Later that night, a fire crackled warmly at the centre of a makeshift campsite. The thick forest around them was alive with the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl.

  Sammy had just finished clearing a patch of ground for their fire while Nimby perched on a low branch nearby, chirping quietly, his eyes scanning the area.

  Lola knelt by a nearby stream, carefully filling their waterskins, while Pupster returned with an armful of firewood, his movements as precise and deliberate as ever.

  “Good haul,” Sammy said, grinning as Pupster dumped the logs by the fire.

  Pupster gave a curt nod. “I’ll get the kindling started.”

  Lola approached with the filled waterskins and handed one to Sammy, her smile soft despite the weariness from the day’s battles. “This is nice,” she said, gesturing at the scene around them. “Feels good to just… stop for a bit.”

  The group settled around the fire, the warmth chasing away the damp chill of the evening. Sammy leaned back, arms stretched behind him, watching the flames dance. Nimby hopped down from his perch and nestled beside him, chirping contentedly.

  As they ate their modest meal, conversation turned to their adventures so far, the Zerodians, and their plan forward. Eventually, the focus shifted to Pupster.

  “You’ve been gone a long time, Pupster,” Sammy said, breaking a brief silence. “Two years is a lot to catch up on.”

  Lola glanced at her brother curiously. She had always wondered where he had been, why he had left so suddenly. Even now, Pupster seemed... different. Stronger, yes, but also more guarded.

  Pupster poked at the fire with a stick, his gaze fixed on the flickering embers. “I travelled to the Highlands,” he began slowly. “There were rumours of strange activity—monsters behaving unpredictably, disappearing livestock. Thought I could learn something, maybe prepare myself for what might come.”

  “And?” Sammy prompted, leaning forward.

  Pupster sighed, his voice heavy with memory. “I trained with the Stormwarden Order for a while. They’re... relentless. Taught me to focus, to fight with precision. It’s where I forged Dawnguard.”

  He held up his wrist, the firelight reflecting off the intricate carvings etched into the golden bangle hanging loosely from his wrist.

  “But that’s not all,” Lola pressed, tilting her head. “Something happened out there, didn’t it?”

  Pupster hesitated, his grip tightening on the stick he held. “There was an incident,” he admitted, his voice lowering. “Something… dark. A creature unlike anything I’d seen before. I was sent with a group to investigate a ruined fortress. We thought it was abandoned.” He paused, his jaw tightening.

  “What happened?” Lola asked gently.

  Pupster shook his head, his gaze distant. “The details don’t matter. Let’s just say... not all of us made it back. I realised then that some things can’t be fought with strength alone.”

  The air grew heavier as his words hung between them. Pupster suddenly straightened and forced a change in tone.

  “Anyway, that’s enough about me,” he said brusquely. “What about you, Sammy? How’s life been treating you in my absence?”

  Sammy frowned but didn’t push. He could see the tension in Pupster’s face, the way his shoulders stiffened as he avoided their gazes.

  “Oh, you know me,” Sammy said, grinning. “Charming everyone, getting into trouble, stealing snacks from Nimby.”

  Nimby chirped indignantly, hopping to his feet. Sammy laughed, ruffling the little creature’s feathers. Lola smiled but didn’t let go of the weight in Pupster’s words. Something had hurt him deeply—she could feel it—but she knew better than to pry just now.

  The fire crackled softly, its embers dancing in the still night air. The makeshift campsite was quiet now, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.

  Sammy, Lola, and Nimby had drifted into an exhausted sleep, leaving Pupster to take the first watch. His spear rested within arm’s reach as he sat, shoulders squared, eyes scanning the shadows that surrounded them.

  Moonlight filtered through the branches above, casting pale streaks across the clearing like ghostly fingers. Despite the calm, Pupster felt a gnawing unease.

  His mind flashed, unbidden, to the fortress. The silence before the screams. The feeling of being watched back then too.

  His gaze flicked toward Sammy and Lola. They lay near each other, Sammy’s tail curled protectively around his side, and Lola’s soft breathing steady and peaceful.

  Pupster’s sharp eyes caught the subtle way Sammy had lingered close to Lola during the day. The way his hand had rested on her shoulder hung in his thoughts.

  “Keep your head in the game, Sammy,” he muttered under his breath, though he knew Sammy couldn’t hear him.

