The sky was a waxen grey. Dreary light descended to the earth below, though most life was hibernating. The clouds had finally billowed over, and the sun was locked behind a cage of dark clouds. Snow fell from above onto the carriage that drove to Pentref.

Time had passed since Isten had reunited with Cythraul and met Rupert at the temporary war camp. They had followed the path blazed by the army and had met no resistance. The events of the camp seemed like a horrific phantasmagoria to Isten, and he mostly treated it like it was one.

Within the carriage, Isten twirled the wolf bone wand around his fingers, waiting for an update from Trulliad who had sent Cythraul’s guards to scout ahead.

“Master Isten, we are nearing Pentref now. We are at most an hours ride away.” Trulliad called after receiving the report.

“Okay.” Isten responded.

His arms were lined with goosebumps, a sense of excitement grew within him, though the carriage window was slightly ajar. The winter air, frigid from the snow, blew drafts into the carriage. He couldn’t close it, it had been damaged on the journey, so he wore multiple layers of woollen clothes over his usual linen shirt.

The blinds were open, and he watched the landscape drift by lethargically. A wide river flowed in the distance; its white rapids beat violently against the banks. Though it snowed, it hadn’t frozen over just yet, so wooden boats made their journeys to and from Pentref.

Just over the river, there were farms that extended for miles into the distance. Serfs populated the fields, endlessly working to plant or protect their winter vegetables. Isten wasn’t too sure which one they were doing.

The carriage continued straight into the distance for a long time without anything changing. When it turned around a corner, Isten finally caught sight of Pentref. Towering buildings shaped like spears thrust into the sky. They covered the horizon, their presence dominating the land with a great majesty.

As they rode closer, he could see the indomitable walls that surrounded the city like a bulwark. They intermittently protruded out, creating the image of a star within Isten’s mind. The walls let the river enter the capital, and they began once more on the other bank, shrouding the city from Isten’s view.

On the road ahead, people came into view. They walked to and fro from Pentref, shivering from the cold snow. They were free men and women, those who were protected by one of the three ruling institutions of Cymorth. They all wore woollen coats as well, though most wore bland or dark colours. As they passed them in the carriages Isten got a look at them.

He saw merchants, priests, learned men and women, and even some nobility among them. Isten had remembered reading that there had been a rise in a new class in Cymorth. The boom started just before he was born.

‘If I remember correctly, the Church created a bureaucracy for the peasants that anyone could apply to join through the civil service exams.’ Isten thought to himself.

‘What can it really do, though? I suppose it did let serfs become free, under the protection of the Church, but they don’t have any Malevolency. If they don’t have Malevolency, then they’re still subordinate to every traditional power anyways.’

‘Well, teacher did say once that the gentry’s authority was strictly political, and they were not allowed to become sorcerers. So even if they have political power, they can be forced through violence by, say, an aristocratic family, to work for them.’

“Why did the Church create the civil service? Couldn’t we just force serfs to do their work without making them freemen?” Isten asked Trulliad, pointing towards a woman with an insignia from the civil service on her black coat.

“They were wise in vision. They foresaw that the country needed more organisation for the safety of its residents, and they took steps to fix that," Trulliad explained. "Though, that was once an argument made by the aristocracy of twenty years ago. However, they were persuaded by the Serfs Rebellion.”

“The one where escaped serfs who fled to Praeteritum, returned after learning Malevolency, and executed a branch of the Coeden family?” Isten asked.

“Correct. The Church had argued that there were too few pathways to power, therefore, a solely political class would ease discontent within the serfdom. The Serfs Rebellion only served to prove their point.” Trulliad continued.

“So, it was a creation of necessity then. That makes sense… What about the Intelligence Service, that father leads? That’s different from the civil service, right?” Isten contemplated.

“Yes. They are independent of the Church, whereas the civil service is not. King Brenin took control of it from the Church early after its creation, and appointed Lucien as the Secretary of State. The de facto leader of the Intelligence Service.” Trulliad emphasised the last point.

Isten thought for a moment. “Was that to ensure the Intelligence Service’s loyalty was to him, the King, and not the Church?”

“Exactly! Very wise, master Isten.” Trulliad praised Isten with a smile on his face.

They continued riding in silence for a while, until Isten heard the traces of a muted conversation from outside his carriage. He watched from his window as a servant pulled away from his entourage on horse, speeding a short distance away.

The servant was greeted by a guard, carrying a pike, and he withdrew a bundle of papers tied together by string. He handed it to the guard, who quickly looked over them and nodded. He gave the papers back and ran into the distance while the servant returned to the entourage.

“I have alerted the gate keepers of our arrival, Trulliad. They will send a group to greet us at the east gate, whereupon they will take us to the House Blodyn’s manor.” The servant stopped before Trulliad and spoke.

“I see, thank you, Leiaf. Tell the rest of the staff to prepare for the procession.” Trulliad responded.

‘Oh God. It’s not long now. I’ve been waiting for this for years, but it doesn’t feel like it ought to…’ Isten thought to himself. He heard the conversation clearly, and a deep nervousness reared its head inside of him. The recognition that he was to meet his family for the first time in eleven years.

The entourage started once more, this time it shook heavily as they crossed onto uneven earth. It wasn’t long before its steadiness returned as they moved onto a floating bridge made of earth and stone.

The bridge carried them towards Pentref’s city walls, and it hovered above man-made ditches and moats. It was also temporary. The bridge’s array would be switched off if a foreign force were to attack the capital. Instead, they would have to cross the terrain before making it to the walls.

