NOVEL NEXT Chapter 147: The White City
Dawn broke in a spill of amber and gold as the caravan crested the final hill. Soren's breath caught in his throat.
Elaris, the White City, spread below like something from a forgotten dream, vast and impossible and beautiful. Terraced districts of alabaster stone cascaded down the hillsides, connected by arching glass bridges that caught the morning light.
Streets spiraled inward toward the heart of the city where the Aetherion Spire rose, a needle of crystal and pale stone reaching toward the sky as if to pierce it.
Soren had seen cities before, the cramped, smoky sprawl of Nordhav, the decaying grandeur of abandoned settlements in the Wastes, but nothing like this.
This wasn't merely a place where people lived; it was a declaration, a statement of power carved in stone and glass.
'Remember everything,' he reminded himself, eyes already tracking the movement below with practiced precision.
Soldiers in gleaming breastplates patrolled the outer walls in groups of three, rotating positions at precise intervals. Merchants pushed carts along designated routes, stopping at checkpoints where guards inspected their goods with methodical care.
Robed figures, mages, he assumed, moved with unusual deference through the crowds, given wide berth by commoners and soldiers alike.
He noted the defensive towers positioned at strategic intervals, their heights offering clear lines of sight across multiple districts. Six visible gates, each with its own guardhouse and inspection area. Patrol patterns that changed slightly between districts, suggesting different jurisdictions within the city itself.
"This place is built on order," Valenna murmured, her voice cool against his thoughts, "or fear disguised as it."
Soren didn't reply, but he understood. The city's perfection carried an edge beneath its beauty, the promise that deviation would not be tolerated.
Lady Aveline's carriage rolled forward, leading their small convoy down the final approach to the eastern gate. The road widened, its packed dirt giving way to fitted stone so precisely placed that the wheels barely made a sound.
The guards at the gate straightened as they approached, their hands moving to salute positions before the carriage had fully stopped. One stepped forward, his gaze finding the crest painted on the carriage door. Recognition flashed across his face, followed by immediate deference.
"Lady Kareth," he said, bowing deeply. "Elaris welcomes your return."
No inspection. No questions about their business or duration of stay. Just immediate passage, the gates swinging wide to admit them without delay.
Soren kept his expression neutral as they passed beneath the massive stone arch, though the shard pulsed once against his chest, Valenna's silent acknowledgment of Lady Aveline's evident status. The woman commanded respect that went beyond mere nobility. Useful information, carefully filed away.
The city's sounds washed over them as they entered, the calls of merchants, the clatter of carts on stone, the distant ringing of bells marking the hour. Scents mingled in the air, fresh bread from corner bakeries, flowers from rooftop gardens, the sharp tang of something Soren couldn't identify that seemed to emanate from the mages' quarter ahead.
Lady Aveline's carriage wound through increasingly elegant streets, climbing toward the city's upper tiers. Buildings grew taller, their facades more ornate, windows larger and set with colored glass that cast prismatic patterns across the white stone walkways. People moved differently here, backs straighter, chins higher, clothing richer in both material and color.
Finally, the carriage halted beside a marble plaza where a fountain played, water cascading over sculpted figures frozen in eternal dance. Lady Aveline emerged before her steward could assist her, her movements fluid and precise as she stepped onto the pristine stone.
Morning light caught in the folds of her cloak, turning the deep blue fabric to something richer, almost luminous against the white marble surrounding them. She gestured for Soren to approach.
"This is where we part ways," she said, her amber eyes studying his face with that now-familiar calculating interest. From within her cloak, she produced a sealed leather packet bound with silver cord. "Your new life."
Soren accepted the packet, feeling the weight of several documents inside. The leather was soft against his calloused fingers, the silver cord clearly expensive, small details that would lend credibility to whatever identity waited within.
"Inside you'll find everything you need, identification papers, letters of recommendation bearing my signet, and your new name." Her voice lowered slightly. "Coren Vale. Remember it well."
The name settled over him like an ill-fitting garment, not uncomfortable, but noticeably foreign. He nodded once, committing the syllables to memory.
"You're my retainer's son," Lady Aveline continued. "He died in my service years ago; I kept the promise to his blood. That's your story. Keep it straight."
Another nod. No questions. The fewer details he requested, the fewer inconsistencies he might create later. The Veiled Hand had taught him the value of simplicity in deception.
Lady Aveline watched him a moment longer, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. "You'll learn more from silence than from the instructors," she said finally. "Remember that."
Before he could respond, she turned away, her cloak swirling around her ankles as she moved back toward the waiting carriage. Her steward cast one final suspicious glance at Soren, then followed her inside. The driver flicked the reins, and the convoy pulled away, climbing toward even higher tiers of the city where towers gleamed like polished bone against the morning sky.
Soren stood alone in the plaza, the leather packet heavy in his hand. Around him, Elaris continued its careful dance of power and position, oblivious to the assassin now standing in its midst.
