The undersides of the cloud were turning gold. The twin moons, reluctant to give up their dominion over the sky, faded into the blue as the sun rose over a new day.

Beorn stood in the stables without his shirt, his upper body exposed. He held his sword in both hands, raising it as he breathed in and exhaling as he swung it, with each forceful breath misting in the air. Forgoing the forms, he repeated the simple exercise till a film of sweat covered his upper body.

The occupants of both stable and inn were still asleep, the entire city was covered by a blanket of stillness. Beorn felt alone in the silence, but this solitude was a comfortable one. Being thrust into the bustling city of Ingoldtshold and interacting with more people in a single day than he would in an entire year had Beorn on edge. The plethora of new experiences had disoriented him, and he hadn't realised the extent until waking up. Swinging the sword; the breathing, the repetition, the sound of his heart beating, all brought peace to his mind.

He continued for another half hour until the city bells were rung and the cocks crowed for the coming of a new dawn. While the city stirred itself awake, Beorn sheathed his sword, wiped the sweat off his body with a towel, and put on his shirt. He re-entered the Golden Goose in search of a bath and a hot meal.

***

Beorn had finished his meal after enjoying a hot bath courtesy of the innkeeper Grant when Ragnar had shown up in the inn. The squire was as chipper as always when he greeted Beorn. "Good Morning sir. I hope you had a good sleep yesterday."

"It was excellent, squire Ragnar."

Ragnar looked a bit taken aback at that, Beorn continued, "If you keep calling me 'sir', Ragnar, that's how I'm gonna call you."

Ragnar protested, "But but you're a noble and a Ranger…"

Beorn rolled his eyes, "I'm not a knight, just call me Beorn. I'm only a couple of years older than you."

Ragnar looked unconvinced but he nodded and took up Beorn's bags rushing to the stables before Beorn could stop him.

He followed him outside to see him finish fitting the bags to Tyvjyo’s saddle. Ragnar handed the reins to Beorn as he turned towards another horse. A stable hand had kept a hold of a brown rouncey a bit bigger than Tyvjyo, Ragnar mounted and waited for Beorn to do the same. He urged his mount to gate leading to the Inner city with Beorn following his lead.

***

The city inside the Inner walls was a world apart from the disorganized chaos of the Outer city. The streets were wide and paved flat with bricks, their borders lined with trees and flowering bushes. Beorn widened his eyes at the sight of essence lamps at regular intervals along the road with banners emblazoned with the sigil of the city hanging from them. The coffers of Ingoldtshold must run deep, thought Beorn, the cost to maintain them should be astronomical. Signboards at regular intervals with names and directions were situated at every corner. The concentration of lovely, well-maintained villas behind high, ivy-covered walls and well-manicured hedges was unmistakable. They climbed into the gently sloping hill of Ingoldtshold's center towards the fort visible even from this distance.

Not many could be seen walking the streets, most were wealthy enough to own the opulent carriages that passed them. Those that did choose to walk wore such exquisitely tailored clothes that Beorn lauded their ability, and their courage to wear them out in the open. He wondered how the women balanced those enormous hats as he rode past.

Ragnar led Beorn down the main thoroughfare. His jaw dropped in wonder taking in the sight of the huge paved boulevard. He noticed driverless carriages, with smoke belching from their tops. He wondered at how they ran, nudging Ragnar's shoulder.

Ragnar shrugged, "Ah, those are the new gnomish carriages. They don't need a horse, apparently, they use the heat from an essence engine to turn the wheels. Aunt says it's the future but I'm not convinced. They're really very slow, we're better off on using horses," to demonstrate he easily outran the horseless-carriage.

As they made their way towards the fort that rose at the top of the hill, Beorn noticed a brick tower that rose a distance away from it. It had an ostentatious squat building that looked like it was made of marble and covered with gold next to it. As they got nearer, Beorn could see that the squat building was decorated in ornate carvings and two armed and armored golden giants with wings, stood beside the entrance. Beorn was confident those were artificial constructs. The massive doors had a queue of people looking to enter the building, the sign above reading 'The Goldguard Bank' and in smaller lettering below it 'We guard your gold with our life'. Beorn lifted an eyebrow at the slogan, but those constructs that flanked the entrance sure looked like they meant it.

His attention shifted to the tower next to it. It was made of brick and constructed as a fortified watchtower but with jutting levels, bizarre curves, and a flat roof bigger than the base. It made the tower seem like it would tip over any second. Glowing letters proclaimed it as the Sorcerer's Guild. Nathaniel had mentioned something about showing them the wolf corpse, now that he knew it was somehow connected to Silas, he thought about paying them a visit.

