Noble inn, balcony overlooking the sea
Night had fallen over Marlen like a dark velvet cloak studded with stars. The sea breeze blew gently, carrying the salty aroma of the churning waters. The lights of the coastal city flickered in the distance, reflected on the waves like magical sparks. At the top of an inn reserved for the elite visitors, Diaz Enker stood motionless on the balcony, arms resting on the ornate iron railing.
He wore only a light tunic, his black hair tousled by the wind. His golden-gray eyes were fixed on the point where the sea touched the sky — a bottomless abyss. But his mind was elsewhere.
"Why accept the contract?"
The question echoed. It wasn't just about the map, or just about Kar, the old pirate. It was something more. An impulse. A part of himself that wanted to reveal itself, to be tested, to take revenge — on a world that had forgotten his name.
"If everyone is right... if the Enker lineage was erased by force, then my existence is a mistake the world needs to face."
He thought of Asla. Of the way she looked at him: as if he were a living piece of a forgotten prophecy. He thought of Kalter, the mutilated man who laughed at fate. And he thought of Liah… always her. Always hidden in some corner of memory.
The night gave no answers. Only the rhythmic sound of the waves and the distant screeching of seagulls under the moon.
He clenched his fists and whispered to himself:
— I won't back down. Not anymore.
Vince Mansion
On the other side of the city, among polished marble columns and tapestries embroidered with noble crests, a formal dinner was taking place at the long main table of the Vince estate. Silver candelabras hung from the ceiling, casting golden reflections over still-steaming plates.
Vlad Vince maintained his composure, cutting the fillet on his plate as if performing in a play, but his mind was agitated. Across from him, with the same arrogant and cold expression he had inherited, sat his father: Klaud Vince, the patriarch.
— Tomorrow is the day, Vlad — Klaud said, reclining with predatory elegance. — Is everything ready for your victory?
Vlad looked up. Behind his calm exterior, he felt the pressure. Alkan Vir. Diaz Enker. And other names beginning to be whispered from the magical mouths of the city. The tournament wouldn't be a formality.
— Of course, father. I won't disappoint you — he replied with a slight smile.
Klaud let out a muffled laugh, cold as ancient ice.
— You lie poorly. I know you. You know it will be a fierce contest. Many promising young ones... even that bastard from the Vir family, always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. And now a new name... Diaz Enker. Heard what happened earlier with El Dourado, fame rising too fast to ignore.
Vlad kept smiling, but the knot in his throat tightened.
Klaud then snapped his fingers.
One of the servants approached with a tray covered by a velvet cloth. When the fabric was removed, it revealed a gleaming metal glove, made of articulated plates with gray runes and dark blue details. There was something ancient about it — as if it carried secrets no book had ever recorded.
— I found this on one of my sea voyages, years ago — said Klaud, pride gleaming in his eyes. — Thought about selling it, but first took it to a spellcaster for evaluation. Know what he told me?
He paused, savoring the moment.
— He said the price of using this glove... is not betraying your allies.
Vlad raised an eyebrow, surprised.
— A restrictive enchantment?
— Yes, and advantageous. For us — Klaud confirmed. — Besides channeling magical flow more efficiently, this glove amplifies water-based abilities. It may be your trump card tomorrow.
Vlad stared at the object with fascination, but also with hesitation.
— But don't rely solely on it — Klaud warned. — Relics are artifacts from before the Great Wars of Elyndros. Not even the spellcasters can fully classify them. Some rebel. Others drive their wielders insane. All that's known is that some are more powerful than others... and true knowledge was lost with the Devourers of the North.
Silence lingered between them until Klaud stood and walked over to Vlad, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.
— Even so, you are a Vince. And Marlen... will fall into our hands. With or without relics.
Vlad nodded slowly, the weight of inheritance looming over him like a shadow.
The House of Chains — Vir Mansion
The Vir mansion stood atop a coastal hill, as grim as the reputation of its lineage. Its hallways were cold, long, silent — as if eternally awaiting the return of a ghost who would never come. Fifteen years had passed since Valten Vir, the former patriarch, had set out on an expedition to the south of Elyndros. His crew returned days later, in pieces — physically and mentally. Some went mad. Others never spoke again. And all said the same thing:
"The Leviathan rose from the abyss and swallowed him whole, ship and all."
No body was ever found. No proof. No artifact. Nothing.
The only certainty? Valten was dead... or worse.
Since then, the mansion fell under the control of his widow: Analia Vir. A woman with eyes like frozen glass, skin too pale to seem alive, and lips that never smiled without venom behind them. She seized control of the house with iron resolve. And from day one, treated her stepson — Alkan Vir — as a poorly sewn stain upon the family's honor.
That night, as the sea wind moaned against the stained-glass windows, Analia sat in the main hall. Carpets embroidered with entwined serpents, busts of forgotten ancestors, blue candles clutched in old iron holders.
At the table, a noble feast — but only two seemed to enjoy it.
— More meat, Arlin? — Analia asked sweetly, serving her youngest son a thick slice of golden roast.
Arlin Vir, 17, handsome, spoiled, dressed like a general who had never seen war, smiled proudly.
— Thank you, mommy. And I want dessert with Virita chocolate afterward!
She stroked his hair like she was raising an untouchable prince.
Alkan Vir sat at the corner of the table. Upright posture, silent, eyes fixed on the untouched plate. It wasn't hunger he lacked — it was the appetite to endure the scene. His outfit was simpler, dark, fitted. Discreet elegance, effortless. A presence that needed no crown.
Sarah Vir, seated beside him, gripped her cutlery tightly. Her eyes were intense amber, long black hair flowing down her back. Her beauty was firm, almost wild — like a silver sword: delicate, yet made for war.
— Not eating? — she whispered, looking at Alkan.
