I stared at her for a long moment, then exhaled through my nose. Holding me back? If anything, she was the only one keeping me from losing myself in all this…. But explaining that would take more words than I cared to say.

  Besides, who else would I find to explain simple idioms to? "Like how the sky is blue." "Why blue? It looks more like ocean." Those conversations were starting to grow on me, like some kind of verbal fungus I couldn't scrape off.

  In the end, there was no reason to stretch this. I already had my answer. “Hmm.” I shrugged, closing my eyes again. “Then no.”

  She blinked, stunned into silence. “Uh? No? T-Thorvyn?”

  I met her confused gaze. “You’re stuck with me, Ragna. I don’t care if you feel useless. To me, you’re useful, and that’s all that matters. If you want to leave, you can beat me in a fight and then go.”

  No man is an island, entire of itself. Some poet-philosopher from my homeland wrote that. Even the strongest need someone to watch their back.

  “....”

  “I’m serious.”

  She stared at me in silence for a moment and then went back to rest. She stayed silent, confused and bewildered. A beat passed, and then she sighed. “Bring me ale!” Ragna shouted, and when I peeked, I noticed a look of frustration on her face… along with a soft smile that she tried her best to hide.

  Silly. I yawned as I let the noise of the inn wash over us.

  ****

  The morning sun filtered through the narrow window of my room, casting pale beams of light over the rough-hewn wooden floor. After washing up and dressing, I knocked on the door next to my room, my knuckles rapping out a steady beat. I heard a shuffle inside, followed by a groggy groan before the door creaked open.

  Ragna stood there, red hair wild and half-draped over her face, rubbing her eyes with one hand as if she hadn’t a clue where she was. “Huh?”

  She was usually an early riser. “Well, good morning to you, too,” I said. “Got a decent rest for once?”

  She blinked at me, realization dawning as she looked around, her eyes falling on her window. It was closed, but light was streaking through the cracks. “No way. How is it that late already?” Her voice was full of surprise, as though the day had somehow managed to sneak up on her.

  She shook her head, an annoyed frown on her face. “Ugh, the bed… It’s just so much better than the slabs of stone we used to sleep on, Thorvyn! We need to take this with us.”

  “What? No. We’re not stealing a bed,” I said. “We’ll just buy one if we manage to find a solid place to stay. For now, we’ll just be traveling from city to city, so it’d be a waste to buy a bed. But I agree, really comfy.” I could still feel the stiffness melting out of my own muscles. The island was many things, but comfortable wasn’t one of them. “Get ready. We’ve got stuff to do.”

  We grabbed a quick meal downstairs at the inn. The stew was hot, the bread soft, and Ragna seemed more content than usual. She devoured her food with surprising calm, glancing at me occasionally as if expecting me to unfold my plans suddenly. I simply enjoyed my meal.

  When I finally stood up and approached the old innkeeper by the counter, I felt her curious gaze following me. “Hello,” I approached the man.

  The innkeeper was a wiry old man, skin weathered like the bark of an ancient tree, with eyes as sharp as they were tired. “Aye?” he said, raising a brow as he looked at us.

  “Was wondering if you know the best way to travel to the Ethenia Empire from here,” I said, keeping my tone casual but focused. I needed to find a map as well to plan the travel better, but at first, I wanted to hear about the ways from people.

  At the mention of Ethenia, Ragna’s gaze narrowed on me, her brow lifting just slightly. She walked over. I’d expected as much. For now, she stayed silent.

  The innkeeper scratched his chin, thoughtful. “Ethenia, eh? That’s quite the journey, the other side of the continent,” He gave me a long, assessing look like he was weighing whether I was serious. “You’d need a fair bit of cash for that trip… It’s no simple matter.”

  “Fair.” I nodded, waiting. As he pondered, I could practically see the gears turning in the old man’s head.

  He hesitated, then spoke, “Pardon me if I’m overstepping, but… Do you have the coin for that kind of journey?” I appreciated his caution, though it wasn’t needed.

  “...Mhm,” I just hummed. “Then let’s try a different question. Is there a quick way to make some coin around here and travel at the same time? I’m talking about something like an escort job that’ll get us going to Ethenia while making some money.”

  He stroked his chin, his gaze growing thoughtful. “You could look in the Mercenary Guild, maybe the Adventurer’s Guild too,” he said slowly. “They’re always hiring. But… there’s an easier way, if you’re interested.”

  I glanced at him, curious. “And that is?”

  The innkeeper chuckled, leaning in conspiratorially. “Ever heard of the fighting pits?” His eyes gleamed, a grin creasing his lined face. “You two look strong – real strong. Those pits pay well for warriors like you. As Seagard is a port city, folks from all over come to fight in the pits here, betting and brawling their way to glory. It’d be good coin, fast coin.”

