The tavern was dead quiet when Soren opened his eyes. There weren’t any voices coming through the door, or the sound of cups clattering. The only sounds he could hear was the low wooden groan that the tavern made every now and then, and the scraping of wind against the shutters in his room.

  The room was still painted in a blue tint from the early morning light, the sun having not fully risen yet. He was lying on the bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling beams with eyes still half open. His body felt rested, but his mind was far from it.

  Celta.

  The word didn’t evoke the same feeling of excitement in him that it had in the others.

  He rolled onto his side lazily and pushed himself upright. That’s when he noticed that the air was cold. Really cold. His breath showed faintly when he exhaled.

  “If it gets me to Eirland faster.”

  That was the line he’d given them, a reluctant agreement. It was the same line he was telling himself, to justify this unexpected change in plan.

  He didn’t agree with it, not truly. Not when the image of his mother’s face that night still came to him while he slept. The memory had become hazier than he remembered, like he was trying to recall something that his mind was actively trying to bury.

  He sighed deeply, and ran his hand through his hair, still messy from his slumber.

  A tournament.

  A city filled with crowds, nobles, and spectacle. The entire idea felt distant from what mattered, from what he should have been doing.

  But if winning meant coin, connections, or transport…

  Then he would endure it. Not because he wanted to, but simply because if that was what the world required of him, if that was what he needed to do, then he would comply.

  He stood up from his bed slowly, and began making his bed with sleepy but focused movements.

  From outside his room, down the corridor, Jorge woke up first. A loud, low grunt echoed down the halls, then a yawn that came across as more dramatic than it should have been.

  Heavy footsteps thudded against the wooden floor a few moments later, before a large frame appeared in his doorway. Jorge’s short auburn hair was messy, and his beard was ungroomed.

  “You’re up early,” Jorge muttered with a low tone, rubbing at his eyes.

  Soren didn’t look over, continuing to straighten the blanket. “I couldn’t sleep long.”

  Jorge gave him a long look, but didn’t press the matter. “In any case, the carriage will be here soon. Asta said they don’t wait.”

  “They probably won’t,” Soren replied, puffing up the pillows and placing them neatly on the mattress.

  Remi’s tired groans could be heard from across the corridor, before she shouted sleepily from her room. “Can you two… please… shut up? I’m trying to fall back asleep."

  Jorge put a hand to his mouth, trying not to laugh. He called back to her, though not nearly at the same volume.

  “You’re telling us to shut up even though you probably just woke everyone up.”

  Remi sighed loudly from her room, clearly annoyed. Jorge returned to his room while Soren began to get dressed.

  A brown fitted tunic, black trousers and black boots. He wasn’t sure how people presented themselves in Celta, but frankly, he didn’t care.

  One by one, the others began to wake, and the group was preparing for the journey ahead. Boots were laced up, belts were tightened, and blades were checked.

  Eventually they were all in the common room, doing their final preparations before departure. Asta entered last from the corridor. She was already dressed, and her expression seemed composed, with a soft smile on her face.

  “Good morning, everyone. I hope you were all able to get enough sleep last night, all things considered. The carriage has just arrived outside the tavern.”

  “Already?” Elise asked, looking up with sharp eyes as she sharpened her daggers in rhythmic motions.

  “They’re punctual in Celta,” Asta said calmly. “It reflects poorly otherwise.”

  “On us?” Jorge asked, eyebrows raised.

  “On the very generous nobles who sent it. The same ones I work for. This carriage is courtesy of House Valenne.”

  That got a few curious looks from the group. Faris took a few steps towards the window, peering out before he nodded. He walked back over to his bags, and slung his bow over his shoulder, securing it.

  Soren slid his blade into place at his hip, watching as the steel slowly disappeared.

  “Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  They exited the common room together, and walked to the front of the tavern. It was empty, except for the innkeeper wiping down tables. He lifted his head and paused when he saw them, nodding once.

  “Off to make trouble in the capital?” he asked, a small smirk forming.

  “Try not to miss us,” Remi replied sarcastically, though she couldn’t hold back her own grin.

  He grunted as he lowered his head, continuing his work. “Don’t count on it, it’s hard to miss broken furniture.”

  Jorge tossed a small pouch of coins onto the counter. “For the inconvenience, and for future inconveniences.”

  The man caught it without looking. “Come back in one piece, you guys are half my income.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  —

  As they stepped outside, the morning was clear and sharp.

  The sky was a pale gold and blue colour that stretched along the horizon. A thin layer of frost clung to the edges of barrels and railings. Their breaths came out as frosted air, and Remi even seemed to be shivering a bit.

  The carriage stood waiting near the edge of the road leading out of Backstrom. The carriage seemed to be made out of a polished white metal, with gold detailing, reinforced wheels, and a sigil etched faintly into the door.

  A scale of justice, with a snake coiled in and around it.

  “This must be the symbol of House Valenne…” Soren thought, frowning lightly.

  The carriage stood out against the backdrop of Backstrom. It was much too regal, and probably expensive, to be here.

  Two drivers adorned in silver armour sat at the front holding the reins attached to the horses. Their posture was perfectly straight, and they were cloaked in a crimson red.

  Remi whistled softly as she circled the carriage, eyes wide as she grinned.

  “We’ve officially become important.”

  “Temporarily,” Soren said, shaking his head, but grinning despite himself.

  They loaded their gear into the back of the carriage in silence. As the others climbed in, Soren lingered outside for half a second.

  Backstrom now looked smaller in the morning light. Smaller than it ever had before, when compared to where they were headed.

