Caelann awoke with the dawn, the first rays of sunlight spilling into his room at the inn. He stretched and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, shaking off the remnants of yesterday's confusion. There was no more room for doubt; he had a mission to complete and, perhaps, a quiet promise to keep. He dressed, strapped on his sword, and headed down to the inn's common room, where the innkeeper greeted him with a warm, hearty breakfast.

"Thought you might need some fuel for the road ahead, sir," the innkeeper said, sliding over a plate piled with eggs, thick-cut bread, and sausage. "And I took the liberty of feeding your horse too-gave him an extra portion of oats. No steed of mine's going hungry!"

Caelann smiled and pressed a few extra coins into the innkeeper's hand. "Thank you, truly."

As Caelann reached for his fork, the innkeeper leaned over the counter, lowering his voice. "Oh, before I forget... late last night, a gentleman came asking after an adventurer with a fine steed."

"Looked like he knew his way around, but didn't share much. I didn't tell him anything, mind you," the inkeeper added with a wink. "Confidentiality's important in my line of work."

Caelann's brow furrowed. "What did he want?"

The innkeeper pulled two small, folded notes from behind the counter and slid them over. "Had notes to give. Two of 'em. Said to give you the option of taking them, and to see if they meant anything to you. One has a name on it, plain as day."

Caelann picked up the notes, one of them bearing his name, before glancing up at the innkeeper, nodding his thanks. "Thank you. I appreciate your caution."

The innkeeper gave a satisfied nod. "Well, adventurers like yourself are always mixed up in something-figure it's my job to keep things smooth."

The man chuckled, patting the counter before moving on to help a group of travelers at a nearby table.

Caelann unfolded the note carefully, taking a bite of sausage as he opened the note labeled "For Caelann." The familiar handwriting brought a faint smile to his lips-it was from Elowyn herself. He could practically hear her voice as he read the delicate script:

Caelann,

If you're reading this, you're already on your way to Creathe. I wanted to send you a reminder, a plea of sorts. Before you hand over my father's letter, please-ensure that Samuel reads my note first. It's important, and I trust only you to make sure he sees it first. Thank you, Caelann. Truly.

Yours, Elowyn

He carefully folded the letter, tucking it back into his coat. The second note, slightly larger, bore no instructions for him to open it, only her elegant seal pressed into the wax.

With a soft chuckle to himself, Caelann thought, What does this letter say, perhaps?

He tucked the other note into his satchel, mindful of the order Elowyn had asked for. He finished his breakfast, gave a grateful nod to the innkeeper, and made his way out with renewed resolve.

The road stretched out ahead of him, the morning sun warming his back as he rode. After about two hours of peaceful travel, punctuated by the occasional pause to buy fresh goods from wandering merchants, Caelann finally arrived at the Valorian Waystone Shrine. Here, a small market bustled around the shrine, filled with traders and travelers from every corner of the kingdom. Tents and stalls lined the path, displaying everything from rare herbs to enchanted trinkets.

As he browsed, a shifty-looking merchant sidled up to him, holding a small vial of a murky liquid.

"Psst! You there, young adventurer," the merchant whispered, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "This here potion grants near invincibility. Just one sip, and you'll be unstoppable!"

Caelann raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. "Invincibility, you say? For only five silver?"

"Ah, that's right!" the merchant grinned, rubbing his hands. "A small price for such great power."

With a smirk, Caelann leaned in. "Tell you what-I'll give you six silver if you drink it first. AND if you let me have a few practice rounds with you. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

The merchant stammered, his face turning an interesting shade of green. "Well, I... I'm... highly allergic, you see! A tragic irony. But I guarantee it works!"

Caelann waved him off, chuckling, and continued through the market until he spotted a group of robed scholars who appeared to be conversing near the shrine entrance. 

He approached them, holding up the summoning stone and asking, "Would any of you happen to know how to activate one of these?"

The scholars looked over the stone, turning it in their hands with curiosity. "Ah," said one, "summoning stones usually activate by reading the inscribed runes."