  I frowned, staring at him. The man looked greedy. My last "career counselor" also suggested I try something with a high mortality rate. At least this one wasn't pushing philosophy as a degree choice.

  Jokes aside, for this wasn’t a joking matter, he didn’t just seem like he was trying to help us but help himself. Getting us to fight there would probably get him some commission too. Bastard. I shook my head, my voice firm. “Not interested.” I was already turning away as he began to speak again.

  Behind me, Ragna was quick to follow, confusion creasing her brow. “But why not?” she asked, a bit breathless as she matched my pace. “Isn’t that what we do anyway? Fight?” Her voice was a mix of bewilderment and genuine interest.

  If I hadn’t been here, she’d definitely have given in to this offer. This was why I wasn’t going to let her travel on her own. Stupid girl.

  “It’s not about fighting,” I replied, glancing at her. “It’s fighting like a trapped beast, just for the entertainment of the crowd. Not my style. Not your style, either. Also, this is a foreign kingdom. What if the situation is more than just fighting? I think slavery is a thing here. Selling and buying humans,” I said, and she frowned in thought.

  I didn’t care if the other Barbarians accepted that route, but it wouldn’t be for me. Nor would I let Ragna fall into that trap.

  Was I becoming too cautious? No. It was survival. Entertainment to these folks could mean chains or worse for us. I wouldn’t gamble my and Ragna’s safety for easy coins.

  The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it. A philosopher named Thoreau said that. Some coin wasn’t worth exchanging our freedom.

  “Awh…” Ragna trailed off, disappointment flickering in her gaze before she shook her head. “Fine. Your way, then.” She didn’t push further, though I could tell she was curious about my reasoning.

  We turned down the cobbled streets of Seagard, heading toward the part of town where, from what I’d gathered, the guilds were located. I was sticking to the plan I’d told the old man. I was going to find an escort job to Ethenia. The streets bustled with life, merchants hawking their wares and townsfolk darting between stalls. Above us, the cries of seagulls sounded from the rooftops. Ragna stayed by my side, eyes darting from one new sight to the next like a kid in a candy shop.

  While walking, an overgrown shrine stood apart from the main road, its stone altar cracked with age. Strange symbols decorated its surface – not letters, but patterns that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles.

  "What god was this for?" I asked a passerby.

  "A-ah? Well… None recorded in our histories," he replied. "These shrines appear throughout Thalassaria. Some scholars believe they predate human settlement."

  There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. A playwright once wrote that. Looking at these symbols, I'm inclined to believe him.

  That was interesting. I’d assume the Gods ruling Heaven would destroy any unclaimed shrines or something. I reached toward the altar, and for a moment, the symbols seemed to glow faintly. I backed off.

  The universal rule of strange glowing objects: if it lights up when you touch it, you're either about to become a chosen one or a cautionary tale. Neither appealed to me at the moment.

  Ragna and I continued walking. At one point, she turned to me, her curiosity getting the best of her. “So why Ethenia? You’ve been talking about it since we left the islands.”

  I looked at her from the corner of my eye as we walked. Well, there was no reason to lie to her. “My mother,” I said, letting the word sink in. “She might be there. The shaman mentioned it.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Ragna’s eyes widened. Everyone in the tribe was curious about my mother, for whose blood was strong enough to suppress the previous Chief’s red hair to grant me white hair? The new generation wondered about it, too, even if they made fun of me because of it. It must have come to Ragna as a surprise that I was trying to find my mother.

  Her gaze softened, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Ohhh, now I get it. So we’re on a searching mission?” she asked. “That’s great. I’d like to meet her too… Hah! At least we have a goal in mind, unlike the others. It’s like the stories we used to read as kids. Do you remember the story of Demi-God Mōui? It’s like that!”

  Great. Just what I needed – to be trapped in some myth. Hopefully, this tale didn’t end with me dying at the hands of gods. I shook my head. “Yeah, this is surely a mythical journey.”

  She laughed, nudging me with her elbow. “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I’ll tag along… Not that you ever asked for my opinion.”

  Before I could respond, I felt a sudden impact against my shoulder as someone stumbled into me. I turned, irritation sparking, but my gaze landed on a shorter man adorned in heavy armor, a look of annoyance on his face. He was middle-aged, with graying hair on the side, and overall looked like a classic Knight.

  His narrowed eyes were filled with haughty pride as he growled, “Watch where you’re going, barbarian.” He said.

  His voice was full of arrogance. I guess power made arrogance flourish everywhere, from knights to barbarians. Civilization hadn’t changed human nature, just wrapped it in silk and steel.

  I had a philosophy professor once with the same attitude. Except this guy probably knew how to use his sword. My professor just used his thesaurus. Not good.

