Rise of Tyrus

The lift groaned as ropes strained, pulleys creaked, and the wide platform shuddered on its slow descent. The horse and cart were secured in the middle with Sir Wayne still seated on the driver's bench, while the rest of Blue Dawn stood near the edge, gazing out at the view as the cliff face sank upward. Dust trailed down from above, stirred loose by the shaking of the mechanism.

Tyrus leaned against the wooden railing, his eyes fixed on the mining town sprawled below. From this height, Cliffview looked larger than most of the settlements he seen outside of the capital.

Unlike the haphazard growth of many communities, the builders of Cliffview were very clear on what each area contained. The residential district occupied the western portion, where timber homes were packed together in neat rows that maximized the use of available space, while the commercial district dominated the central area, bustling with the specialized businesses that served the mining community, like blacksmiths and leatherworking.

The eastern section, closest to the cliff face where the actual mining operations were located, housed the markets where goods flowed in and out of the community. Wide streets accommodated the heavy wagons that carried both supplies to the mines and extracted materials to distant buyers. And in a separate area, somewhat isolated from the purely commercial activities, stood the guild complex alongside a chapel and what appeared to be an infirmary.

The platform touched down with a gentle bump, and they disembarked onto solid ground that felt wonderfully stable after days of swaying cart travel. The guards at the bottom waved them forward. Fiona took the lead, and the rest followed, boots and hooves crunching on the beaten dirt path leading to the town gates. The trail was flanked by makeshift fences and watchtowers manned by armed men. Their eyes were bored but sharp, and most gave only a passing glance to Blue Dawn before resuming their vigil.

Once inside, Cliffview revealed itself more clearly. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, mingling with the acrid scent of ore and soot drifting from the forges. The commercial district stretched along the main street, filled with blacksmith shops clanging, leatherworkers hammering rivets into boots and gloves, miners hauling carts of rock to be sorted and smelted. A separate square housed the three floor guildhall, a small, earth-brown chapel with worn stone steps, a tavern already humming despite the hour, and a squat infirmary with curtains of pale cloth billowing in the wind.

The town was alive, but not in the way Tyrus would have liked. The streets were strangely quiet for a place of this size. Men and women moved with slow, dragging steps. Their eyes were downcast, faces smudged with exhaustion. A group of miners trudged past them, their leather gear blackened with soot, faces streaked in grime. Some carried picks slung over their shoulders; others dragged feet heavy as anchors. Right behind them came a fresher batch, younger men marching east toward the cliffside. Their clothes were cleaner, but the stiff set of their jaws made it clear they knew what awaited them below.

Tyrus slowed as they passed. The miners looked like they'd been bled dry. He couldn't help but wonder what it was like down there—what they dug for, what dangers they faced in the dark. The sight wasn't new to him as Blue Dawn accepted their contracts in Cliffview, but that didn't dull the weight pressing on him now.

They pressed on. A few townspeople noticed them and murmured, heads bowing slightly in recognition. More than one voice thanked them for their work, and Tyrus felt a flicker of pride—until the faces turned toward him. The thanks turned to silence, mouths pressed tight, eyes flashing with sudden anger.

One man's lips twisted as Blue Dawn passed. Tyrus's ears, sharper than most, caught the words muttered low: "Their fault." He froze for a heartbeat, then forced himself forward, jaw clenched. He didn't dare look back. His frown deepened, and he fixed his eyes on the road ahead.

After a few bends in the road, the guild finally appeared. At first, it looked like a simple three-story tavern: timber walls, a wide front porch, and windows softly lit by lanterns. However, the Explorer's Guild emblem, which was a compass, was proudly displayed on a banner near the entrance, waving gently in the breeze. The emblem, which was a compass, was marked at all Explorer Guild facilities. The symbol was a reminder that no matter how remote or modest the location, guild standards and services remained consistent across the empire.

Sir Wayne drew rein near the steps. He dismounted smoothly and said, "Young master. I will see to returning the cart and horse to the stables."

"Be quick," Igneal replied without looking at him.

The knight inclined his head and departed, leaving Blue Dawn and Alaran to enter the guild.

