The morning air in the Oakheart estate was still and cool, carrying a faint scent of dew-soaked grass and polished stone. There was a unusual spark of excitement inside Lucian's chest when he woke up. It was different compared to the restless night he had to endure before. After a long a time he felt light and unburdened as the weight of secrets was lifted from his body , letting him breathe freely.
He washed and got delayed without a delay. His clothes were plain but carefully chosen, a dark wool coat, simple and well fitted, It wasn't so heavily designed like the ones nobels were. A crisp white shirt was beneath the coat, buttoned to the collar, with a muted gray waistcoat that lent a touch of formality. A soft felt hat rested easily on his head, shadowing his features, and a walking stick polished oak, capped with iron completed the image. Nothing about his appearance screamed nobility; it was a guise of ordinariness, crafted to blend into the flow of the city beyond the gates.
Magnus also dressed modestly. His coat had a faint green hue, the kind liked by young scholars, and the leather boots he wore were normal which look practical rather than those shiny polished ones.Their was a small chain in his pocket that shows his family wealth, though even that was kept hidden.
Edris, the knight, wore a attire easy for combat: a long, travel-worn coat of dark brown, belted at the waist, sturdy gloves, and a short sword kept hidden in his coat. His broad shoulders and weathered bearing made him stand out no matter what he wore, but at least the clothes whispered of experience rather than rank.
Selene entered as Lucian was adjusting his coat. Her eyes softened at the sight of him, but her voice carried that familiar note of caution.
"Lucian, remember what I told you. Be wary of strangers. If anything feels wrong, speak to Edris immediately. Do not hesitate."
She pressed a slender leather sleeve into his palm. When Lucian drew the contents forth, the golden luster of a single Aurel note greeted his eyes, its surface shimmering with a radiant, metallic sheen that seemed to gather what little light remained.
Upon counting Lucian finds out there are five notes in the sleeve.
"Five Aurel?" Lucian blinked, his voice tinged with a startle he could not suppress.
"It should be more than enough for you to enjoy the market," Selene remarked, her smile faint and elegant. "And if something catches your eye, do not hesitate."
As the crisp, thin parchment settled comfortably against his hand, Lucian felt its deceptive lightness. This single slip of paper is equivalent to what several men earn in an entire month of labor... he thought, a sense of irony blooming within him. I suppose this is the inherent convenience of being born into a Duke's household. That realization brought a complicated mix of guilt and a quiet curiosity toward a world that measured existence by such material standards.
He slipped the Aurel into his pocket and followed behind Magnus and Edris as they moved down the estate's corridors. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, their floors gleaming with polished marble, while the walls were decorated with old tapestries that told silent stories of ancestors. The air carried a faint scent of ancient incense, as if even the stones remembered the prayers once whispered within these walls. As they passed by servants bowing respectfully at every turn, Lucian couldn't shake the feeling of that familiar cage of nobility closing in on him.
But then the gates appeared.
The heavy iron doors slowly swung open with a groan, and for the first time in months, he stepped into the outside world. The air felt different here less filtered, more alive. A gentle breeze carried a mix of scents: the fresh aroma of bread from the city bakeries, the sharp smoke of burning coal from distant factories, and the rich smell of horses pulling carts along the main street. His heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and nostalgia.
"How does it feel, young master?" Edris asked, his rough voice surprisingly gentle and warm.
Lucian took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on his face. "It feels... great. Finally free from those blank walls," he said softly.
Magnus chuckled quietly. "You've been away from all this for too long. The city's grown while you were gone," he said with a smile.
The road leading into the city spread out before them like a ribbon of stone. To each side, rows of houses stretched into the distance, their rooftops dotted with smoke and laundry hanging across narrow alleyways. Children ran between carts, chasing after stray dogs. Workers moved in small groups toward the factories on the city's western edge, their clothes worn out, their eyes tired but determined.
The city, Eldham, showed its divisions plainly. The northern quarter, with its wide, clean streets and well-kept buildings, was home to merchants, artisans, and scholars involved in trade, creation, and ideas. To the south, the streets grew narrower and busier: cramped rows of tenements stacked close together, where workers and everyday folk lived cheek by jowl, the smell of sweat and coal thick in the air.
As they passed through, Lucian noticed the signs of an old weathered board pointing to Ironwharf Street, leading toward the blacksmith's district; another, Velin Lane, known for its small chapels and bookshops. To the east lay Cindrel Square the busy market hub, It was the city's most vibrant core. That was their destination.
By the time they reached the market, the streets buzzed with the activity of the people. The sounds of vendors rang out loud fishmongers calling out their fresh catch, cloth sellers shouting about dyes and fabrics, apothecaries offering remedies for every ailment. The stalls filled the square, their awnings bright and colorful: reds, yellows, deep indigos. The air was rich with scents roasted chestnuts, leather, and spices from distant lands.
Lucian's eyes widened in amazement. "So much has changed..." he murmured to himself. When he last saw this place, the market was a little smaller and simpler. Now, thanks to his father's rule, prosperity has taken root. He could see it in the busy stalls, the neat roads, and even in the faces of the people less tired, more lively.
Father's leadership... it truly has borne fruit. They started to explore the whole city and Lucian enjoyed this new experience very much. He was amashed by the change the city had grown through during the time he was ill. They didn't even know when it became evening and it was soon time to return home.
As they moved through the crowd, something caught Lucian's eye a faint shimmering object.
It was a small shop tucked into the corner of the square, its display case shining with trinkets, lockets, and chains. But among them, one object stood out.
The locket.
It was forged of silver that seemed impervious to time, resting heavy on its chain. At its center there was a shard of crystal, glowing faintly within the locket, shaped like a half-lidded eye that seemed to follow him no matter where he chose to stand.
The crystal was wrapped in carvings: roots twisting into flames that seemed as though it was revealing both something fertile and consuming. And along the rim, in Vernalis' purposeful inscriptions was written on it.Words shimmered faintly, as though refusing to remain still: Lucian stepped closer, his breath catching.
It feels... alive. "What is the inscription?" he asked the older man, the shopkeeper now calloused hands and eyes sharp with years. The man bowed slightly, and his voice took on a measure of reverence, something Lucian had not experienced in quite some time.
"The original script, young master. Velurium Veritas, Nihil Tegitur."
Lucian mouthed the words, a shiver trailing down his spine.
"It means," the shopkeeper continued softly, "Before Truth, nothing is hidden."
Lucian's gaze drifted back to the eye-shaped crystal. "And this gem?"
"The Aethril," the man replied. "The Temple of Truth holds it sacred. They say it is the light that sees through all. To wear it is to accept judgment itself."
Aethril... light that sees through all...
For a moment, Lucian could almost feel the chill of the chain against his skin, the phantom weight of truth pressing into his chest.
Then Magnus's voice broke through the spell.
"Lucian! Come along, will you? We don't have all day."
Lucian blinked, tearing his eyes from the locket. With one last glance, he followed Magnus and Edris deeper into the market, though the image of the unblinking eye lingered, etched into the back of his mind.