Chapter 17: Somewhere to Stand
The sky was kind that day.
Brilliant and cloudless, it stretched endlessly above the Initiates as they soared through the sky. For hours, they flew, cutting across winding ridgelines and sunlit valleys that skirted the continent’s southern spine. Below, the land shimmered with warmth, scattered vineyards, open trade roads, and golden fields sloping gently toward jagged cliffs.
Aeor sat behind Albanth. The guard's posture was confident but taut, gaze fixed ahead.
A cool breeze stung Aeor’s cheeks. It was refreshing. Beneath him, he felt the rhythmic power of the creature’s wings, each beat a low hum through his bones.
His eyes drifted forward, and then the land fell away.
Beyond the final ridge, the world opened.
The cliffs dropped into an endless, gleaming expanse of water. And there, nestled against that shimmering edge, was Sar’Vareth.
The city rose like a vision born of reverence. Terraces of gold arched outward in wide concentric rings, each tier a marriage of elegance and precision. A crescent-shaped harbor curved protectively around its base, speckled with anchored ships that glinted like blades in the sun. Aqueducts shimmered along the cliffs, threading the city in lines of molten gold. Banners flew from tiered towers, their silk catching the breeze in elegant waves. And above it all, statues crowned the high walls, polished to reflect the sky.
Aeor inhaled.
He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath.
He had never seen anything like it on his homeworld of Khorvalen.
A city etched in gold and symmetry, balanced between reverence and rule.
For a moment, he let himself believe it was peace.
But peace, he was learning, was fragile.
Their descent began.
The Strider banked in a steady arc. Aeor shifted his grip on the saddle, eyes drifting to the others.
Zoey rode silent, her face unreadable.
Dregor sat upright, though his movements still held strain.
Velora remained still as ever, her gaze sharp and distant.
It had been nearly a week since they’d left the coast.
Zoey had woken the next morning, her wounds nearly closed, only faint scars lingered as proof.
Dregor’s recovery was slower. The crater in his chest had begun to close, replaced by stone, but the process was painfully slow.
Aeor clutched the anvil-shaped pendant at his neck, the one Cedric had given him.
Véurr guide me.
They landed on a wide stone platform outside the city’s northern gate, where a crowd had already gathered.
Dozens of Otherworld Initiates and locals waited in a slow-moving line that fed toward a cluster of guard posts and a domed office.
Everything was organized, but tension hung in the air, order clinging to the edge of chaos.
Their escort dismounted first, exchanging words with a stationed city guard before waving them forward.
Aeor helped Dregor down from the Skyburden. The Dustrun’s legs faltered briefly, but he caught himself with a grunt.
"Thanks," Dregor muttered.
"Don’t mention it," Aeor said quietly.
The others also dismounted and together they walked toward the line.
People cried softly nearby. A woman with bloodstained sleeves held a small bundle wrapped in cloth, her lips moving in silent prayer. Two children sat against a wall, their eyes vacant. A group of Otherworld Initiates argued in hushed tones about allegiances. And above it all, the sea breeze continued to blow, a strange mercy amidst it all.
"Just wait in the line and you will be sorted out," Albanth said, his voice carrying the weight of fatigue.
Aeor nodded. "Thank you for getting us here."
The others murmured their thanks as the riders turned and entered the city.
They stood in line for nearly half an hour. Around them, many bore injuries. Bandaged arms, hollowed gazes, voices that trembled when they spoke. Fear sat thick in the air.
Eventually, a guard called for them. They were led into the domed structure. The interior smelled faintly of ink, salt, and heat-warped stone. Dozens of clerks sat behind brass-trimmed desks, each flanked by a guard. Sunlight poured through amber-glass panels above, casting molten hues across the smooth floor.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A broad-shouldered orc stood near the entryway, humming faintly as he scanned their group with Threadgaze. His armor bore the mark of the city guard.
Aeor activated his Threadgaze in return.
Salt
Race: Orc
Essence Tier: Awakened (E)
Essence Stability: Flickering
Status: Normal
Class: Oath-bound Flame Keeper
Class Rarity: Flicker (E)
Allegiance: The Heir of Solenar
Salt? That’s... well, that is something, Aeor thought.
