The darkness deepened as the repaired cart rumbled along the uneven dirt path, the moon hidden behind thickening clouds. Midnight approached, wrapping the world in silence. They could have accepted the villagers' offer to stay the night, seeking refuge within the small settlement's comforting circle of firelight. However, Theron had gently insisted they press on. "Best to camp away from settlements, Sir Aren," he'd advised quietly. "Even friendly folk can attract unwanted attention. We maintain a lower profile this way." His logic was sound, born of professional caution.

  So, Milo guided the mule-steeds off the main track once more, finding a secluded patch of woods that offered decent cover. Setting up camp was quicker this time, fatigue lending efficiency to their movements. Aren settled near the small, carefully built fire, his splinted leg propped uncomfortably. Milo, looking determined despite his own weariness, spoke up. "Theron, Sir Aren, you both need proper rest after today. Especially you, Sir." He nodded towards Aren's injuries. "I'll take the watch tonight. I owe you that much."

  Theron started to protest, duty warring with exhaustion evident on his face. "Milo, that's my responsibility..."

  "Nonsense," Milo interrupted firmly. "You fought like three men back there. Get some sleep. I can handle one quiet night watch."

  Seeing the sense in it, and feeling the heavy pull of fatigue himself, Theron eventually conceded with a reluctant nod. Sleep claimed them quickly.

  The first rays of dawn filtered through the leaves, painting stripes of light across the forest floor. Aren stirred, his body stiff and protesting every small movement. His first sight was Milo slumped against the base of a large tree near the edge of their camp, head tilted back, snoring softly. A twig snapped under Theron’s boot as the guard emerged from his tent, stretching carefully. Theron looked over at the sleeping driver, sighed heavily, and shook his head with understanding.

  The sounds of stirring woke Milo with a jolt. He scrambled upright instantly, eyes wide, instinctively reaching for the spear propped beside him, ready for a fight that wasn't there.

  Finn let out a peal of laughter. "Good watch, Unc! Very vigilant!" he teased, mimicking his uncle's startled jump.

  Milo grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Quiet, you. Just rested my eyes for a minute. Ten minutes, tops." He tried to look dignified, but the sheepish grin gave him away.

  They ate a quick, cold breakfast of dried fruit and leftover bread, the mood lighter than the previous day. Soon, the camp was packed, and they were back on the road south. Finn, his terror from the goblin attack seemingly forgotten or pushed aside by youthful resilience, quickly resumed his role as chief conversationalist. He bounced excitedly on the cart bench, turning to Aren.

  "Sir Aren, how did you do that?" he asked, his eyes shining. "That huge goblin, the leader! You were like… wham! And then… k-thwack!" He attempted a series of clumsy kicks and punches right there in the moving cart, nearly losing his balance.

  A genuine smile touched Aren’s lips, though he stifled the laugh that threatened to follow, knowing it would send jolts of pain through his ribs. "It's called martial arts, Finn," he explained, his voice slightly raspy. "It's about using your body efficiently in a fight."

  "Wow! And you used Ether too! I saw the light! But I thought you were going to the academy in Silon to learn about it?" Finn’s brow furrowed in confusion. "I wish I could use Ether!"

  Aren chose his words carefully. "That… was mostly luck, Finn. Sometimes, when you're in serious danger, something inside just… reacts. Like a survival instinct kicking in. I don't really understand it myself, and I certainly couldn't do it again just by wanting to."

  "It was impressive, Sir Aren," Theron interjected respectfully from his position near the front of the cart. "Forgive my directness, but His Grace mentioned you had only recently begun exploring your potential. To demonstrate such control, such power, under duress… it suggests a rare aptitude." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word, before settling on, "A significant natural talent."

  Talent that leaves me half-broken, Aren thought wryly, shifting his weight and wincing as his leg protested. Sounds about right.

  They continued their journey, the conversation flowing easily now, touching on safer topics – the changing landscape, stories Milo knew of the regions they passed, Finn’s endless questions about castles and knights. The road beneath their wheels gradually transitioned from packed earth to smooth, well-laid stone pavement, signaling their approach to a more prosperous region.

  Late in the afternoon, the road began a steep climb up a long hill. The mule-steeds strained, and the cart slowed, wheels digging for purchase. As they finally crested the rise, a breathtaking panorama unfolded before them.

  Far below, nestled against the shore of a vast, shimmering lake that stretched to the horizon, lay the city of Silon. It was larger than Aren had expected, a dense collection of red and grey brick buildings packed tightly together, spilling down towards the busy port. Unlike Stormia's wide avenues, Silon appeared a maze of narrower streets and taller structures. Even from this distance, three buildings dominated the skyline.

  To the north stood a large, imposing complex of red brick buildings with multiple wings and courtyards – undoubtedly the Ether academy Valen had mentioned. Near the city center, perched on a slight rise, was a formidable fortress constructed from dark, almost black stone, its banners fluttering faintly in the breeze. Baron Merrick’s seat of power, Aren guessed. And then, perched on a cliff just outside the main city walls, overlooking the lake, sat a massive, square building made of gleaming white marble. Its roof, tiled in bright, almost unnaturally yellow ceramic, shone brilliantly in the afternoon sun, looking remarkably like solid gold. The Golden Ursai. Aren studied it intently, imprinting the road's layout to his memory.

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  Down at the lakefront, the port buzzed with activity. Several large sailing vessels were docked, while smaller fishing boats dotted the water. A river flowed into the lake near the port, its current harnessed by several large water wheels turning steadily.

  Milo and Finn seemed unimpressed by the vista; it was clearly a familiar sight to them. The road snaked down the hillside in a series of long switchbacks, making the distance to the city gates much longer than it appeared from their vantage point.