Caelann gave an awkward smile. "Right. That was what I thought... although I'm not necessarily taught in the ways of conjuration."

One older scholar squinted, shaking his head. "This is a rare beauty. I can make out some of the runes, but others are too complex to read, even for me. You'd need a master conjurer or a court wizard for a stone like this."

Before Caelann could respond, another scholar, a younger one with a wild mop of curly hair, stepped forward. 

"I'd be willing to buy it from you," he said eagerly, pulling a coin pouch from his robe. "Fifteen silver coins! It's worth more, but that's all I have right now. I could use this for my thesis on ancient magical artifacts!"

"Fifteen? For something this rare?" another scholar interjected, his tone a mix of shock and insult. "I'll give you twenty-five silver coins. I've been researching pre-cataclysmic magic, and this stone would be invaluable for my studies."

The older scholar frowned, stepping between them. "Stop embarrassing yourselves. Such a stone is worth far more. Young man, I'll offer you two gold coins on the spot."

The scholars all turned to Caelann, their eyes sparkling with anticipation, each eager to outbid the other. 

Caelann, however, shook his head with a polite but firm grin. "Sorry, folks. Not for sale. This stone was a gift from the king himself. It's not just rare — it's special to me. Selling it wouldn't feel right."

The scholars grumbled in disappointment, but one nodded respectfully. "Fair enough. Still, if you ever change your mind, the Academy would pay handsomely."

Caelann thanked them, mentally adding "consult a wizard" to his already hefty list of tasks. He made his way to the shrine's entrance, where he was greeted by two pathfinders — solemn figures robed in white, who oversaw the operation of the Waystone Shrines.

"I need to travel to Creathe," Caelann told the pathfinders, handing over a two gold coins as payment. One of the pathfinders gave a nod and led him to one of the waystones, a towering monolith that pulsed faintly with magical energy. The other took his horse to a separate waystone intended for animals.

The pathfinder began a low chant, pressing both hands to the waystone and motioning for Caelann to do the same. As he placed his hands on the cold stone, he felt a tingling sensation run through him, growing stronger as the pathfinder's spell charged. A bright light engulfed him, and in an instant, he was standing within the Creathean Waystone Shrine.

...

Caelann stepped out of the shrine into the bright, salty air of the Kingdom of Creathe, the difference in the atmosphere hitting him like a splash of cold water.

Though only a few minutes had passed, he was, quite literally, a world away from the land he knew. Rolling hills stretched out toward the glistening coastline in the distance, where the great port city of Creathe lay bustling with trade, travelers, and, inevitably, the occasional pirate raid.

Just beyond the shrine was a string of fortified checkpoints, spaced every few hundred meters. Guards in red and silver uniforms stood watch, their eyes sharp as hawks. Caelann took a deep breath knowing he'd have to pass through several stops to be allowed near the city's main road.

"State your business," the guard said, looking him up and down.

Caelann lifted his chin and spoke with all the confidence he could muster, revealing the letter that he was supposed to deliver to the royal family. "Official business, on behalf of Valoria's royal family."

The guard narrowed his eyes. "Royal business, is it?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Well, then, we'll need to check you for any...suspicious cargo."

Before Caelann could argue, a pair of guards descended on him, searching through his bags with an enthusiasm that bordered on nosiness. One guard held up several dried sausages with a raised eyebrow.

"Planning to fight off an army of hungry wolves with this?"

"That's lunch," Caelann replied, exasperated.

The guard pulled out a worn book, turning it over in his hands as though it might contain secret codes. "And this? Spellbook, is it?"

"It's...a poetry collection."

The guard snickered, flipping through it before handing it back. "Dangerous weapon for the hearts of ladies, I suppose."

One of the guards trailed off, lifting Caelann's spare clothing between two fingers as if it were a highly suspect item.

"How is a tunic suspicious?" Caelann raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't recommend taking that. That has seen more battles than I have."

The guard didn't miss a beat. "And smells like it too." He wrinkled his nose, and a few of his comrades chuckled nearby.

