The capital of Eldoria, New Eldrin, throbbed with the energy of a kingdom reborn from a century of ashes and ruin. The cobblestone streets echoed with the bustle of merchants hawking wares from gravity-defying floating platforms, their goods shimmering under levitation runes. Children darted between statues carved in the likeness of forgotten heroes – heroes who hadn't stopped "The Catastrophe" – while the aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the red incense spiraling up from nearby temples, a ritual established after that night to appease gods who had remained silent. At the heart of the city, facing a plaza where the shadows of floating towers danced under the midday sun, stood the Adventurer's Guild headquarters – a white stone building with slender towers and stained-glass windows that glittered like jewels, a beacon of power in a world that had learned to fear what lurked beyond its borders.
Inside, in an office on the top floor, Lord Cedric Veylan reviewed reports with an impassive expression he had polished over a century of leadership. He was a tall, thin man, his silver hair combed back with military precision, his gray eyes cutting like sharp daggers that had seen more than any mortal should. His black tunic, embroidered with gold threads that hinted at authority without boasting, fit a body that showed no marks of time – a gift the Guild had kept secret since that night that had changed everything. In front of him, a dark wooden desk was covered with parchments and maps, each line drawn with the precision of a man who had learned to anticipate chaos.
Cedric wasn't the same trembling young man he had been a hundred years ago, a Guild apprentice with clumsy hands and a chipped dagger, whose eyes had seen the sky bleed red from the windows of the old headquarters in the original capital – a building that "The Catastrophe" had reduced to rubble along with everything he knew. That night, the Guild Master, Lord Harveth, had died under a burning beam, his hoarse voice shouting orders that the fire drowned out as Cedric ran through the shadows, his tunic burning at the edges. He had sworn then – amidst the roar of the earth and the smell of ozone – that he would never again be a helpless pawn in a game he didn't understand. A hundred years later, his sarcasm was his shield and his pragmatism his sword, forged in the crucible of a tragedy that still woke him with the echo of Harveth's screams resounding in his ears.
As he flipped through a parchment filled with figures – grain shipments from the south, adventurer routes to the east, orc tributes from the north – a disturbance in the air made him frown, his fingers stopping on the ink with a fleeting tremor that didn't reach his eyes. Without looking up, he spoke in a tone laden with sarcasm that cut through the silence like a newly sharpened blade. "Have court manners gone to the abyss in a century, or do you simply enjoy bursting in like rats into my sanctum?"
A dark figure materialized in front of him, shrouded in shadows that flowed like black water – the royal messenger, a presence as familiar as it was feared. With a barely perceptible bow, he extended an envelope sealed with the winged dragon emblem of the crown. "A message from the King," he said in a neutral voice, his form dissolving into the air as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the echo of a whisper that was not entirely human.
Cedric raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a dry smile as he took the envelope with fingers that trembled for an instant – an echo of that night that never completely left him. With an elegant gesture of his hand, he activated a magical field that isolated the room: the walls briefly glowed with golden runes, geometric shapes intertwining like snakes before fading into the stone, a trick he had learned after seeing old Harveth use it in vain against the chaos. He broke the seal and extracted the letter, his gaze scanning the lines with a mixture of curiosity and disdain that he had perfected in a century of dealings with the crown.
"Read this, Eldrin," he murmured, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his legs, his tone as dry as the wind that had brought the roar that night a hundred years ago. His secretary, a young man with a pale face and round glasses that slipped down his nose, sat across from him, scribbling notes in a leather-bound notebook with a pen that trembled slightly – a nervous tic that Cedric found more amusing than annoying. Eldrin was a bookworm, his hands stained with ink from years of studying parchments that few dared to touch.
"Aloud, sir?" Eldrin asked, adjusting his glasses with a quick movement that betrayed a mind accustomed to forbidden texts rather than royal commands.
"Do me the favor," Cedric replied with a theatrical sigh, resting his chin on his hand as his gray eyes gleamed with a flicker of mockery. "My eyes are tired of Alaric's nonsense after a century – you at least make it sound less pompous."
Eldrin cleared his throat, straightening in his chair, and began to read in a clear but slightly shaky voice. "To Lord Cedric Veylan, Head of the Adventurer's Guild of New Eldrin. Hereby, the cooperation of your guild is requested in a mission of utmost importance to the kingdom. Anomalous activity has been observed in the remote regions of the Veridian Forest, the northern mountains, and the border areas with the orcs. Adventurer teams of rank D or higher are required to be dispatched to investigate said anomalies. Any relevant findings must be reported directly to the crown. A generous reward will be offered for crucial information."