  I studied him with a blank facade, quickly noting that he didn’t seem the least bit intimidated, despite being a head shorter than me. There was an air about him, a confidence that felt out of place here. I didn’t need a second glance to see why.

  Power resides where men believe it resides. True in my world, and apparently true here too. This knight had mastered the art of making others believe in his power, regardless of whether he could truly back it up. And I knew he could.

  Floating above his head, faint but clear, were the words: [5th Ascension].

  He had no reason to be intimidated. He didn’t stick around, just muttered under his breath and brushed past me. Ragna glanced at me, her curiosity plain.

  “Ragna,” I said quietly, “that’s the strongest guy we’ve encountered here so far.” My gaze followed the man, noting the narrow alley he’d emerged from, one thick with shadows. “Odd place for someone like him to come out from.”

  “Think he’s trouble?” Ragna asked, her eyes following mine.

  I shrugged, shrugging. We were leaving Seagard soon. “Not our problem.”

  With that, we resumed our search, eyes darting around to look for the Mercenary Guild. As we neared the guild district, my mind was already on the future. Finding work, securing passage, and gathering clues about my mother – one step at a time.

  ****

  Isolde Thalasson Point of View

  On the other side of the city, in a room dimly lit by the morning sun, another figure was preparing for a journey of her own.

  People have always clung to stories that shaped them. Some admired the warriors in songs, others the mythical heroes etched in stained glass. These days, young girls fawn over tales of the women from the Queen in Red’s generation, a woman who, three centuries ago, had risen to the peak with blood and brilliance.

  But Princess Isolde Thalasson wasn’t like those girls.

  Her inspiration came from a different tale – the story of Jana Lionsmane and King Alaric Roshmar, a husband and wife who had saved their small kingdom from between the two behemoth Empires that were sandwiching them from two sides. Alaric, with his iron will and Jana’s fierce loyalty, had somehow led his people through relentless threats and impossible odds against the Ethenia Empire and the Erebian Empire.

  She wanted to be like them. She wanted that strength, that resolve. Her country was in a similar situation to Roshmar, and she wanted to save it. Thalassaria was squeezed between Velandria and Calydria, two nations with ever-tightening grips on her land.

  Thalassaria had always valued its independence from Erebia. Although it was no longer Erebia’s duchy, it became a kingdom that was often regarded as a nuisance – simply an afterthought.

  Now, as the drought intensified, the pressure on her country was growing more severe.

  Erebia sometimes showed its support, but recently, it wasn’t even doing that. That was a worrying turn of events because Thalassaria was suffering a drought, the greatest one in its hundreds of years of history, which might leave this nation on the verge of falling.

  The neighboring kingdoms didn’t help. They treated Thalassaria like a nuisance, as if it was Erebia’s problem. It was understandable since Erebia often protected it like a mother looking after her child. But that wasn’t the case anymore, as Thalassaria was receiving silent treatment after the new Emperor was crowned a decade ago.

  Recently, it’d grown even worse. Under the command of the new Emperor, Erebia was now a web of troubles and busy wrestling with its own internal struggles. It had all but abandoned her country and left it to be pushed around by the neighboring nations.

  But not for long.

  Soon, things would change.

  Her people would have their strength again.

  “Is this the item?” Isolde asked, her gaze shifting from Borric’s pale, anxious face to the small box resting between them. They sat in a modest room with light spilling in from open windows, a faint breeze rustling her blue hair as she waited.

  Borric nodded, his eyes darting around the room nervously as if he still feared someone might wrest the prize from them. “Yes, Your Highness. As you requested.”

  "Heh… I am forever grateful to those Barbarians that saved you, Mr Borric," she said and, with careful hands, lifted the lid of the box. Her breath caught as the jewel within caught the light, glowing with a deep, potent purple that shimmered like trapped starlight.

  For just a moment, she could have sworn the gem responded to her presence, its glow intensifying, pulsing once like a heartbeat. Ancient texts had spoken of such signs. The jewel recognizing Thalasson blood.

  When placed on the crown, she wondered what power it’d bestow upon the user…

  Isolde's fingers tightened around the edges of the box, and she swallowed. This was no ordinary gem; it was a symbol of Thalassaria's strength, her family's legacy, the power that once kept enemies at bay. But it was more than that. So much more than her brothers realized.

  The Crown Jewel of Thalassaria.

  This was the real thing. It had been stolen generations ago, reduced to a legend as time blurred its memory. Her family had been forced to replace it with a replica – a powerless stone meant to fool the eyes of any who looked upon her family’s crown. Only the Thalasson bloodline knew its secret. For years, the royal family had been clinging to that deception, hoping the illusion of power would be enough to keep the wolves from their door.

  A whisper of knowledge passed through her mind, the teachings from her mother in those precious few years before her death. The Crown Jewel wasn't merely a gem, but an attempt to recreate something far older and more powerful.