The common room was stuffy, carrying a faint scent of wine and stale sweat. It was a rough place, with a worn, smooth floor and counters etched with knife marks. Only seven people were inside when Blue Dawn entered. The room fell silent instantly. Chairs scraped against the floor, mugs hung in the air, and eyes widened in surprise.

Then, someone near the entrance let out a cheer. "Blue Dawn's back!"

The speaker was a muscular man in a plain tunic and trousers. A chipped blade leaned against his chair. He rose with a wide grin, striding forward to clasp Grant on the shoulder.

"How'd the contract go?" he asked.

Grant straightened. "We succeeded. Every beast in the pit is dead."

Reo grinned and tossed in, "Even a greater hardscale. Didn't stand a chance against our might."

The man blinked, startled. For a moment, Tyrus thought he'd laugh in disbelief. Greater beasts were serious threats after all, and bronze explorers rarely engaged such creatures without significant risk. The man, however, let out a short, barking laugh, shaking his head.

"That would have been quite a sight to see," he said, raising his mug in a mock toast. "Congratulations on the successful—"

His words cut off abruptly as his gaze fell on Alaran, who had been standing quietly at the back of their group. The mug froze halfway to his lips, and several drops of its contents splashed to the floor as his hand trembled with obvious shock.

"Watch the mess," Fiona said, wrinkling her nose at the mess. "This place is shabby enough without people spilling drinks everywhere."

Blue Dawn moved on to the reception desk, where a middle-aged man awaited them. His hair was long and black streaked with gray, and his uniform neat despite its faded color. He smiled warmly at the group, then bowed deeply toward Alaran.

"Apostle Alaran," he said with respect. "Welcome to Cliffview Branch. Are you here to see the branch leader?"

Alaran nodded his head once. The receptionist extended his hand and said, "May I see your explorer tag, Apostle?"

The Apostle silently presented his diamond identification tag. Meuren examined it closely, his thumb following the engraved pattern. Content with his assessment, he handed the tag back and reached under the counter for a communication device. The orb-like object reacted instantly to his touch, its surface beginning to glow.

A weary voice emerged from the device after a moment's delay. "What is it, Meuren? I'm in the middle of reviewing quarterly reports."

"Sir, Apostle Alaran would like to see you," Meuren said.

The sound of something heavy scraping across a floor came through the communication link, followed by a sharply indrawn breath.

"Did you say Apostle Alaran?" the voice asked, suddenly much more alert. "Are you certain? Have you verified his credentials?"

"Yes sir, I've checked his diamond tag thoroughly. Everything is in order."

"Send him up immediately," came the quick response. "Third floor, my office. And Meuren—make sure he has whatever assistance he requires."

The connection ended with a soft chime, leaving them standing in a hall where every conversation had ceased. Over his shoulder, Tyrus noticed some of the patrons had their ears pressed in their direction, mugs pressed against their lips for a suspiciously long period. When they caught Tyrus staring, they coughed and looked elsewhere, continuing what they were doing before Blue Dawn arrived.

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Alaran turned to address Blue Dawn and smiled. "I am grateful for the transportation and companionship you provided. Your assistance made my research possible, and your company made the journey more pleasant than it might otherwise have been. May Thasmian watch over you in your future endeavors. Truth and justice guide your paths."

With that, he turned toward the stairs that led to the upper floors, his white and blue robes rustling softly as he climbed toward whatever meeting awaited him with the branch leader.

Blue Dawn watched him go, then turned their attention to completing their own business with considerably less fanfare but equal importance. Meuren produced the paperwork necessary for contract completion while Tyrus and Fiona released a few of their spoils from their rings. Like large coins, scales clinked one by one onto the counter with a few spider eyes thrown into the mix. Meuren inspected each one without so much as a grimace.

"I'm afraid the compensation rates are still reduced," he said with obvious regret as he calculated their earnings. "The Explorer Guild has implemented cost-cutting measures across all regional branches. The war has created... challenging financial circumstances."

He paused in his calculations to look up at them with an expression that mixed gratitude with embarrassment. "I hope you understand that this reflects broader economic pressures rather than any judgment about the quality of your work. Cliffview is fortunate to have explorers like you willing to take on the extermination contracts that keep our community safe, especially with the increase in beast activity we've been seeing."