  It was closer to evening when they finally rolled up to Silon’s main gate. The guards here wore armor similar to the Stormia guards, polished steel reflecting the setting sun, with insignia on their chests – the stylized head of an Ursai. They recognized Milo immediately.

  "Milo! Back again?" one guard called out cheerfully. Then his eyes fell on the patched-up cart. "Oh man, what happened? Did you try taking a shortcut down the cliffs?" He chuckled, nudging his companion.

  Milo’s weary expression stopped their laughter short. He quickly recounted the goblin ambush in the Titanwood. The guards' smiles vanished, replaced by concerned frowns.

  "Dark Goblins? In the Titanwood?" the first guard repeated, shaking his head. "We'll pass word to the Baron immediately. Glad you made it through." He waved them forward. "Sorry Milo. Go on through."

  The city stables were located just inside the gates. Milo guided the cart into a designated spot. As he began unharnessing the mule-steeds, Aren and Theron prepared to take their leave.

  "Well, this is where we part ways," Aren said, offering Milo a hand, which the trader shook warmly. "Thank you for the transport, Milo. And for your steady nerve back there."

  "Just glad we all made it, Sir Aren," Milo replied sincerely. "We'll be heading towards the next city in a couple of days, once we trade and restock. But you look after yourselves in the city." He grinned. "And when you're both back in Stormia, dinner at my place is on me!"

  Finn suddenly launched himself at Aren, wrapping his arms around his waist in a tight hug."Bye, Sir Aren! Bye, Theron! Be careful!" The boy’s voice was thick with emotion, his eyes suspiciously bright. He’d clearly grown attached during their shared journey, the shared danger forging an unlikely bond.

  Aren awkwardly patted the boy's shoulder, surprised by the gesture and the surge of protectiveness he felt. "You too, Finn. Stay out of trouble."

  Theron offered the boy a rare, small smile and a nod. After final farewells, Aren, leaning heavily on the sturdy wooden crutch a village carpenter had fashioned for him, followed Theron deeper into the bustling city.

  The streets here were indeed narrower and more crowded than Stormia's. People jostled past each other, merchants hawked their wares from cramped storefronts, and the air hummed with the energy of commerce and conversation. The smells were a mix of woodchips, baked goods, river water, and the general press of humanity. People gave Aren a wider berth, noticing the crutch and his slow, careful movements. At least they're considerate, he noted with some relief. Navigating a dense crowd while injured would have been significantly harder otherwise.

  "It's getting late," Theron observed, scanning the street signs. "We should secure lodging and dinner. Duke Darius provided ample funds for this trip, so we'll stay at a reputable inn."

  "Sounds perfect," Aren agreed. "A comfortable bed sounds like heaven right now."

  "Tomorrow," Theron continued, guiding Aren carefully around a puddle, "I'll inquire about beast healers. In the meantime, focusing your Ether during meditation, directing it towards the injury as you rest, might accelerate the natural healing process."

  "I'll try that," Aren said, appreciating the practical advice.

  They walked for perhaps ten more minutes, Theron navigating the winding streets with confidence, until they arrived before a large, respectable-looking building. It stood two stories tall, built from the same red brick common throughout the city, with clean glass windows and a polished wooden sign proclaiming it 'The Sovereign's Rest'.

  Stepping inside, they entered a spacious, well-lit lobby. Polished wooden floors gleamed, comfortable armchairs were arranged near a large fireplace, and the few guests mingling nearby were dressed in fine clothes. A low murmur of conversation filled the air. Theron approached the reception counter, where a young woman with neatly pinned hair looked up expectantly. He placed fifteen silver coins firmly on the polished wood.

  "A room for two, please," Theron requested. "Separate beds. And could you recommend where we might find dinner?"

  The receptionist offered a practiced, professional smile. "Certainly, Sir. We have a fine room available on the second floor. As for dinner, our kitchen serves until the bell tolls ten. You may dine in the common room, or we can have it delivered directly to your room if you prefer."

  Theron glanced at Aren. "Room service sounds good."

  Aren nodded tiredly. "Whatever their specialty is, I'll try it."

  "Make it two," Theron confirmed to the receptionist.

  "Very well," she retrieved a key from a hook behind her. "It will be delivered shortly. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room."

  The climb up the wide staircase was slow going for Aren, but he waved off Theron’s offered assistance, determined to manage on his own. Their room was down a long, carpeted corridor. It was surprisingly large, easily spacious enough for four, let alone two. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, the furniture was solid and well-crafted, and thick rugs covered the floor. It wasn't quite the opulent luxury of Stormborn Castle, but it was clearly a high-class establishment.

  "The bathing rooms are just down the hall, Sirs," the receptionist informed them. "Fresh towels are provided within. Please let me know if you require anything else during your stay." She gave a polite nod and departed, closing the door softly behind her.

  Theron immediately began unstrapping the backpacks he had carried since they left the cart. "A bath sounds like a good idea," he remarked.

  Aren agreed wholeheartedly. They left their packs and headed to the communal bathing room. The warm water was a blessing, washing away the grime of the road and the lingering scent of goblin blood. He felt cleaner, but the exhaustion ran deep, settling into his bones alongside the persistent ache from his injuries.

  Later, back in their room, clean and changed into simpler clothes provided by the inn, their dinner arrived. The stew was rich and flavorful, filled with chunks of fish, vegetables, and herbs. They ate in comfortable silence.

  Despite the filling meal, the comfortable bed, and his profound weariness, sleep remained elusive for Aren. His mind buzzed, fueled by the proximity of his target. The Golden Ursai was nearby, holding the secrets Lycas wanted. Excitement warred with the throbbing pain in his leg and ribs. He lay awake in the darkness, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, already formulating plans, considering angles, anticipating the intricate game about to begin.