  An Arcane Crown, a pinpoint of power that once allowed rulers to channel energies beyond mortal understanding. The stories claimed such artifacts could bend the very fabric between worlds, though much of that knowledge had been lost to time.

  The gods must have smiled on her, for against all odds, she had stumbled upon this gemstone listed in an Erebian auction. Erebia's struggles may have been Thalassaria's misfortune, but often, an empire's weakness benefited the smaller kingdoms.

  And here it was. Real, tangible. With this, she could take her place as the rightful heir. Her brothers, bound by tradition and blinded by privilege, wouldn’t stand a chance. Her father, though well-meaning, was still beholden to outdated customs. Even if he’d like for her to inherit the throne, for her achievements spoke for themselves, he couldn’t go against the tradition and make a woman inherit the throne.

  But now, this piece would shift the gameboard. The jewel seemed to pulse again, as if agreeing with her thoughts, and for a heartbeat, Isolde felt something stir within it. It felt like something ancient and half-awake, reaching out with tendrils of awareness that brushed against her consciousness before retreating. She could already feel a ripple of excitement bubbling under her chest, and she held back a smile, pressing her lips into a tight line.

  She’d be more than just a pawn in the fight for the throne.

  Lost in thought, she was nearly startled by the sound of footsteps just outside the door. Quickly, she snapped the lid shut and held her breath as the door opened.

  Sir Allister stepped inside, his ever-watchful eyes taking in her startled expression with an unreadable gaze. He bowed slightly, an apology in his voice. “Apologies, Princess. I should have knocked.”

  She sighed, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Sir Allister, you nearly gave me a fright. Yes, please knock next time.”

  His gaze shifted to the box in her hands. “Is that…?”

  “Yes,” she replied, a smile breaking through at last. She lifted the box just slightly as if to confirm what he already knew. “The real thing.” She didn’t mind telling him. He was one of the few 5th Ascension Knights of the kingdom, and her father trusted the man. So Isolde also trusted him.

  He nodded, understanding the weight of what they’d gained with that single jewel. His voice was low, cautious. “I trust the journey was smooth, then?”

  She turned her gaze toward Borric, who sat quietly, almost invisible despite his ample frame. “Borric has done well,” she said. “The Azure Armada has earned its name, and we owe him a debt of gratitude.”

  The merchant’s cheeks reddened, and he bowed his head. “It’s an honor to serve you, Your Highness.” His voice held genuine reverence, though she could tell he was eager to be away from this dangerous task. The closer he was to the jewel, the more his anxiety seemed to grow. He didn’t need to know the full extent of its power, and perhaps it was better he didn’t.

  Turning her attention back to Sir Allister, she let out a small sigh. “I need to return to Solstara immediately. The sooner we’re back to the capital, the sooner I can ensure the safety of… well, this,” she said, gesturing to the box. “There are too many eyes in this city, and my brothers’ spies could be anywhere.”

  She'd employed Borric precisely because of that. He was a nameless merchant with no political ties, and more importantly, he was Zerina's father.

  Isolde had met Zerina, the commoner girl, during her first week at Waybound, when the girl had challenged a fourth-year student to a duel over a seating dispute and somehow won. They'd been inseparable after that. Zerina was the kind of person who made her want to be braver just by standing next to her, and Isolde trusted her father because she trusted Zerina completely.

  He couldn’t be a spy, that much she was sure. He’d gone out of his way to take a detour through Velandria after buying the jewel in Erebia, just to make sure there would be no one following him.

  “Understood, Princess.” Sir Allister’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword – just slightly, but enough for her to notice. Relief or tension? Even he probably wasn’t sure.

  Regardless, she didn’t think much about it. He was, as ever, a figure of silent loyalty, his presence as constant as the blade at his hip. “If we leave immediately, we can keep the journey discreet.”

  Borric gathered his things, visibly relieved to have his part in this delicate operation nearly complete.

  Isolde rose from her chair, nodding in agreement. “Let’s not waste any more time, then.”

  Sir Allister stepped back, holding the door open for her as Borric shuffled after them. Outside, the city’s hum seemed somehow softer, as if the very walls were waiting for her next move.

  Isolde should have felt nothing but triumph. And yet… something gnawed at the back of her mind. Had this truly been so simple?

  The jewel pulsed once in its box, as if responding to her doubt. For a heartbeat, Isolde could have sworn she heard whispers coming from within. Ancient voices speaking of power, betrayal, and blood.

  Isolde was suddenly worrisome. She had a feeling she couldn’t rest assured until she’d placed the jewel on the crown and worn it on her head.

  She hoped it was just her anxiousness.

  Totally forgot that was supposed to be a chapter today, so got delayed. I hope you liked this one!

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