Salt gave a faint nod. “Stabilized Awakened. Death Affinity. Impressive.”
Did his Threadgaze just reveal our affinities?
The clerk at the desk, a middle-aged human with neatly groomed hair, glanced at Salt, who leaned down to whisper something in his ear.
Aeor Threadgazed him as well.
Only the name and class differed.
Rorik Dalk
Class: Solethi Oath-scribe
"State your purpose for entering the city?" Rorik asked, quill poised over a ledger.
They exchanged glances before Velora answered. "We wish to help with the Initiation thread."
Rorik jotted it down, then looked up again.
"What are your strengths?"
"Does general combat count?" Velora replied.
Rorik gave a curt nod. "We need as many able bodies as we can get."
Somewhere distant, bells chimed in a rhythm that felt more like a ritual than timekeeping.
He resumed writing.
"Let me give you a brief overview. The city is divided into three rings: outer, middle, and inner. The closer one is to the central palace, the more integral they are to the city’s operations. The inner ring is mostly reserved for the nobility and high-ranking clergy. You can choose a settlement where you can stay for one month at no charge. After that, you will be expected to pay for the property monthly. We are not running a charity here and cannot accommodate everyone for free."
He flipped the page.
"There is a central barracks in the middle ring that issues threads with tangible rewards, Solethi included. Payout varies depending on the tier and issuer. Before you ask, yes, the Custodians manage the system. We do not create threads ourselves. We oversee only their distribution. Clear?"
They all nodded.
Rorik's gaze turned sharp. "And this should go without saying, but you are not to harm the local populace, including the Otherworld Initiates. Crimes against residents will not be tolerated. Maintain decorum."
"Understood," Velora said, voice steady.
"Good. Now, do you have a preference where you want accommodations?"
Zoey blinked. “We actually get a say?”
"A few options, thanks to your friend’s stability. That stability tier of hers isn’t common."
They reviewed the options, basic sketches and concise descriptions scrawled across worn parchment. Most accommodations were barely standing or hastily repurposed buildings. After some back-and-forth, they settled on a lodge in the middle ring, close to the city’s heart.
"We're requesting the Sunweaver Lodge," Velora said, her voice low but resolute.
Rorik checked the ledger. "Monthly rent is 250 Solethi. It’s not luxurious, but it is private."
Velora inclined her head. "That is all we were hoping for. Thank you."
Rorik scribbled across a nearly full parchment and handed each of them a stamped slip. "Welcome to Sar’Vareth," he said, the words dulled by repetition. "Don’t lose this. It grants access to the city."
Aeor took the parchment, fingers brushing the slightly raised seal.
With a quick gesture, Salt summoned a local to guide them onward.
Their new guide didn’t give a name.
She was young, human, all sharp edges and sleepless eyes. Her pace was clipped, her posture tight. She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. She simply turned and gestured once.
"Follow me. Quickly."
They obeyed.
Sar’Vareth opened around them like a scripture half-whispered, half-sung.
Through the northern gate, they entered a city suspended between worship and weariness.
Otherworld Initiates moved among the locals, some cloaked in feathered robes, others with glowing eyes or luminous skin. Sar’Vareth bore them all like prayers carved in different tongues.
Streets sprawled in wide arcs, layered like the rings of a majestic tree. Grand spirals dipped and rose, bridging canals that shimmered with flowing light. Stone met sky with reverent geometry.
Massive archways bore Solethi carvings, phrases of blessing. Some were eroded. Others freshly engraved. The buildings leaned into one another with solemn grace, their pale facades traced with metallic inlays that caught the sunlight and shimmered like heat mirages.
It looked holy.
But beneath that reverence pulsed tension, like silence held on a blade's edge.
They passed merchants sweeping ash from doorsteps with near-ritual care. Acolytes moved in measured steps across a plaza. Beyond that, a half-shuttered smithy rang with the sound of a hammer on bronze, while two orcs shouted over crates marked with glyphs.
On one turn, they crossed a narrow viaduct overlooking the harbor. Aeor slowed.