After a few more minutes of prodding-and, to Caelann's silent mortification, the guard even tapping the summoning stone and muttering, "Well, this looks important"-he finally waved Caelann along.

He collected his things, grumbling under his breath, but was grateful to be free. "Didn't know I'd be getting interrogated by a laundry inspector," he muttered as he slung his pack over his shoulder.

At the last checkpoint, Caelann was reunited with his horse, who had been sent through a separate portal as per the shrine's regulations for transporting animals. With a sigh of relief, he climbed into the saddle and urged his horse forward onto the main road.

By now, the sun was high in the sky, and the road to Creathe shimmered with heat. He could tell it would be a long, sweltering ride to the city gates. The journey pressed on, his thoughts as heavy as the summer heat.

...

Caelann felt a rush of relief as he walked through the grand city gates of Creathe. This bustling coastal city was known for its trade, with endless rows of market stalls showcasing goods from every corner of the world.

Everywhere he looked, merchants advertised colorful silks, gleaming gems, and perfumes whose scents hung thick in the air. It was tempting to linger, to let his eyes roam the intricate crafts and curious relics, but he kept his focus. His goal, and his duty, lay at the Creathian Palace, and his heart still carried the weight of Elowyn's request.

At the palace gates, two guards stepped forward, barring his way. They eyed him with practiced suspicion, then conducted a thorough search of his belongings. After a tense pause, the captain of the guard approached.

"What business have you here?" he demanded, his voice gruff.

Caelann produced the King's letter, showing the royal seal of House Talassa. "I have a letter for Prince Samuel, from the King of Valoria."

The captain studied the seal, then glanced at Caelann with a narrowed gaze. After a moment's consideration, he signaled a nearby soldier. "You'll be escorted inside. This way."

The escort soldier led Caelann through the winding corridors of the palace, its halls adorned with tapestries and walls lined with towering bookshelves and ornamental vases. At a turn in the hall, they were met by a man clad in the armor of a Royal Guard, who informed them that Prince Samuel was presently in the grand library. Nodding, Caelann's escort redirected him, guiding him to the massive double doors that led to the library.

Inside, Prince Samuel sat absorbed in a scroll, his auburn hair catching the light that filtered through the stained glass windows. The prince looked up, his green eyes curious but calm as he took in Caelann's presence. He gestured for him to enter fully, then signaled the guard to close the door behind them, leaving them alone in the vast, book-lined chamber.

Caelann took a steadying breath and approached, placing the velvet-lined box at the prince's feet. "A gift, from the King of Valoria to the royal family of Creathe."

Samuel waved a dismissive hand, his attention returning briefly to the scroll. "Leave it by the door. Now, what is it you have come to discuss?"

Caelann stepped forward, holding a note delicately between his fingers. "A message, Your Highness."

But as instructed, instead of handing him the sealed letter from the King, he presented the note he carried from Elowyn, the one he hadn't read, honoring her private wish. Prince Samuel raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between Caelann and the note before accepting it.

The prince opened the note, his expression softening as he read. A faint smile crossed his lips as he folded the note back up and tucked it into his sleeve. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes as if in thought, then turned his gaze back to Caelann.

"And the letter?"

Caelann hesitated but then withdrew the official letter bearing the King's seal. Samuel took it, studying the seal for a moment, before placing it down, unopened.

"Please inform your king," the prince said with a courteous nod, "that I must decline this proposal. I cannot marry the lady Elowyn."

Caelann was caught off guard. He studied the prince, noting his calm assurance, his unhurried confidence. How could Samuel know the letter's contents without even opening it? Was it something Elowyn's note had revealed? Or was there more history between them than he had realized?

"Are you certain, my lord?" Caelann ventured, bewildered. "Might you consider at least opening the letter, to be certain of its intent?"

Samuel rose, placing a reassuring hand on Caelann's shoulder. "Though hadn't had the pleasure of meeting, I've heard much of Lady Elowyn's beauty, her spirit."