  The shadows in the woods shifted. A faint rustling caught Pupster’s attention. His grip on his spear tightened as his ears twitched, homing in on the sound.

  “Who’s there?” His voice was low but carried authority.

  The rustling stopped, replaced by silence. Nimby stirred in his sleep, chirping softly but not waking. Pupster’s eyes narrowed. Rising to his feet, he moved closer to the edge of the clearing, muscles coiled for action.

  The sound came again, this time to his left. Pupster spun, spear at the ready, but there was nothing there. Just the trees swaying gently in the night breeze. His heart thudded in his chest, but his composure remained steady.

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  After a moment, the sounds faded completely, leaving only the fire’s soft crackle. Pupster exhaled and returned to his spot by the fire.

  “Paranoid,” he muttered, shaking his head. But no matter how still the forest became, Pupster couldn’t shake it, eyes were out there. Watching. Waiting.

  The first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the forest in hues of orange and gold. Sammy stretched with a yawn, his tail curling lazily behind him as he pushed himself upright.

  “Morning already?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  Pupster, who’d only caught a few hours of rest after his watch, was already packing his gear with methodical precision. “You three sleep well?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind.

  “Like a rock,” Sammy said with a grin. “What about you? You’re up early.”

  Pupster shrugged. “Didn’t have much reason to stay down.”

  Lola stirred beside them, sitting up and rubbing her arms against the early chill. “We’re really heading to Vharon today?”

  Pupster gave a nod. “It’s the next step. Rory should be there, assuming he hasn’t wandered off again.”

  Sammy raised an eyebrow. “What’s this Rory guy like?”

  Pupster’s expression shifted, equal parts exasperation and respect. “A show-off. Talks in riddles. Knows more than he lets on. You’ll see.”

  Lola tilted her head. “So, he’s eccentric?”

  “He’s Rory.”

  That was all the explanation Pupster seemed willing to offer.

  They broke camp quickly. Sammy led the way, bounding ahead with familiar ease. Nimby flitted through the trees overhead, wings slicing the cool morning air.

  Pupster kept to the rear, as always, spear across his back and eyes on the shadows. Lola remained near the middle, her gaze distant. She hadn’t spoken much since the fight with the golem.

  Their path wound through thinning forest, the terrain gradually shifting from mossy underbrush to cobbled trails etched with ancient wear. Birds chirped in the canopy above, and somewhere nearby, the gentle babble of a stream followed them like a song.

  As they crested a final ridge, the city revealed itself.

  Vharon stood like a relic of a forgotten age. Towering spires spiralled into the sky, and soft, magical lights hovered like lanterns, drifting between balconies and glowing windows.

  Cobblestone paths branched through the valley like veins, leading to clustered homes carved from stone and Bramblewood. Faint music echoed from somewhere deeper in the city—a melody carried on the breeze.

  Enchanted runes shimmered along the arched entryway to the city, pulsing with old magic. Ivy clung to the walls, winding through grooves carved by generations.

  “Whoa,” Sammy breathed. “You weren’t kidding.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Lola murmured, her wide eyes taking in the floating lights, the warmth of the architecture, the way the city seemed to blend seamlessly into the hillside.

  Nimby chirped softly, perching on her shoulder. His feathers bristled faintly, sensing the energy in the air.

  “This city’s got secrets,” Sammy said, spinning slowly in place as he took it all in. “You can feel it.”

  Pupster nodded, his expression unreadable. “Keep your eyes open. Vharon is safe, but that doesn’t mean it’s simple.”

  Lola stepped closer to the gates, running her fingers along the stone. “It feels like a place people come to... when they need answers.”

  And that,” Pupster said, “is exactly why we’re here.”

  The deeper they ventured, the more the city revealed its peculiarities.

  An elderly mage floated inches off the ground as she sipped tea from a steaming, self-stirring cup.

  Nearby, a young boy traced glowing runes in midair with a stick, only for a hovering scroll to copy them perfectly, word for word, and roll itself up in approval.

  A fox with too many tails darted across the road, nipping at the heels of a cackling alchemist who scolded it like an old friend.

  On one balcony, a trio of musicians played instruments made of glass and vines. Their notes shimmered visibly in the air, drifting like soap bubbles before popping with soft, echoing chords.