"The rates around here keep getting worse," Fiona muttered under her breath, though she signed the completion forms without further complaint.

Meuren gathered the materials and stored them in a sack and then shuffled through a closed door behind him. A few minutes later, he returned with three pouches of sil. Fiona snatched the pouches and looked into each one, a slight smile forming on her face.

"Looks good enough to me," she said out loud. She tossed two of them to Reo and Grant and held on to the last. "We'll split the rewards back in our rooms. Let's get out of here and get something to eat."

Meuren bowed once more. "Once again, thank you for doing business at the Cliffview branch. We await your next arrival..."

Business finished, they stepped back out onto the street. To their right was Sir Wayne leaning against the wall. The knight joined them at the corner, brushing dust from his gloves. Together, they headed toward the tavern nearby.

The tavern's interior was welcoming in the way that such establishments always managed. The tavern smelled of broth and bread, and for once Tyrus didn't care how cramped or shabby it looked. However, the tavern wasn't lively in the way most were. No songs, no laughter, no drunken boasts. Just the low scrape of spoons in bowls and hushed conversations broken up by tired coughs.

When Blue Dawn sat and ordered their meals, the serving girl dropped off bowls of stiff bread and vegetable stew. Fiona accepted hers with a scowl. She flicked open a pouch at her belt, pinched out some dried herbs, and sprinkled them over the pale broth.

Tyrus stared at the chunk of bread in his hand. It was dense enough to hammer nails. He would've preferred red bison stew or even boar, but meat wasn't something Cliffview could spare to everyone. He sighed, dipped the bread into the thin broth, and ate in silence.

As he worked his way through the disappointing meal, his enhanced hearing made it impossible to ignore the conversations taking place at nearby tables.

The low-voiced discussions revealed the deeper currents of anxiety that ran beneath Cliffview's surface, and Tyrus found himself genuinely interested in gathering information about current events. It would be a lie to claim he wasn't curious about the latest gossip and developments.

"Crown Prince Saldeon's sorcerers have been trying to build bridges across the chasm for months now," one voice was saying. "But those Beastfolk fliers keep destroying them before they can get reinforcements across. Must be frustrating for the soldiers."

Another patron responded with obvious concern. "Makes it extremely difficult to get supplies to the camps, too. They're probably running low on everything by now."

"I heard Prince Gulinar's been having more success," a third voice added. "Word is he's already slain scores of Beastfolk in single combat. Makes you wonder why the Crown Prince hasn't managed the same thing, you know? What's the point of having the heir to the throne leading an army if he can't even match his younger brother's achievements?"

If Tyrus remembered correctly, Crown Prince Saldeon and Prince Gulinar were the only two children of Emperor Johan. Tasked by His Majesty, they were stationed at a camp near Mevena Scar to watch for any Beastfolk crossings.

At first, both armies were at a standstill, with none making a move until a black tiger crossed the chasm in a single leap and attacked the Two Suns. After sustaining serious injuries, the pair drove it away, and they returned to report news of the attack, leading to the Crown Prince and the court waging war against the Beastfolk Kingdom.

News of the Two Suns' encounter with the black tiger had spread far and wide, even to the academy walls. Tyrus remembered overhearing his instructors discussing it—how the Beastfolk's attack had forced His Majesty's hand and escalated what had once been a tense stalemate into outright war. Even the students, who only seemed to be interested in forming cliques and sorcery, were talking about the event.

On second thought, that was all they talked about nowadays. Talking about the war led them to worry about their future, whether that was them taking over a family business that would crumble from economic hardships, getting conscripted into Crown Prince Saldeon's army in the future and losing their lives in battle, and then some. It was all gloomy conversation.

And then there were a few who were excited about the war...

"Supplies don't win wars alone," another man said with a grim expression. "If the Crown Prince can't protect mere bridges from those dumb beasts, how's he supposed to protect the empire?"

"That's dangerous talk," a woman warned in a hushed voice. "Keep it down before someone reports you."

