. A pressure in the chest. Not hostile. Not yet.
But absolute.
He braced without thinking.
Beside him, Subaru slowly raised his hands — not in surrender, but in calm.
"Gentlemen," Subaru said, his voice level, "I hope we haven't done anything wrong?"
No reply.
Not immediately.
Then both soldiers stepped forward — and bowed, low and deliberate.
Their voices rang out, not loud, but resonant. Authority shaped into syllables:
"Welcome home, Lord Reaper."
The silence that followed was thunderous.
Somewhere, a child whimpered. A vendor dropped a fruit that rolled across the stone.
Raphael turned sharply, not toward the soldiers — toward Subaru.
Subaru exhaled slowly.
Not with surprise.
But the quiet weight of inevitability.