Cedric remained silent for a few seconds, his fingers tapping on the arm of his chair with a rhythm that recalled the clatter of falling debris a century ago. Finally, he let out a dry laugh that echoed in the room like an echo of his disdain. "How convenient," he growled, his voice laced with irony as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "The King asks us to do his dirty work without giving us a damn clue? What does he expect us to look for, Eldrin? Ghosts in the forest? That 'winged shadow' that the orcs still fear to name? Or does he just want us to die for his royal curiosity?"
Eldrin, ever diplomatic, responded cautiously, his pen pausing for an instant as he looked up, adjusting his glasses with a tic that betrayed his nervousness. "It could be an opportunity, sir," he said, his voice soft but firm, a contrast to Cedric's edge. "Strengthening our relationship with the crown never hurts... and if something is lurking out there, it's better to know it before it surprises us like that night. We don't want another Harveth, do we?"
Cedric looked at him, his gray eyes narrowing with a mixture of mockery and a flicker of recognition that didn't reach his face. "Ah, yes, because sending adventurers into unknown territories always ends in feasts and songs," he retorted, his tone as cutting as the wind that had brought the fire that night. But then his expression turned thoughtful, and his fingers stopped, brushing the edge of the parchment with a tremor he couldn't hide – an echo of when his hands, young and clumsy, had tried to pull Harveth from the wreckage. "Though you're right about one thing, little bookworm," he admitted, his voice dropping to a murmur as he looked out the window. "We can't afford to be caught off guard again... not like then, when the sky cracked open and old Harveth paid the price."
He stood up with a fluid motion, walking to the window that overlooked the bustling city – floating towers rising like lighthouses, markets vibrating with life under a sky he had learned to fear. His gaze was lost on the horizon, where the northern mountains rose like dark teeth against a twilight that seemed to hold its breath. "Summon the available team leaders," he ordered, his voice firm but laden with a caution he had learned in a century of leadership. "I want mixed groups: trackers who can follow footprints in the fog, mages who can smell energies that even the gods don't understand, and fighters who have killed beasts that would make Darius tremble in his boots. Have them start with the Veridian Forest – it's the closest, and if there's anything, it will leave traces there."
Eldrin nodded, scribbling quickly as he looked up, his glasses slipping for an instant. "Shall I mention anything about the orcs, sir?" he asked, his voice hesitant as if fearing the edge of the answer.
"No," Cedric replied dryly, turning to him with a look that cut like ice. "I don't want any idiot with a sword jumping to conclusions and getting us into a war we don't need. If the orcs are involved, we'll know it when my teams find out – not before. Keep this low-profile... for now."
He returned to his desk, picking up pen and ink with a movement that betrayed a fleeting tremor in his fingers – an echo of the apprentice who had run through the ruins. "Draft a letter to the King," he said, his tone firm but laden with a subtle challenge that he had perfected in a century of dealing with the crown. "Inform him that we are complying with his request, but make it clear that any findings pass through the Guild before reaching his royal hands. I'm not Alaric's errand boy – if he wants answers, let him pay with more than empty promises and hollow titles."
Eldrin nodded, his glasses slipping for an instant as he scribbled with a speed that betrayed his nervousness. "If the orcs are lying, sir," he said, looking up with a bold glint that surprised Cedric for an instant, "we could be sending those adventurers into a trap – or something worse than a century ago."
Cedric looked at him, a dry smile curving his lips as he leaned towards him, his gray eyes gleaming with a flicker of approval. "That's why I'm sending them well-armed, Eldrin," he growled, his tone mocking but with an edge that cut like the memory of fire. "And that's why you're staying here – if they fall into a trap, at least we'll have someone alive to tell the tale... and blame Alaric." Eldrin swallowed, and Cedric laughed, a low sound that echoed in the room like an echo of his disdain.
The secretary left with quick steps, leaving Cedric alone in front of the large map that hung on the wall – a detailed canvas of mountains, rivers, and forests, drawn with the precision of a century of exploration. His fingers slowly traced the lines of the Veridian Forest, stopping at the northern mountains as a faint hum crossed the room – an echo that made him frown, looking at the window for an instant. "Something big is about to happen," he murmured to himself, his voice a mixture of curiosity and caution sharpened by a hundred years of strategy. "Something that will change Eldoria... and when it does, I won't be the apprentice running through the ruins again."
He turned back to his desk, resuming the reports with a calm that hid the tremor in his hands – an echo of the young man who had seen Harveth die, a man who had sworn never to be caught off guard again. The Guild would not be a pawn this time – not under his command. As the city vibrated beneath his window, Cedric was already drawing plans in the shadows, his mind several steps ahead of a destiny he couldn't yet see.