"But it seems her heart belongs elsewhere, and I would never see her bound in unhappiness to me." He gave Caelann a knowing look, one that made his cheeks warm. "Such a union would be nothing short of a tragedy-for both of us."

Understanding his message, Caelann nodded, a sense of relief mingling with his surprise. He had been prepared for a dozen different scenarios, but this one-this rejection on grounds of compassion and respect-was unexpected and somehow deeply fitting.

Samuel moved to his desk, picking up a quill and reaching for a blank sheet of parchment. "I'll prepare a formal reply," he said, dipping the quill and beginning to write in smooth, careful strokes.

"But I'll keep it... vague, out of respect." He scratched a few final words and blew softly on the ink, stamping it with his own seal.

Handing the letter to Caelann, he smiled, although one can see the hint of disappointment in his face. "Thank the King of Valoria for his gift, and this generous offer. Let him know I am deeply honored by his trust. But... unforeseen circumstances... prevent me from accepting at this time."

Caelann took the letter and bowed. "I will relay your message to his majesty, Your Highness."

As he turned to leave, he couldn't help but feel a swell of admiration for the prince. Samuel, it seemed, was as perceptive as he was kind. With the King's letter delivered and Elowyn's hopes secured, Caelann made his way back through the palace, preparing to carry home the good news.

****

Florence tightened his grip on the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword as he and his band ventured deeper into the shadowed woods of Jeb. The air grew thick and damp, heavy with the scent of moss and ancient rot. Rays of sunlight broke through the dense canopy overhead in thin beams, casting a greenish glow that only deepened the feeling of foreboding. The forest was silent in an unnatural way, with barely a rustle from the undergrowth-a warning sign to anyone with the experience to notice.

The three hired swords accompanying Florence exchanged lighthearted banter as they walked, oblivious to the true danger that lurked. They swapped tall tales of monsters and beasts they had "nearly" caught and whispered plans of how they'd spend their coin once the job was done. Their casual laughter grated on Florence's nerves. They had no idea what awaited them, no clue that they were merely fodder, distractions for an enemy that had decimated warriors far greater than them.

The guide, a hunched, wiry man with shifty eyes, trudged ahead, muttering warnings of false paths and hidden pits. He was a local, paid well to keep Florence from straying into dead ends or concealed traps.

All four of his companions were sworn to absolute secrecy. Florence had promised to pay them handsomely to join him on this expedition (and to keep a tight lip about it), but he knew the coin mattered little in the long run. None of them would live to spend it.

Florence adjusted Blood Matron's strap on his back, feeling the reassuring weight of the blade pulsing with its eerie red glow. It seemed almost eager, resonating with an anticipation that only he could feel. The others paid it little mind, more interested in their own tales and brags. But Florence could feel it: his sword's silent, sinister hunger for blood.

"Ease up, will ya?" one of the mercenaries said, noticing Florence's tense expression. "I get that all this silence is making you jumpy. But really, there's nothing to worry about when you're in the company of experts!"

Florence cast him a cold glance but said nothing. He remained silent. After all, only he understood the true nature of their quarry.

To the others, this was simply an expedition for some elusive, wild beast-a wild tale to regale other mercenaries with over drinks.

But Florence's cold blue eyes held the truth: they were not here for some creature of folklore. They were here to confront the sorceress who had defied death, an enemy whose evil was etched in the very soil they trod upon. And Florence, alone, had accepted that this would be no hunt, but a battle against a legend.

As his comrades bantered and laughed, Florence allowed himself a final thought of the scrolls, potions, and summoning stones strapped across his chest. Each tool had been selected for this encounter alone, a culmination of all he had studied about the sorceress's power.

He had no illusions - she was deadly, cunning beyond measure. And as his comrades' laughter echoed in the stillness of the forest, Florence tightened his grip on his weapon's hilt.

Florence didn't need their help, not truly. They were here as insurance, bait to lure the sorceress into the open.

They didn't realize it yet, but they were already as good as dead.