Harwin stood frozen, Mira's words echoing in the dim kitchen.
"If he goes, *we all go*. Or he stays."
He wasn't sure if Elandor could really pull off an escape for the whole family, but he nodded anyway. He had to. He needed Mira to believe there was a future to prepare for—something worth hoping for, even if the road ahead was impossible.
Mira stared at him for a long time before finally sighing, her shoulders slumping. "Then get things ready," she said. "If we're doing this, we're not leaving anything behind for Aldric's dogs to sniff through."
They spoke in hushed tones for the next hour, going over what they would leave behind—*the inn*, *the rooms they had repaired with their own hands*, *the friends and neighbors who would wake up to an empty Rustwood*. All of it… small prices to pay for a chance at freedom.
Mira didn't say it aloud, but part of her still didn't believe it would work. She couldn't. The fear of false hope ran too deep.
But for Ryan's sake, she chose to believe—just this once.
She dusted her hands off on her apron and walked quietly to the cellar door.
Ryan was asleep, his small form curled up under a worn blanket beside the candle stub he always forgot to snuff out. His face was peaceful, untouched by the weight his parents now carried.
For a moment, Mira forgot all her worries.
She sat beside him and brushed a hand over his hair, then leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead.
Ryan stirred, his eyes blinking open slowly. "Mama?"
"Hey, love," she whispered. "I need your help with something."
He yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Right now?"
She smiled. "It's a surprise. A good one."
Ryan sat up, suddenly more alert. "What kind of surprise?"
She laughed softly. "You'll like it. We're going to Caelondia."
Ryan blinked. "What?"
"Tomorrow morning," she said. "With Elandor. All of us."
There was a pause.
Then came the rush of disbelief and wonder. "You're serious? You're not teasing?"
She shook her head. "No teasing. We're really going."
A wide smile spread across Ryan's face. "We're really leaving?"
She nodded, but raised a finger. "But it has to stay between us. No one must know. Not until we're gone."
Ryan nodded fast, nearly bouncing in place.
"Good," she said, ruffling his hair. "Now pack your things. Just what you need."
His face lit up even more, and as Mira stood to leave, she glanced back once more.
Ryan sat cross-legged on the floor, already digging through his few belongings with quiet excitement, the candlelight dancing in his eyes.
For the first time in a long, Mira allowed herself to hope.
Elandor stood by the edge of the port, arms folded behind his back as he studied the crooked outline of Dunlowe under the starlit sky.
He had been observing quietly for days.
The Rustwood Inn was small, with more locals coming for Mira's stew than travelers needing a room. That worked in his favor. Fewer guests meant fewer questions. The family had little to carry—some clothes, a few tools, keepsakes perhaps. No bulky furniture. Nothing that couldn't be slipped onto the ship in a crate or sack.
The real challenge wasn't the distance—only five hundred meters from the inn to the ship—but the eyes along the way.
The port, like all others in Zeronthal, was watched. Ten guards in polished armor. Three mages, likely Glint-Class (Level - 2/ moderate as per Caelondian system), fire-type from what he could sense. Not powerful by Caelondian standards, but dangerous enough in a town this size. He preferred not to cross them. Conflict, especially magical, left marks. Marks that left trails. Trails that led to business complications.
Still, Elandor smiled.
He had already decided. Ryan was worth it.
There was something rare about that boy. Sharp. Curious. A flame not yet lit but full of promise. Elandor had spent years watching the next generation of knights, scholars and mages in Caelondia crumble under entitlement. But Ryan? Ryan had hunger. And hunger could move mountains.
If helping him meant setting fire to a few loose ends in Zeronthal, so be it.
He turned on his heel and made his way back to the inn.
---
Harwin opened the door before he could knock.
"We're ready," he said. "Whatever the plan is… we'll follow it."
Elandor nodded. "Good. Then gather Mira. I'll need you both for a moment."
They made their way to Elandor's room, where candlelight flickered off a rough drwan map of the area spread across the small table. Elandor stood over it like a general, though he barely looked at it as he spoke.
"We set sail before first light," he said. "My men will arrive shortly after midnight. Once they're here, we begin loading immediately."
Mira exchanged a look with Harwin, then stepped forward. "And the guards?"