The conversation shifted again, and Tyrus's ears caught a harsher tone:

"Forget the war for a moment. Did you hear about Hayun? Lost an eye in the mines last week. Ulvur turned him away at the infirmary 'cause he couldn't pay."

"That's what comes of quotas," another spat. "Family Head Lockhart's squeezing us dry. Higher taxes, higher expectations, and no one spares a thought for the ones breaking their backs in the dark."

"Damn Beastfolk started the war, but it's our own lords bleeding us to death."

"Shhh! Quiet down, will ya? Lord Igneal is right there..."

When the speaker mentioned the Lockhart name, the scrape of a chair made Tyrus glance sideways. Sir Wayne was already on his feet. He loomed over the miners' table, eyes cold as steel. His hand moved instinctively toward his sword hilt as he glared at the gossipers.

"Mind your tongues," Sir Wayne snarled. "To curse the Lockhart name in public is to spit on the house that protects you. You eat, you live, you mine because they allow it."

The miners at the table recoiled, their faces blanched with fear. The situation escalated so rapidly that Tyrus barely understood what was happening. Silence fell over the tavern as everyone turned to stare at the knight, who had just challenged their right to complain about their working conditions.

Wait a minute, Tyrus thought to himself. To spit on the house that protects you... Squeezing them dry... Does that mean this is Lockhart territory?

Sir Wayne noticed the hostile whispers as well, his trained ear picking up the seditious undertones that civilian conversations had taken on. His expression darkened with disapproval as he leaned toward Igneal.

"Young master," he said in a low voice that carried clearly to their table, "should I address these people who are badmouthing Family Head Lockhart's policies? Such disrespect cannot be allowed to continue unchecked."

Igneal shook his head, picking away at his meal with a bored expression. "Leave them be. Commoners are entitled to their opinions, even when they're uninformed about the larger picture. They cannot hope to understand even a fragment of what thoughts and worries swirl in Father's mind."

"Allowing the family name to be slandered in public is not a good precedent," Sir Wayne insisted. "Something should be done to maintain proper respect for authority."

Fiona looked up from her food, sighing. "Please, Sir Wayne, don't do anything rash."

Sir Wayne snorted. "When Young Master Igneal becomes the family head and controls this territory, his subjects should display respect rather than disrespect. The sooner people understand that relationship, the better for everyone involved."

"You care about respect? Consider this: your behavior here reflects on the Lockharts just as much as theirs does. If you lose your temper like a common thug, you won't improve your family's standing–you'll only make things worse. Everyone will remember your every word and action. And they'll remember you couldn't control yourself."

A hush stretched. Sir Wayne's jaw worked, and for a long moment Tyrus thought he might explode. But at last, he straightened, letting his hand slip away from the sword hilt. His nostrils flared as he exhaled through his nose.

"You make a fair point," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes never leaving the cowering miners. "But I won't stand by and watch the family name be disrespected so brazenly. Young master, you've grown too soft. Such insolence would never have been tolerated by Family Head Lockhart."

Igneal's fork stopped mid-air. His face twitched, and he lowered it to the table. He glanced around the room, his eyes settling on the miners, who averted their eyes. His fingers drummed on the tabletop, a hesitant pattern, as if he was considering whether to stand up. Igneal's shoulders tensed, and Tyrus could see the younger noble preparing to stand. If he did, this could turn ugly fast.

Here we go again...

Without a second thought, Tyrus shoved his chair back and rose. He stepped to Igneal's side, slinging an arm across his shoulders in what looked like casual camaraderie but was firm enough to steer him away.

"Actually, Igneal," Tyrus said with forced lightness, "there's something important I need to tell you outside. It can't wait."

He caught Fiona's questioning look, Grant's watchful frown, Reo's raised brow. Tyrus assured them with a wave, then guided Igneal toward the door. He pushed it shut behind them, cutting off the murmur of voices inside.

Out in the cool air, Igneal jerked free, his face stormy. "What was that about? Why did you drag me out here?"

Tyrus met his gaze without flinching, and instead of replying, changed the subject. "I've been meaning to ask you this for a while. Tell me more about the Lockhart territory. How much of the High Plateau does your family own?"