  The usual mist that clung to the town most mornings wasn’t present anymore. There was no haze to soften the rigidness of its buildings, or its unremarkable environment. All Soren could see was stone, timber, and smoke rising thin from chimneys.

  Backstrom was by all means a town built on necessity. Anyone passing through wouldn’t think to look twice.

  But to him, it was a lifeline. He had survived here, that much was true.

  But survival wasn’t the same as living.

  Even so, he would rather survive in a small town like this, than thrive in a place like the capital.

  He sighed briefly, turned away before the thought could linger, and stepped into the carriage.

  The door shut behind him, and with a firm crack of reins, the horses neighed loudly as they began to move.

  —

  The road from Backstrom to Celta was a winding one, stretching across lush hills and turning through golden fields that gleamed in the late afternoon sun.

  The excitement of the journey hummed between the group, as they had brief conversations on what the city would be like with the festival going on, or how long it had been since some of them were there last.

  Soren sat in the corner of the left side of the carriage, as Elise read a book next to him quietly, her hood up, trying to stay out of the sun. Every now and then he would glance at her, wondering what she was reading that captivated her so much, though he stopped after he was met with a few sharp glares from her.

  He leaned slightly out the window, resting his head on his fist as the breeze tousled brown strands of his hair.

  His eyes followed the path ahead that went over and around hills in the distance, imagining what a city like Celta might look like, what kinds of people would be there, and what sorts of fighters he'd face.

  Inside the carriage, Remi had taken off her boots and was lounging across a smaller section of the bench, which went around all four sides of the carriage, except for the space where the door was. She had her legs up as she flipped through a thin spell book, eyes trailing over each page but clearly not reading.

  Faris was up front, sitting alongside the drivers, whistling softly to a bird perched on the rail of the carriage. Animals always seemed to be drawn to him, strangely enough. His blonde hair was tied up, though a few loose strands had fallen.

  Jorge was half-dozing inside the carriage opposite Soren and Elise, his arms crossed over his chest and his battle axe leaning in the corner.

  Occasionally, they passed other travelers on the road too. They ranged everywhere from merchant wagons, to nobles on horseback, or even groups of bards on foot singing to entertain themselves. Each time they passed others, conversations sparked.

  “Think they’re going to Celta too?” Soren asked once, watching a group of armored warriors cross a fork in the road ahead.

  “Of course,” Remi replied, not looking up from her spell book. “You’ll be sick of the word ‘festival' by the time we arrive.”

  “Already am,” Elise muttered in a low tone, drawing her hood over her head a bit tighter.

  Remi smirked. “Oh come on, admit it. You’re just as excited as the rest of us.”

  Elise just grunted at her words, and shifted slightly.

  They passed vineyards, massive stretches of wildflowers, and old ruins hidden between hills. They seemed to act as silent reminders of wars that had long passed. Wars that Soren had probably never even heard of.

  —

  The journey had been going on for two days, but the final stretch came with a quiet anticipation that none of them could ignore, not even Soren. As morning rose on the third day, the sun had emerged in full and the sky was a bright blue colour, and not a single cloud could be seen.

  The group felt the road change before they saw it. It felt smoother, and the roads became wider. The carriage no longer jolted with every stone it passed over.

  Elise shifted to peer through the window. “We’re close.”

  “How do you know?” Jorge asked, one eyebrow raised.

  She tilted her chin toward the glass. “The traffic.”

  Soren leaned towards the window slightly, looking past her shoulder.

  Other carriages lined the road, more than they had encountered so far, by ten fold. Riders in polished armor. Merchants adorned in layered silks. Banners fluttering from poles along the roadside, and attached to some carriages. The road was a mix of vibrant colours and all types of carriages and people.

  The air felt different the closer they had gotten. It felt almost cleaner, and a sense of excitement seemed to be present in everyone. Soren could feel his own anticipation rising, wondering what the real scale of the festival would be like.

  Then the road curved.

  And Celta revealed itself.

  The capital city rose from the ground in white stone and glass, nestled between rivers that surrounded either side like protective arms, with terraces layered upward like steps that had been carved by giants. Towers speared into the sky at tremendous heights, bright and shining. They seemed to be made of pale marble veined faintly with gold.

  Sunlight struck the highest spires and scattered across the city, refracting off crystal inlays and tall arched windows.

  Bridges connected the ground to upper districts in elegant arcs, and even the air around the city seemed to have an ethereal shimmer.

  Remi went completely quiet, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide.

  Jorge leaned forward, bracing a hand on the bench below as he looked out of his window.

  “That’s…”

  “Big,” Elise finished, her own eyes wide.

  “It’s not just big,” Asta said as she smiled proudly.

  “It’s beautiful, as always.”

  Soren didn’t speak. He didn’t have any words to say.

  “This… is nothing like the countryside.” He thought, an undeniable excitement building in him despite his protests.

  His eyes landed on the gleaming white stone around the city, looking at it carefully.

  There were no stains, or patched timber in damaged spots. There didn’t even seem to be any obvious defensive measures lining the walls.

  The gates alone were taller than any structure he had seen in his life, carved with scenes he couldn’t quite make out, yet he could see the immense detail they had been ingrained with. Crimson banners bearing the sigil of House Valenne lined the outer walls.

  It didn’t feel like a city built to endure conflict, or survive wars.

  It felt like one that was built to be seen, and revered.

  “This place…”

  He swallowed before he could continue, his eyes trying to take in the pure scope of what he was seeing. The rest of the group inside the carriage looked at him, waiting to hear what he would say. Remi had a knowing grin on her face as she looked at him.

  He spoke again, in a tone of pure awe and shock.

  “This place is amazing.”