The twelfth morning
That morning, Richard stopped at a low cliff,
not moving any further.
"Today, you observe," he said,
pointing to several depressions in the ground scattered along the cliffside.
"If it's a deep hollow," he touched a sunken spot with his finger,
"it means there are many—coming and going repeatedly."
He moved to another spot—flat, hard ground, no depressions.
"Here… no large ones. Maybe just one or two levels."
Finally, he stopped at a rough, shallow hole.
"Like this…" Richard looked up at Ryn.
"Be careful."
Ryn nodded, saying nothing.
"Go," Richard said.
"Find the cave you think should be entered."
Ryn ventured deeper into the forest,
breathing steady, eyes low, ears open.
He listened for footsteps that weren't there,
smelled for scents that appeared intermittently,
and felt the air, heavier than usual.
Soon, he stopped.
A cave appeared before him,
its mouth smooth, the ground firm, not deep.
Ryn crouched, sniffed, and listened.
"Two levels," he whispered.
"No scent of any large ones."
Richard gave a faint smile.
"You lead."
Inside the cave—dark, damp,
the breathing of the Calami echoed in rhythm.
Two levels—no more than Ryn had estimated.
But this time, Richard did not stand aside.
He joined the fight.
Short.
Precise.
No words beyond what was necessary.
"When they reached the final chamber— Womb Chamber—"
Ryn stopped, gripping his sword tighter.
The scene before him was no different from the previous caves,
but this time, he did not turn away.
Richard stepped forward,
placing a hand on the stone floor.
"Release is not killing," he said.
He extended his hand further.
Magic wove silently through the air.
A soft light rose from the unconscious bodies.
Spirits appeared, bowed, and then drifted away.
And when it was done, the Womb Chamber fell into quiet.
From the morning of the thirteenth day, Richard did not rest.
"Run."
No further explanation.
No detours.
From the steep forest to the open plains.
Richard surged ahead, his steps firm and steady.
Ryn ran after him.
At first, he managed.
Soon, his breathing grew heavy,
his steps faltered.
Richard slowed, then accelerated again.
This cycle repeated endlessly throughout the day.
That first night, they did not stop—
only easing their pace just enough to keep their bodies from breaking—
then running on.
By the fourteenth day, Ryn no longer complained,
asked nothing, requested no rest.
He began to find his own rhythm,
matching his breathing to his steps,
letting his thoughts go blank.
Fatigue remained,
but it no longer dominated him.
Richard no longer needed to slow his pace.
At last, they climbed a high hill.
Richard stopped.
Ryn stopped behind him,
hands on his knees, head lifted.
Before him sprawled the city of Central.
Towering stone walls, spiked towers like dragon fangs,
sunlight glinting off metal roofs in dazzling flashes.
A world he had never seen.
A world that left no room for hesitation.
Richard spoke quietly,
"From here on, no one will call you a child anymore."
Ryn straightened,
gazing at Central without flinching.
The journey had ended—
the true trial was about to begin.
The hill sloped gradually downward,
a smooth stone road stretching toward the massive walls.
The closer they got, the taller, thicker, and more unforgiving Central's walls appeared.
The front gate loomed, dark metal adorned with the city's lion sigil carved above the arch.
"Above the towering walls, deep crimson banners were planted in rigid lines along the ramparts.
Their fabric lashed against the wind like tongues of bloodfire.
Upon each banner was emblazoned a white lion—ferocious, sharp-eyed—its gaze fixed upon every approaching soul as though passing silent judgment upon their fate."
Divine Knights—copper-armored, first rank of the knightly order—stood in line, spears upright, eyes cold.
As they reached the gate, one of the Divine Knights stepped forward.
The moment his gaze fell on the man in Arch armor, he froze.
"…Lord Richard."
The clash of armor rang out as every Divine Knight snapped to attention, perfectly aligned without command.
Richard gave a slight nod, saying nothing.
The front gate rumbled.
Ancient mechanisms creaked to life.
The heavy iron doors slowly opened,
light spilling from the city, carrying the scents of people, stone, iron… and life.
Richard stepped through first, Ryn following.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold,
it felt as if something had been left behind—
the village, wooden walls, the life of a child.
The gate clanged shut behind them.
This was Central.
And this—
was the beginning of a new chapter.