Elandor smiled faintly. "That's where the distraction comes in."
Her brow creased. "What kind of distraction?"
He waved his hand gently. "I'll spare the details. But I'll need one side of the inn cleared before we leave. Preferably all of it."
Mira's eyes narrowed. "Why? What are you planning?"
Elandor looked at her and, for a moment, there was a flicker of something ancient in his gaze. Then it was gone, replaced by that same calm smile. "Let's just say… chaos is a fine tool when used precisely. If the distraction works, we slip out clean and I keep my business safe in Zeronthal as well. If it doesn't—well, I *still* get you all safe to the ship."
He said it casually, but his confidence landed like a weight in the room.
"What do you mean by saving both us *and your business*?" Harwin asked.
Elandor's smile widened just slightly. "I always plan with options. One option lets me help you and keep my ties here. Another… only gets one of us out clean. Either way, *you* three get on that ship."
They didn't fully understand what he meant. They didn't need to as long as Ryan gets out of here safe.
Ryan had never felt this kind of excitement before. His heart thumped with a rhythm too quick for the quiet town of Dunlowe. Tomorrow, he would be somewhere else—on the deck of a great Dwarven ship, sailing toward Caelondia.
A land of magic.
A land of *possibility*.
He had packed everything he owned into a small chest—simple clothes, a wooden comb, a few pebbles he liked, and of course… his treasure. The book. He had opened it again, fingers trembling as he turned the thick, dusty pages. Swirling orbs of light, flaming swords, floating runes. These weren't just drawings anymore. They were glimpses of his future.
He imagined walking down a street where people used magic like spoons and tools. A market of spell-scribes. A school with towers of crystal. He didn't know what career he'd choose—there were so many. Elandor had named dozens: spellweavers, alchemists, artificers, scholars, beast tamers, sky-sailors. He wanted to try *everything*.
He spent the whole day helping Mira with extra care, knowing it might be his last time cleaning tables or scrubbing stew pots in the Rustwood Inn. He didn't want to leave it behind—but he couldn't take it with him either. Not in a chest.
Later that afternoon, he even went to play for a while. It felt strange, but joyful. He ran through the grass, let the salt breeze catch his hair, and even laughed out loud once or twice. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elandor standing by the port, arms folded, watching him with what looked like quiet admiration. Ryan gave him a little wave. Elandor didn't wave back—but he smiled.
Ryan greeted every neighbor and passing traveler he saw, heart bursting with the secret he wasn't allowed to tell. Mira had warned him—*not a word*. So he smiled wide, held it in, and told them "see you soon" when what he really meant was goodbye.
That evening, he saw his parents head into Elandor's room, deep in talk. He was told to stay in the cellar.
He didn't mind. Not tonight. Not with so many thoughts rushing through his head.
He lay on his cot, arms behind his head, eyes wide open.
He imagined Mira owning a shop that sold magical potions or even running a real restaurant with enchanted stoves and floating platters. He thought about Harwin—if only his leg were better, he'd make a great hunter. He also remembered his father saying they used to be farmers once, back when he was Ryan's age.
So many possibilities. So many dreams.
Sleep didn't come easy.
He flipped through his book again, slowly, page by page, even though he'd memorized most of the pictures by now. He heard footsteps above—faint thuds, the shuffle of boots. He caught the sound of a short argument, his father's voice, trying to convince someone—probably a stubborn guest—to switch rooms. It happened now and then. Ryan thought nothing of it and returned to his magical daydreams.
More footsteps. He tensed.
Not familiar.
He quickly tucked the book back into the chest and closed it carefully. Then he threw himself under the blanket and shut his eyes.
The door creaked open.
Soft footsteps this time.
Mira.
She entered quietly, then paused. Another pair of steps followed—heavier, purposeful. Then retreating.
Ryan remained still as stone until Mira came closer and lay down beside him. She gently pulled him close, resting his head against her shoulder.
"I know you're just pretending," she whispered.
Ryan peeked up, eyes wide and guilty.
Mira smiled and brushed his hair back. "It's alright."
He hugged her tightly.
"I'm just too excited to sleep," he whispered.
"I know."
They lay there for a while, talking softly about what lay ahead.
