บท 4: The Warlock and the Youths
The morning sun slipped through Nimrod's window, painting his room in warm light. Outside, the inn bustled with the sounds of a city coming to life—calls of vendors setting up their carts, neighbors chatting across the street, children running through narrow alleys. Nim stretched, testing the movements of his now-healed body with a wry grin; any soreness from the night's ordeal had vanished.
He walked to the window, peering down at the street below, where the battle had raged in silence only hours before. The fight had been brutal, and he worried there might be some sign left behind, something that would expose him. Relieved to see the street looked undisturbed, he moved to the mirror, catching his reflection. His face seemed familiar, yet foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. Practicing a smile, he tried to look cheerful, even though he felt a gnawing sadness—a life without a past to remember, a face without childhood memories.
After a few attempts, he turned away and pressed his hand to the small stone embedded in the wall near his bed. The "call stone," as it was known, was a magical device to summon the innkeeper. Within moments, the door swung open, and Cara burst in, as lively as ever.
"Still in bed?" she teased, hands on her hips.
Nim chuckled, shaking his head. Cara had been more than a friend; she had found him, near death in an alley, and nursed him back to health. In the months since, she had taught him to speak as others did, how to carry himself without drawing attention, and had never once questioned his past.
Today, though, there was an unusual sparkle in her eye. "Nim," she began, "you should hear what's been happening since dawn! There was a fight last night, and not just any fight. Wizards have been in and out since sunrise."
"Wizards?" Nim asked, keeping his tone casual. "What for?"
"They say it's the most peculiar thing," Cara continued in a whisper, her eyes wide with excitement. "No one heard anything at all."
A flicker of anxiety passed over Nim's face, but he quickly masked it. "Strange," he murmured.
Cara grinned, clearly enjoying her role as the informant. "Oh, but that's not all. Do you know what day it is? Everyone is on edge because of the academy! Youths from all over have been pouring into town—fifteen-year-olds, just like us." She leaned closer, as if she were about to share a great secret. "They're here to be tested for knacks and gifts!"
Seeing his blank expression, Cara laughed. "Don't tell me you don't know!" She guided him to sit beside her, launching into the tale like an eager storyteller.
"Long ago, there was the First King, Amadia. He unlocked the magic of his soul and became the first wizard. That year, all the children born had... gifts. They could do things no one else could. Some could walk on air, some had the strength of lions, others could even vanish from sight." She watched his reaction with a grin. "Ever since then, children born every five years share a similar fate. When they turn fifteen, their knacks are supposed to awaken."
Nim frowned. "But I haven't seen anyone like that."
Cara explained that most of those with such powers were still too young, and only those who had already awakened would be showing their knacks. "Besides, some knacks are just... well, not very remarkable. My mother, for instance, can copy any dish she sees—only once, though. It only works on food."
Nim listened, intrigued yet uncertain. A strange restlessness grew within him. Could he, too, have some hidden gift? But he was interrupted from his thoughts as Cara continued, explaining her plan: she had already arranged for them to travel to the capital with a group of other youths.
"You've been planning this all along," Nim said, raising his brows in surprise.
Cara winked, brushing off his thanks. He pulled out a coin pouch, offering her a gold coin, but she pushed it back. "Save it," she insisted. "You'll need it more once we reach the academy."
---
Across town, Drighter stood amidst the quiet aftermath of last night's battle. He walked the cobbled street, his steps measured and calm, his gaze sweeping over the faint traces left by the skirmish. Here and there, he caught the lingering scent of magic. He knelt, brushing his fingers over a patch of stone where Nimrod's blood had fallen. It had been wiped clean by magic, leaving only a whisper of a trace.
There was nothing hurried or tense about his movements; Drighter's face remained impassive, his expression one of careful calculation. As he examined the scene, the faint outline of the fight played out in his mind, and a subtle smile touched his lips. Whoever had fought the wraiths had shown a strange kind of restraint, almost as if they were holding back.
He straightened, dismissing the idea of a warlock. If another warlock had been here, there would be no traces, no wraith left to retreat. It didn't fit. Wraiths were assassins, rarely engaging in head-on confrontations; they struck with stealth, invisible to their prey. Drighter allowed himself a faint, knowing smile. When they were foolish enough to cross a warlock, however, they were dealt with swiftly.
He moved away, his gaze now fixed on the inn nearby. As he entered, he took an unobtrusive seat in a shadowed corner, letting his eyes drift over the crowd of youths gathered within. The inn was filled with the buzz of young voices, talk of knacks and the academy, and his presence went unnoticed. To them, he was just another patron.
A small group of boys stood out in the corner, dressed in the distinctive attire of noble families, and Drighter watched them with mild interest. There was Leylie, a lean boy with a hawk-like nose and intense dark eyes, who seemed to be the natural leader of the group. Beside him was Darel, broad-shouldered and constantly grinning, his arms crossed over his chest as he boasted of his family's trading routes across the five kingdoms. Saron, a wiry, quick-talking youth, was animatedly recounting some rumor he'd heard about the academy, his hands moving as if sketching scenes in the air. And then there was Mikel, soft-spoken with a thoughtful gaze, who seemed more observant than vocal, nodding now and then at his friends' stories. Nim got to know that he and cara would be joining leylie's caravan, the other boys would come on another.
Drighter allowed the faintest hint of amusement to play across his face as he listened to their chatter. One of them was spinning an elaborate tale about him—the brother of the Sun King, the First Warlock of the old blood, the man who could slay a giant with a single hand. It seemed they had taken his reputation and woven it into their own legends. He found it amusing, though he wouldn't let it show.
Just then, his gaze shifted as Cara entered with another boy. Nimrod, his name was. He moved with a fluid, almost guarded gait, something not quite common among others his age. Drighter noted the way Nimrod held himself, aware of his surroundings yet not flaunting it.
Curious, Drighter leaned back, watching as Cara introduced Nimrod to Leylie's group. The boys looked at Nimrod with a mixture of curiosity and respect, greeting him with easy friendliness. Cara slipped into their conversation with ease, joking about the academy, describing the journey, and sharing her excitement.
To Drighter, Nimrod was just another boy—his familiar appearance would have raised an eyebrow but he was rather unremarkable in aura. No trace of the old blood on his body, no echo of anything unusual. Yet something in the boy's manner intrigued him, as if there was more beneath the surface. Not that he allowed it to stir anything within him; he watched with a kind of serene detachment, calm and assured, taking in every detail but betraying nothing.
As the conversation wound down, Drighter's interest waned, and he glanced back toward the street. Whatever had happened here last night, it hadn't left him much to follow. Still, there was time. When the council convened, he would learn more. And for now, he would simply watch. The figure of the warlock vanished and no one in the inn knew he was ever there.
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