"Next!"

The voice boomed across the checkpoint. Deep, rough, and not one to be ignored.

Nyx stepped forward, her boots soft against the worn stone beneath her. The line behind her shifted. The guards up front—armored and sun-bronzed—watched her without expression.

"Reason for coming into Draconia?" one of them asked, arms crossed over his chestplate.

She opened her mouth.

But Uriel cut in.

"Show them the paper the princess gave you. The one with the map."

Nyx blinked.

Paper?

Her hands immediately went to her pockets, patting through the folds of her cloak. Sure enough—tucked deep beneath the lining—was a folded slip of parchment she didn't remember placing there.

Sneaky, Lorienna.

She handed it over.

The guard took the parchment, unfolding it with calloused fingers. His eyes scanned the contents, unmoving. A slight lift of one brow was the only reaction.

He looked back at her.

"Do you have your hunter's card?"

Nyx nodded quickly, fingers already pulling it free from another pocket. She held it out, palm up.

The guard took it without ceremony, turning it over and inspecting the seal, the rank, the etched identification numbers along the edge.

He gave a small grunt of approval, then handed it back.

With a quick nod to the second guard, he motioned toward the gate.

"You can go through."

"Thank you," she said, offering a polite incline of her head as she tucked the card and paper back into her cloak.

As the great gates began to groan open, Nyx stepped forward—and whispered under her breath, "Thanks, Lorienna."

Draconia.

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The name had always felt heavy. Sharp. Like a weapon or a warning.

But as she passed through the archway and into the belly of the kingdom, all she felt was motion.

Color.

Sound.

Heat.

The streets exploded with life. Vendors shouted over each other, their wares displayed in open stalls—fabrics of crimson and bronze fluttering in the wind, glass bottles filled with strange glowing liquids, weapons that gleamed under the sun as if daring someone to wield them.

Children darted between market carts. Steam rose from food stalls, curling into the air like smoke signals. The scent of spices, roasted meat, and something sweet she couldn't quite place hit her all at once.

It was beautiful.

And loud.

So much louder than Alinthor, with its soft steps and floating lights.

This place crackled.

Nyx took it all in slowly, each blink of a photograph in her mind. She let her eyes trail along the banners strung from rooftop to rooftop, the symbols embroidered in deep scarlet threads. She listened to the clang of steel from a blacksmith's forge somewhere nearby.

She wanted to remember everything.

Because this kingdom wasn't made to comfort.

It was made to be a challenge.

"Well, Uriel," she thought, a small smirk tugging at her lips, "here's to another chapter."

She adjusted the silver veil over her eyes, gripped her cloak a little tighter, and made her way through the crowd—heading toward the Draconian Hunter's Guild.

Where everything was about to change again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nyx walked along the winding pavement, the stone warm under her boots and the crowd slowly thinning the deeper she ventured away from the market square.

The scent of roasted meat and street

spice faded behind her, replaced by something cooler in the air—something steadier.

With the help of a few locals, who pointed her with cautious glances and polite nods, she managed to find her way.

Some stared a little longer than they needed to. A child alone? With her eyes covered?

Questions hovered behind their eyes, but no one voiced them.

Draconia might be chaotic, but even here, there were lines people didn't cross.

And then, she saw it.

The Silver Vow Guild.

It rose above the neighboring buildings like it had no business being part of the city—more like it had been carved from a meteor that fell from the stars. Towering spires of moonstone glinted with flecks of silversteel, each one curved in elegant arcs that kissed the sky. The domed roof glowed faintly even in daylight, glass laced with starlight runes and crystal lines that pulsed with magic too subtle to explain.

The giant skylight at the center reflected the entire sky above, casting rays of soft light onto the entry steps.

Nyx stood for a moment, taking it in.

This wasn't just a guild. This was sacred ground.

Her fingers pressed gently against the cold silver handles as she opened the large doors.

The quiet inside hit her like a tide.

It was peaceful. Not in the way libraries are silent, or battlefields are still—but in the way a place of purpose can hush even the loudest thoughts.

The floor beneath her feet was polished marble with silver veins, mirroring the soft light that poured from above. Elegant pillars held up the great dome, each one carved with scales and wings in delicate spirals. Between them, light dragons of glass shimmered as chandeliers, suspended mid-air as if frozen mid-flight.

At the center of the hall stood a massive, circular quest board—nothing like the wooden ones she had seen before.

This one was carved from white stone, engraved with a single sentence in ancient lettering:

"We strike not in hunger, but in balance."

Nyx stared at it for a moment.

There was no crowd around it. No scrambling. No noise. Just silence and presence.

Her boots echoed softly as she walked toward the counter. Heads turned, as expected.

A few patrons seated in the far booths paused their conversations to glance her way. Some lowered their mugs. Some narrowed their eyes. One of them leaned to whisper something to the person beside them.

She was used to it by now.

The veil. The silver cloak. The small frame that didn't match the reputation of a hunter.

None of it mattered.

She kept her head forward.

She had a reason to be here.

And she wasn't leaving without making it count.

The End.

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