Mira told him his chest was already gone—one of Elandor's men had come to take it early and load it with the other cargo. That explained the earlier footsteps.
"I thought I lost it," Ryan said, relieved.
"Don't worry. It's waiting for you. Just like your new life."
Eventually, exhaustion won. His eyelids drooped mid-sentence, and before he could finish a thought about floating lanterns or magic circles, he drifted off.
It wasn't long before Mira gently shook him awake again.
"Ryan," she said softly. "Get up, love. It's time."
It happened sooner than Ryan expected.
He was half-asleep when Mira threw a cloak over him and gently lifted him into her arms. Her movements were fast but careful, her breath shallow with nerves. She cloaked herself too, then quietly opened the back door of the inn.
Outside, Harwin waited—also cloaked. So did Elandor.
Without a word, Mira passed Ryan into Harwin's arms. He held his son tightly, as if letting go might wake the whole world. Then they moved—silent shadows slipping into the night.
Elandor remained behind, watching the inn with sharp eyes. One of his men appeared from the alley, whispered something in his ear.
Then—
Boom.
The windows of Elandor's rented room exploded in a violent burst of fire and splintered wood. Flames licked out onto one side of the Rustwood Inn.
Screams followed.
The town of Dunlowe stirred like a kicked anthill—shouts, doors opening, lanterns lighting in windows. Chaos. Confusion. Alarm.
Ryan flinched at the blast, turning back in Harwin's arms. Mira's eyes filled with sorrow as the place they'd built with their hands lit up in the dark. But there was no time to mourn.
Elandor and his man signaled them forward. The family followed.
They reached the ship in moments.
It loomed like a dark fortress at sea—impossibly large, with sails folded and lanterns casting golden rings on the deck. Ryan was breathless. It felt like something out of one of the stories he used to listen to behind the counter. He hadn't imagined it would be this… real.
There were ten men onboard, not counting Elandor. Four of them Ryan recognized from the day he arrived.
The crew moved fast, barking orders in a language Ryan didn't understand. But their movements were precise, like clockwork. The ship groaned as it began to drift, sails unfurling in the breeze.
Harwin still held Ryan close, tense as a drawn bowstring.
Suddenly, a voice called out—sharp, urgent.
One of the crew pointed to the port.
Elandor rushed to the front of the ship, standing with one boot braced against the rail. His long coat fluttered behind him like a banner. In that moment, he looked more like a commander than a merchant.
Ryan followed his gaze.
Down by the shore, royal soldiers were charging toward the docks—shouting, armored, weapons drawn.
And behind them—the mages.
Three of them.
Ryan saw the glow first—faint red turning bright orange. The mages raised their staffs and began to channel. The air vibrated. A swirling inferno of fire took shape above them, a massive sphere of magical energy fueled by all three.
It was enormous.
Big enough to crack the ship in two.
Harwin passed Ryan to his mother and told them to back out. Mira pulled Ryan close and shielded his eyes. "Don't look," she whispered.
But Ryan couldn't obey. This was the moment he'd always dreamed of—seeing magic, feeling it in the air. He trembled, but not entirely from fear. His eyes widened in awe.
Then the fireball was loosed.
It came screaming across the sky like a falling star.
Ryan barely had time to react—before the sea rose.
Not in waves. Not in splashes.
In a wall.
A towering tide of ocean surged upward like it was answering a silent call. It rose higher than the ship's mast, higher than the roofs of Dunlowe. Ryan's jaw dropped. Mira gasped.
And then the fireball was gone—swallowed by the wave like a matchstick into a well.
He turned back to Elandor.
The man hadn't moved.
One leg on the railing. Hands behind his back. Calm as still water.
No chants. No glowing runes. No staff.
Just a flick of the wrist.
Ryan's heart thundered. Who is he?
But it wasn't over.
Elandor raised his hand again and lowered it slightly—as though commanding a beast to sit.
The towering wall of water gently obeyed, shrinking and sinking back into the sea. The coastline returned to view, and with it, Rustwood—still lit by fire and panic.
Before Ryan could fully process what he was seeing, Elandor flicked his wrist once more—
—water rose and the port vanished.
Not burned.
Not broken.
Gone.
So did the royal guards and mages, As if they never existed.