As they approached the fort, Beorn was able to appreciate the size of it. It was bigger than Draigkyn Manor, with a deep moat surrounding it. A drawbridge spanned across the moat granting access to the walled courtyard. The stone wall was thicker than the Guard keep giving the fortified structure an intimidating aura.

Guards in gleaming steel cuirasses and cloaks emblazoned with the green and gold of Ingoldtshold stood at the end of the bridge guarding the entrance. The cloaks were held in place with golden clasps at their shoulder bearing the sigil of Ingddtshold, their features were concealed by full-face helmets with green plumes. They held spears taller than Beorn and their arms proudly showed off their glinting armbands that signified them as Aleph-ranked Blessed. Ragnar gave a slight bow as they trotted past them.

The duo entered the expansive courtyard, where Ragnar dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a waiting valet with Beorn doing the same to another. The doors were already open as they stepped onto the carpeted steps and entered the fort. It was a wide hallway that ended in a set of stairs. The ceiling was held by arched pillars with suits of armor guarding them. Ragnar seemed to be familiar with the layout as he led Beorn up the left staircase, through a long corridor, and up another set of stairs in a spiralling tower. At the end of the landing was a door that Beorn presumed was the office of the Castellan of Ingoldtshold. Before Ragnar could knock on the door, a gruff female voice called out, "Come in Beorn."

Ragnar nodded at Beorn and held the door open for him. Beorn stepped into a sparsely decorated study. The only decorations were battle-axes and war-hammers decorating the walls. A kite shield emblazoned with the green and gold Fort-and -Tree sigil of Ingoldtshold was the centrepiece of the entire room but it had suffered three deep scars that marred the face. The others exhibited similar damage indicating that these were no mere decorations but real weapons that had borne the brunt of the battle.

Beneath the scarred shield was a great mahogany desk with the Castellan of Ingoldtshold seated behind it. She had close-cut white hair and was clad in worn-out armor. Beorn was unable to study her features as she sat reading a document, not even acknowledging his presence. But Beorn could feel hers, it filled the entire room like the weight of the earth. Despite not being deliberately targeted by it, Beorn still found it hard to breathe just standing in her presence.

'She is definitely stronger than Silas.'

'Very much so. Silas would not hold for a minute against this woman. Be on your guard, Beorn.'

Despite Wilhelmina's warning, Beorn wasn’t too worried, 'I don't think I need to. Besides, if she wanted to harm me, I can't stop her anyway.'

Beorn stood still, sweating from the pressure, not daring to interrupt the Castellan. He watched the Castellan read documents, write letters, and sign papers for a whole half hour before she deigned to notice him. She looked up, and Beorn finally had a look at the Castellan of Ingoldtshold. She was a middle-aged woman with a scar over her left eye that marred an otherwise handsome face. As it was it only served to enhance the ferocity of her features. She had a sharp nose and a grim-set mouth. Most intriguing were her eyes, the pupils shone silver as she examined Beorn from head to toe. She seemed to be pleased with what she saw because she motioned to the chair in front of her table, "Take a seat."

Beorn sighed in relief and obeyed her immediately.

"I am Gunnhildr Ingoldt Katrinsdottir, Castellan of Ingoldtshold."

She nodded at Beorn, "Well met Beorn Draigkyn, I see Nathaniel was not wrong about you."

Beorn frowned, how was the old captain acquainted with someone who was definitely Gimel-ranked if not stronger not to mention in charge of the entire city of Ingoldtshold.

Beorn voiced his query aloud, “How do you know Nathaniel? Not to be insulting but how in the world is he important enough to meet you let alone have you respect his opinion? Isn’t he just a retired old captain?”

He was startled by a loud bark of laughter, “I served with cantankerous old bastard for nearly a decade. As for his importance… “, Gunnhildr stared off into the distance before continuing, “if he hasn’t told you himself, it is not my place to tell his story. I wouldn’t worry about it, you’ll hear it someday. I mean the old bastard actually taught you the sword, I’ve never even heard of him teaching anyone else.”

Shaking her head, Gunnhildr continued, “Anyways you missed him by a couple of days, showed me the direwolf corpse. Even the Sorcerer’s guild couldn’t make anything of it apart from the fact that it was mutated. They headed off to Atilan to visit their headquarters.”

Beorn spoke up at the mention of the direwolf corpse, “I was attacked by a Beth-ranked Blood-Mage a couple of days ago”, Grunnhildr sat up straight and looked at him with those piercing silver eyes.