The sea stretched beyond the inlet. Ships docked in gentle rows, their sails adorned with a plethora of sigils. Orcs hauled netted bundles glowing with coral, while clerics in trimmed robes whispered rites to bless the returning vessels. The docks were alive, but not loud. There was too much weight in the air for noise.
Dregor slowed his steps, eyes fixed on the water. The soft wind tugged gently at the loose stone-skin around his neck.
“Do you have bodies of water like this... where you’re from?” he asked, voice rough but quiet.
They all nodded. Aeor answered first. “Yours don’t?”
“No. It’s all rock,” Dregor said, eyes still locked on the sunlit horizon.
Velora said nothing, though her gaze had followed the same line.
Zoey, walking just behind, added softly, “Mine had plastic bags floating in it.”
A pause.
She looked down, then forced a faint smirk. “This one’s much prettier, though.”
Farther down, a procession of wounded Initiates limped along a descending path. Robes stained. One bore no arms. Another, barely conscious, was cradled by silent figures clad in sun-marked armor.
Zoey walked behind Aeor, her steps light but her pallor betraying the toll of what they'd endured.
"Are injuries like this common here?" She asked, voice hushed.
"Yes. What’s not common is how many are forced to endure them." Their guide said without turning.
None of them responded. Even the city seemed to fall quiet.
As they reached the middle ring, Aeor felt the atmosphere change. The outer ring had moved with need. But this place moved with deliberation. The light shifted, more filtered now through stained-glass walkways and high-arched colonnades. Statues of ancient Solenar figures lined the avenues, each posed as if in sermon or sacrifice. Many held carved depictions of dragons curling around their shoulders or rising behind them in flame.
Their guide finally stopped at a sealed gate covered in a fading leaf made from some iridescent stone.
"This is the Sunweaver Lodge," their guide muttered, producing a small metal key. She turned it once, then pushed the gate open.
She handed over the key and left without another word.
They stepped inside.
The courtyard beyond was quiet, shadowed by tall stone walls overgrown with deep red ivy. A cracked sundial stood at the center, its shadow falling just shy of true noon, like even time itself hesitated here.
The lodge was smaller than it looked. The architecture bore the marks of care long since abandoned. Banners and tapestries faded with time, murals half-eaten by moss, windows smudged with age.
But it was whole. And it was theirs.
Inside, sunlight filtered through high, dust-veiled windows, casting faint amber beams across the floor.
The air was dry, tinged with old incense and sand.
Four sleeping chambers branched off from the main hall, each enclosed with a heavy curtain of woven reed and stone. Inside, a low stone bed sat against one wall, beside a basin of softly glowing water and a narrow shelf carved for belongings. The hall itself held a simple table and a few chairs, faded, unused, and thick with dust.
Zoey walked in a slow circle around the closest room, dragging her finger along a windowsill.
"This place could use some cleaning," she muttered, her voice lacking its usual spark.
Aeor helped Dregor onto the stone bed.
"Good walls. Better roof. Can't ask for more," Dregor said.
“It doesn’t feel like we earned this,” Aeor said quietly, eyes tracing the cracks in the stone.
"Velora did," Zoey replied. "Stabilized Tier counts for something, apparently."
Velora lingered near Dregor’s bed, her gaze thoughtful.
“How are you feeling?” she asked gently.
Dregor gave a faint shrug. “Takes effort to breathe right now, but I am doing better.”
She nodded, her eyes drifting to the mural above his bed, a shattered sun, etched in fading bronze.
Aeor followed her gaze.
“Rest. That’s the only thing we’re allowed tonight,” she said.
Dregor closed his eyes in answer. Velora hesitated only a moment, then turned away, offering a faint, tired smile.
"I’m going to get some sleep as well," she murmured, before slipping into one of the rooms.
"I think I will too," Zoey said, picking a room and closing the creaking wooden door.
Aeor remained in the central hall for a while, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He didn't call upon that strange feeling to suppress his emotions this time. He let them flow.
The lodge had grown still. Not silent, the wind outside still murmured through the ivy that clung to the outer walls, and the sea carried a soft, rhythmic hush, but still.
Sar’Vareth was no longer just a name. It was real now. Solid beneath his feet.
And for the first time in days, Aeor let himself believe they might have a place here.