— I've no stomach for meat served with hypocrisy — he replied, voice calm.
Sarah looked at her mother. Analia pretended not to hear, her frozen smile unwavering.
— Alkan — she said finally. — The tournament is tomorrow. I hope you've memorized what you must do.
She served herself wine without facing him.
— Fight well? — he said sarcastically.
— Marry well — she corrected firmly. — Joe Kalter's daughter. They say she's... unique.
She paused, laced with hidden contempt.
— But if he accepts the alliance, the Vir name will be strengthened. We need Marlen in the right hands. And you... you are the most valuable coin we still possess.
Sarah dropped her cutlery, the metallic clatter echoing through the hall.
— He's no coin. He's my brother. — Her voice cut like a blade.
Analia raised an eyebrow.
— Half-brother. And a bastard, if you want precision. He's only here because the former patriarch insisted. Who, as we all know, is not returning.
Sarah stood up. Her chest heaving with anger.
— Say again that he doesn't belong to this house, and I swear I'll—
— Enough — Alkan said quietly, rising too. — Don't lose your composure over me, Sarah.
She looked at him with pain and fury.
— They don't deserve you.
— I know.
He turned to leave. But before he could exit, Analia spoke coldly:
— If you fail tomorrow, there will be no place for you — not even as currency. Think on that, bastard son.
Alkan paused at the door. Without looking back, he spoke in the coldest tone he'd ever used.
— I'm not your son.
And left.
Sarah remained, fighting back the tears she never allowed to fall.
Analia took a sip of wine, gazing fondly at Arlin.
— You, my dear, will be the true heir. And this city will kneel to the Vir.
Arlin smiled, foolishly.
Sarah silently swore she would never allow it.
Kalter Mansion, East Wing — Noble Quarters
The night spilled silver over the stained-glass windows of El Dourado's mansion. The halls, adorned with tapestries of sea dragons and enchanted shells, subtly pulsed with the energy of sealed relics. In the top-floor room, windows faced the open sea, where moonlight met the waves in silence.
There, seated before a magical mirror floating with golden runes, was Joe Kalter's daughter. Her face remained hidden by a dark blue silk veil, hand-embroidered with enchanted threads. Her trembling hands rested on her lap, and her eyes — deep and sorrowful — stared into the hidden reflection.
Behind her, July Simon, her master, carefully adjusted a glowing necklace. It was made of white silver and held a crystal core that pulsed gently like an enchanted heart.
— Your father's orders... — July said, her voice soft and calm. — "She must look beautiful for dinner." Those were his words.
The young woman sighed.
— As if beauty were enough to hide the shame of being handed out like a prize.
July smiled with pity and rested her hands on the girl's shoulders.
— This necklace is more than adornment, my dear. The mission to retrieve this relic was not in vain. It's a true relic. Its price was revealed by a spellcaster in Hestora:
"To honor your father and your allies."
She leaned forward, as if sharing a sacred secret.
— It amplifies root power, you've seen it yourself. This necklace chose to resonate with you.
The young woman was silent for a moment... then turned suddenly and hugged July tightly. The master froze, surprised.
— Thank you... for being the mother he never was.
— Silly girl — said July, hiding her emotion. — That comes from your real mother. Her lineage always held power in the Root. Your father wanted you to be Storm, something more "brilliant", more destructive... but you are who you are.
The girl nodded, wiping her tears with her sleeve.
— I'm ready.
— Then let's go — said July, guiding her to the door. — Dinner has already begun... and tonight's guest is special.
Main Hall of Kalter Mansion
The table was long, made of enchanted maritime oak, laden with exotic dishes and floating candles spinning gently above the silverware. At the center, in a golden coat trimmed with silver, Joe Kalter — El Dourado — reclined in his chair like a content king. His braided beard shimmered with tiny rune gems.
Asla Fênix, seated across, remained relaxed, but her narrowed eyes revealed suspicion. The contrast between them was stark: he, exuberant; she, restrained. He, theatrical; she, sharp.
— I apologize for not letting your apprentice come — Joe said, cutting a piece of red meat. — He's not yet ready to meet his possible... future bride.
Asla raised an eyebrow, not hiding her irony.
— You're selling your daughter like a jewel at auction, and this story of Kar being imprisoned? I don't buy it — even if he's a pervert.
Joe laughed loudly.
— HAAA HAAA HAAA! Still sharp as ever! — then his face hardened. — But you know me well, Asla. Kar's not imprisoned.
His tone lowered.
— He's on a mission. Across the seas of Marlen. In three days, he'll be back. And he'll be yours.
— I figured — she said coldly. — Kar would never be caught by some fat old tavern lord, let alone by you.
Joe smiled, unfazed by the insult.
— I know I'm younger compared to you. But the appearance of an entity like you, from the shadows of Elyndros's magical world... it can only mean one thing: dark omens.
For a moment, he released his magical aura.
The hall seemed to groan. Candles flickered. The air grew dense.
But Asla only smiled faintly.
— Always temperamental, Joe. Laughing to hide fear. — Then she leaned forward. — Tell me... why do you want my apprentice to compete for your daughter's hand?
Joe straightened up. The smile returned to his face, like a worn mask being reapplied.
At that moment, the side door of the hall opened. July Simon entered first, elegant and discreet. Beside her, the young woman wore a deep purple dress, embroidered to mimic roots climbing along the sleeves. She still wore the veil.
Asla turned, curious.
July stopped behind the chair destined for the girl, then slowly removed the veil.
Light touched her face.
Pale skin, fine features, emerald green eyes, reddish-brown hair like sunlit autumn leaves, and an ancient sadness that didn't match her youth. But there was something there... something powerful. The calm before the storm.
Joe Kalter raised his glass with a wide smile.
— This is my daughter. "Sofia Kalter."