They reached the monolithic east gate, which was carved with runic symbols and hieroglyphs. It was a firm reminder of the glorious rule of Cymorth that would stand the test of time.

Upon the walls, the gatekeeps pulled winches, and metallic reverberations erupted before them. Wheels turned, and metal chains pulled the portcullis open. Open on either side of the portcullis were two giant bronze doors. They would only be closed at night, and when invaders attacked, at the command of the city governor.

A unit of guards led the entourage through the streets, they weren’t too far away from the Blodyn manor. This was due to them entering through the east gate, which was colloquially known as the ‘Noble’s gate’. They were already within the aristocratic heart of Pentref.

They connected onto a busy avenue which rode into the city centre of Pentref. Isten’s attention was taken instantly by the behemoth of a building in front of him. White-washed stone formed pointed arches that were supported by flying buttresses. Stained-glass windows of incredible artisanship, decorated with tracery, glowed ethereally as light shone inside.

It was Pentref’s Saint Hans Cathedral, and it instantly captivated Isten. He felt a sense of peace and tranquillity when looking at it. He watched a man dressed in a red robe with golden embroidery enter through its bronze double doors and disappeared inside.

‘Truly a pious place… It feels like the peak of humanity lives here, both in the past and present.’ Isten thought to himself.

His eyes turned away from the cathedral, instead lingering on the people who walked in the streets. The city was bustling with both men and women from all strokes of like. Those who walked in the streets were the common freemen, most often the gentry. They wore rather dark or muted coloured clothing, which contrasted with that the nobles wore.

The aristocrats, who travelled by carriage in grandeur, wore vibrant colours, such as reds, greens, and blues, as well as creams, tans, and whites. However, the fashion was universal. Both the male gentry and the nobles wore a hat, doublet, linen shirt, breeches, and knee-high boots.

The women were dressed in satin high-waisted bodices with tabbed skirts, open three-quarter sleeves over full chemise sleeves, and ribbon sashes.

“Trulliad, when can I wear such good clothes?” Isten asked, tugging at his grey woollen coat, jealousy glinting in his eyes.

“Soon, master Isten. It will have been prepared for you already when you get home.” Trulliad responded from the driver’s box.

Finally, the retinue rounded the corner which led towards House Blodyn’s family manor. As they came into distance, Isten saw tens to hundreds of servants and guards pass by his window as the carriage rode onwards. They lined both sides of the path towards the entrance of his manor’s great court awaiting his return. It was a formal procession.

In between the magnificent open gates, standing slightly in front, were a man and woman. As the carriage came closer, he thought he recognised them to be his mother and father, Morrigan and Lucien Blodyn. Due to their position, it was guaranteed to be so.

His eyes flickered to the couple who stood behind them. It was two men, who were Isten’s uncles, Malus and Eiddil. He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen them before, because he certainly couldn’t recognise them. The occasion ordered a complete family reunion, including that of all senior family members, which justified their presence.

The carriages pulled to a stop in a line, with Isten’s in the lead. Servants charged from the sides of the road to the carriage doors. Both doors were opened in unison, and Isten stepped down carefully.

As he looked up from the floor, there were four guards standing before him. They slowly moved clockwise around him, moving to guard his back, as Isten took a step forward. He continued walking forwards, where Trulliad joined him from the driver’s box, until he stood before his parents.

Trulliad broke the pause by giving a formal bow. Isten took in a deep breath before performing a sacred greeting. Once he finished, they stood in silence, though Trulliad gave Isten a reassuring glance.

Morrigan stepped forwards and embraced Isten in a hug, breaking the silence.

“Welcome home, my dear boy. I have been waiting for this for too long now.” She whispered into his ear.

“Thank you, Mother.” Isten replied, a tinge of melancholy in his voice. They separated, and he looked into her eyes. He saw genuine happiness, which made him smile brilliantly; the sadness receding.

He looked towards his father, who returned his gaze with a nod. Isten walked up to Lucien and held out his hand. Lucien grasped Isten's palm with an iron grip, squeezing his hand. An undercurrent of emotion was expressed through that handshake.

“Welcome back, my son!” Lucien announced loudly. Cheers roared throughout the servants and guards in the procession. They let go of each other’s hands, and Lucien took a step backwards.

Two men strode forwards to replace him, and the leading man, Malus Blodyn, put his hand in front of Isten. He shook it in greeting.

“Nice to see you again, Isten. You were this small the last time I saw you.” He demonstrated playfully while laughing. Isten laughed with him, a smile on his face.

Eiddil Blodyn similarly shook hands with Isten and drew him in close so that only they could hear.

“It’s always difficult returning from Aristocrat’s Exclusion, Isten. Try to take it slow. You’ll feel much better that way. By tonight, it'll normal, as it should have always been.” Eiddil whispered in Isten’s ear.

While Isten tried his best to mask his emotions, by being reserved and following formalities, they seeped through and were picked up by the adults. They respected him, trying not to put too much pressure on the young boy.

A voice barked a command and the servants walked orderly and symmetrically into the manor house. Isten heard muffles of talk about a preparation for an evening feast.

Morrigan appeared at his side and put her arm around his. He looked down upon her in shock, surprised at her contact. She gave him a smile.

“Look, it’s snowing.” She spoke, looking into the sky. Lucien took Isten’s other arm, gripping him by the shoulder, and they led him through the courtyard trailed by Malus and Eiddil.

Unbeknown to all within Pentref, a black radiance had coalesced above the city. Its gaze had now been turned upon the world, and Pentref would occupy its awareness for a while to come.