Noting her interest, he completed the tale but decided to avoid mentioning Wilhelmina and the Dragonstone’s part in it, “he wanted something from the Draigkyn vault beneath the manor, but the seal exploded. He chased me all the way to the valley before I managed to kill him. He commanded two more of the direwolves with the same kind of mutations.”

Gunnhildr steepled her hands beneath her chin and narrowed her eyes at him, “I know you’re not telling me the whole truth,” Beorn shifted in his chair, “and that’s okay you can keep your secrets, I won’t pry”, he let out a breath.

Her silver gaze pierced through Beorn, “It’s probably to do with why a Beth-ranked Blood-Mage was this far north in the first place. I think you have enough sense to not hide anything important… I’ll have to inform the Sorcerers Guild and Nathaniel.”

She relaxed her gaze and sat back in her chair with a small smile, “But you’re telling me you faced down a Beth-ranked Blood-Mage? And managed to kill him without a Blessing of your own? Wow, kid, I’m impressed”

Beorn blushed at the compliment, “He was injured from the blast. And he only had one essence ability.”

“Still, injured or not many people could’ve killed a Beth-ranked mage let alone without the help of Blessing. You’ll be heading to Atilan to get your Blessing now?”

“Yes”

The Castellan tapped her chin, “You can take the caravan there, it’ll take you half a year and cost gold. I could get you a job guarding it but…”, she opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a stack of papers.

“I have a better idea if you’re up for it.”, she handed them to Beorn.

Beorn shuffled to the papers and found that they each had a picture of a monster, its last known location, and a bounty. It contained some of the ones he’d seen stuck to the wall of the Guard keep.

Grunnhildr grinned, “You’ve been trained by Nathaniel, and you managed to kill a Beth-ranked Blood-Mage, I think you can handle yourself.”

“The beasties are unusually active for the season and all the locations are along your way to Atilan. Normally we’d send a contingent to wipe them out but most of the army has been ordered to the Ixilan border. On top of that, the Guard is stretched thin with all the refugees. I'll owe you a favour if you could clear them out.”, she tossed him a pouch from underneath the table, “Besides it’ll be helpful for your Initiation, and you won't be doing it for free.”

Beorn could hear the coins clinking against each other as he caught. A gold glow lit up his face as he undid the strings. Beorn gasped and looked at Grunnhildr with his mouth agape.

Grunnhildr’s grin widened into a smile, “All the bounties and a little extra, this should take care of your provisions. I’m confident you won’t let me down, kid. You can also take whatever you want from the armory, Ragnar will show you the way. Speaking of Ragnar, was he useful?”

“Yes, he showed me around the city. Seems like he’s well-liked around here.”

“Yes, he’s a fine boy. Talented, and works hard, but I wish he’d keep his gob shut sometimes”

Beorn couldn’t help but nod at that.

“He’s my sister’s son. I put him in the Guard to toughen him up a bit before getting his own Blessing in a couple of years.” Beorn’s brow climbed higher, that explained a lot.

“I have a good feeling about you Beorn and my instincts are never wrong. Take care of Ragnar if you can."

Beorn was unsure how to answer her confidence in him, but he nodded, “I promise I’ll look out for him.”

Grunnhildr looked satisfied, “You’re a good kid, I’m sure you’ll be going places. I want you in my army, but I think you’ll be better off on the frontlines for your mandatory service. The skirmishes with Ixilan don’t seem to be dying out any time soon with the Theocracy ramping up their fortifications at the border. In fact, I’ll write you an introduction, it should serve you well.”

She grabbed a blank sheet and a quill from the inkpot. She scrawled a short letter, folded the sheet, and sealed it with a stamp. She handed it to Beorn, “Hand it over to the recruitment officer along with Nathaniel’s. It won’t get you command but at least you won’t be cannon fodder.”

Grunnhildr offered her hand to Beorn, “It was good meeting you kid.”

Beorn got up from his seat and shook it, “Thank you so much for everything.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid”, releasing her hand she called to the door, “Ragnar show Beorn to my armory and get him a map to Atilan.”

Beorn stepped out of the study to see Ragnar grinning expectantly at him, “How did meeting with my aunt go? I think she liked you, she hasn’t even allowed me into her armory.”

Beorn shook his head, “So the Castellan is your aunt? You could’ve told me sooner.”

Ragnar looked down and scratched his head, “Well… everyone here knows already and I don’t like to throw her name around.”

Beorn looked at him before turning to the stairs, “Well come on, you have to guide me to the armory and get me a map.”

Ragnar immediately perked up, “Yessir” and bounded down the stairs ahead of Beorn.