'A different kind of hunt,' he thought, tucking the packet securely inside his tunic.
The shard pulsed once against his chest, neither warm nor cold, just present. Valenna's silent acknowledgment of the path ahead.
Soren moved through Elaris on foot, each step measured and deliberate. The city revealed itself in layers as he descended from the upper plaza, neighborhoods shifting in subtle ways that spoke of invisible boundaries and social hierarchies. He kept to the edges of walkways, his posture neither too rigid nor too relaxed, drawing no attention despite being a stranger in a place where belonging was clearly paramount.
'Back straight but not stiff,' Valenna murmured as he passed a group of nobles attended by servants carrying parcels. 'Eyes forward, not down. You're not servile, just unremarkable.'
He adjusted accordingly, noting how the correction immediately reduced the glances cast his way. The nobles passed without a second look, their conversation never faltering.
The contrasts of the city struck him more deeply with each district he traversed. Street lamps burned without flame, their light emanating from glowing sigils etched into metal casings.
Market towers rose at major intersections, their spiraling ramps lined with vendors selling everything from common vegetables to arcane components, vials of shimmering liquid, carefully preserved plants with unnatural colorations, crystals that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.
Patrols of uniformed soldiers moved with practiced precision, their armor lighter than what he'd seen in Nordhav but clearly more advanced in design.
Their swords remained sheathed, but the ease with which they moved suggested constant readiness beneath ceremonial appearance.
Elaris smelled of power, not the raw, brutal force of Nordhav's military might, but something more refined. More dangerous, perhaps, for its subtlety.
He passed a small square where an arcanist demonstrated some minor working for a gathered crowd.
The mage wore long gloves stitched with faintly glowing runes, his fingers tracing patterns in the air that left momentary trails of light. Children gasped as tiny butterflies of pure energy fluttered from his palms, dissolving into sparks as they touched the outstretched hands of delighted onlookers.
'Showmanship,' Valenna commented, 'but notice how no one questions why he's permitted such display when others are not.'
Soren continued onward, following the flow of streets that seemed designed to guide travelers naturally toward the city's heart. Ahead, visible from nearly every vantage point, the Aetherion Spire dominated the skyline, no longer distant but immediate, overwhelming in its presence.
As he rounded a final corner, Soren caught his first clear view of the Academy itself. A walled compound spread at the Spire's base, white stone buildings arranged in concentric circles around the central tower.
Crystalline secondary structures caught the midday light, refracting it into prismatic patterns across courtyards and walkways. The entire complex seemed to glow from within, as if the stone itself contained some luminous quality.
Above it all, banners snapped in the high breeze, silver blades crossed over blue flame against a field of deepest black. The symbol of Aetherion, recognized and feared across nations.
The gates stood open, though not unguarded. Young men and women in training uniforms – simple tunics in varying shades of blue – stood at attention, their postures perfect despite the heat of midday sun. Behind them, a small structure housed clerks who checked documents and directed arrivals to appropriate entrances.
Soren approached with measured steps, the leather packet held ready in his hand. One of the clerks, a thin man with ink-stained fingers and the permanently furrowed brow of someone who dealt primarily with paperwork, looked up as he approached.
"Purpose?" the man asked, not unkindly but with the efficiency of someone who asked the same question hundreds of times each day.
"Admission," Soren replied, placing Lady Aveline's packet on the small counter between them. "I have recommendation."
The clerk untied the silver cord with practiced movements, examining each document in turn. His eyebrow arched slightly as he reached Lady Aveline's letter, the elaborate seal apparently recognizable even to minor administrative staff.
"Coren Vale," the clerk read aloud, glancing up to study Soren's face. Whatever he saw there, he kept to himself, merely nodding once before resealing the packet. "Report to Induction Hall. First courtyard, eastern colonnade. They're expecting several candidates today."
The clerk stamped a small parchment and added it to the packet before returning it. "Keep this with you at all times until formal acceptance."
Soren nodded his thanks, tucking the packet away as he passed through the gates into Aetherion proper. The transition felt tangible, a shift in the air itself, as if he'd stepped across some invisible boundary into a different world entirely.
The first courtyard opened before him, vast and circular, its white stone gleaming in the sunlight. Students moved in disciplined groups across the open space, some in training gear practicing sword forms with fluid precision, others in robes gathered around instructors who demonstrated concepts with glowing diagrams that hung suspended in the air.
In one corner, a circle of young arcanists practiced some basic technique, their hands extended as small arcs of lightning jumped from finger to finger around their formation. The air crackled with energy, raising the fine hairs on Soren's arms as he passed.
Instructors observed from colonnaded walkways, their expressions impassive as they made notes on small tablets. None interfered, though Soren noticed how their presence alone seemed to intensify the students' focus.
For a moment, the sheer scale and purpose of the place threatened to overwhelm him. This was power made manifest.