  A street vendor beckoned them with a wink, holding out a box of glittering gemstones that blinked as if alive. Sammy leaned in to inspect one, only for it to sneeze on him and burrow back into the pile.

  "Yup," he muttered, wiping his face. "Definitely magic."

  The city didn’t just hum with power—it pulsed with it. Not wild. Not chaotic. Just… alive.

  And watching them, with quiet curiosity, as if it already knew why they had come.

  As they passed through the archway and into the heart of the city, the weight of their journey seemed to lift, if only slightly. The forest was behind them. A new chapter had begun.

  And deep within the city, somewhere beyond the winding streets and curious glances, Rory was waiting. As they moved deeper into the city, the group found themselves immersed in the quiet magic of Vharon.

  People clustered around glowing devices, their hands weaving patterns in the air as they manipulated unseen forces.

  Floating books, scrolls, and vials drifted through the narrow streets, each guided by delicate strands of mana.

  Robed figures bearing symbols of ancient disciplines passed artisans in leather aprons, their toolbelts clinking with alchemical instruments.

  Vharon pulsed with the rhythm of a place where mysticism and craft lived in harmony.

  There was a peace here—but it was not idle. The city breathed magic. And it watched them back.

  Pupster led with purpose, his heavy footfalls a steady beat on the cobblestones. Sammy followed; his usual swagger tempered by the strange energy in the air.

  He scanned each detail with curiosity edged by caution. Lola kept close behind, her fingers brushing the strap of her satchel as she eyed up vendors selling powdered reagents and glowing gemstones.

  “We’re here,” Pupster said at last, stopping in the middle of a wide garden square.

  Before them stood the Tower of the Sage.

  The structure loomed impossibly tall, a spiralling column of stone and energy that seemed to stretch into the clouds. Veins of glowing crystal ran through its exterior, pulsing with gentle light, and floating glyphs drifted around its base like fireflies.

  Around the tower, gardens bloomed with impossible flora—bioluminescent plants, steam-belching mushrooms, and pools of gently swirling potion blends tended by robed apprentices.

  Sammy let out a low whistle. “That’s where Rory lives?”

  Pupster didn’t answer.

  As they crossed the garden, curious onlookers glanced up from their work. Most returned to their duties without comment, but the silence felt too deliberate. A reverent hush. Like the tower wasn’t just a home, it was a sanctuary.

  They reached the base of the spire just as the great stone doors creaked open, revealing the darkened interior.

  Then—

  “Halt.”

  The voice that rang out was deep, commanding, and without question.

  Two towering figures stepped from the shadows, halberds crossing to block the entrance.

  Panda-like humanoids, both enormous in stature, stood clad in layered armour etched with ancient runes. Their fur was thick, black-and-cream, their movements graceful despite their bulk.

  The older of the two bore a faded scar across his snout and eyes like weathered steel. The younger’s stance was sharper, posture rigid, fingers clenched too tightly around his polearm.

  His eyes flicked between the group, already measuring angles of attack.

  They were warriors. Not guards. Not decoration.

  “You’re trespassing in Vharon,” the older one rumbled. “State your business.”

  Sammy instinctively stepped forward, one hand near his blade’s hilt. “Just passing through. No trouble.”

  The polearms didn’t lower.

  Pupster stepped beside him, calm and unreadable. “We’re here to speak with Rory.”

  The younger guard’s grip tightened. “And we’re supposed to take your word for that?”

  The tension mounted like drawn wire.

  Lola moved slightly forward, her tone calm but unshaken. “We don’t want trouble. We’ve come a long way seeking answers—nothing more.”

  Still, the guards held their line. Their eyes stayed locked. Trained. Ready.

  And then—another voice, light and amused, broke through the growing silence.

  “Good grief. You two really are terrible at first impressions.”

  All eyes turned.

  A figure leaned casually against a crystalline arch; arms folded across a deep blue cloak. His dark hair was tousled by the breeze, and a faint smirk played on his lips.

  “Honestly, is this how we greet travellers now? Pointy sticks instead of snacks?”

  Sammy blinked. “Wait… are you—”

  The figure gave a dramatic bow, cloak billowing just slightly behind him.

  “Rory Lysandrel,” he said with a grin. “At your service.”

  ? Tom Devoil, 2025. All rights reserved.

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