Date: April 9, 541, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
The first morning in the Agrim family estate began not with the cry of a newspaper hawker or the grumbling of an old clockmaker under the attic, but with absolute, almost unnatural silence. Dur woke up on a huge bed, covered with sheets of such fine linen they felt like cool water on his skin. The air in the room was fresh, filled with the scent of pine needles and some calming oils.
Dur sat up, and his body immediately responded with sharp pain. The wounds from Korgar's bone needles and the knife cut on his thigh had healed overnight, covered with a thin pink film—the work of the Family's healers, who used ointments laced with the energy of low-level Life Spirits. But his muscles still ached from the extreme strain of yesterday's battle.
He looked around. His old clothes, soaked with forest grime and blood, were gone. On the back of a carved chair hung a set of dense gray fabric: a jacket with the coat of arms of Ligra—a gray shield—pants, and sturdy leather boots. Nearby, on a marble stand, lay his knife and Torm's bow. The weapons had been cleaned, the bowstring replaced with a new one made from the sinew of a magical beast, and the knife blade shone with a mirror-like gleam.
Dur stood up, limping, walked to the window, and froze. From this height, Ligra revealed itself to him quite differently. He saw the clear geometry of the streets, the even rows of tiled roofs, and the massive bastions, which from this angle seemed flawless. But now he knew what lay hidden beneath this stone—the saboteurs' tunnels, the whispers of Whisperers in dark corners, and the endless murmur of Grumbler's Street.
The door creaked softly, and Maël entered the room. He wore a dark blue doublet with gold trim, his hair neatly combed, but in his brown eyes still danced the same mischievous sparks that Dur had loved in their attic cubbyhole.
"How did you sleep, Shadow?" Maël settled into an armchair, crossing his legs. "I'm sure, after a straw mattress, these feather beds feel like clouds."
"Too soft," Dur replied, sitting down opposite. "I feel like… that cat in the pasture. Plenty of food, but the fence is too high."
Maël chuckled softly, but there was a note of bitterness in his laugh.
"Agrim fences are always high, Dur. But they protect not only from those outside, but from one's own follies. Uncle Sarim ordered that we breakfast together. You need to get used to the new life."
"Why didn't you tell me before?" Dur asked, looking his friend straight in the eye. "About who you are. That your father is the Head of the Family."
Maël sighed, and his face momentarily lost its mask of carefreeness.
"Because in the main city where I grew up, everyone looked at me through the lens of my father. I was 'Agrim Ma Rat's heir,' 'the firstborn,' 'the future pillar.' No one saw Maël. Everyone saw a symbol. And when I met you…" he smiled, this time sincerely. "You saw in me just a clever guy who knows how to dodge the guards. With you, I was truly free. Even when we stank of Ligra's sewage, it was more honest than all the receptions in the Capital."
Maël went to the window and pointed into the distance, east, where the peaks of giant mountains could be guessed through the veil of fog.
"You need to understand the scale, Dur. Ligra is just a grain of sand. A small border town, beyond which the wild lands begin. The Agrim family rules dozens of such cities, and each has its own Sarim, its own guard, its own rules. My father… he tempered his will to rule this colossus. And he sent me here, to the harshest of his people, so that Sarim could knock the nonsense out of me and teach me to 'feel the ground.'"
"And now he'll teach me too?" Dur touched the copper token that now lay on the table next to a gold chain.
"Uncle Sarim saw in you what Horn couldn't see," Maël became serious. "Horn saw a tool. Sarim sees an investment. He understands that a savage who survived where patrols perish possesses something more than just tracking skills. He wants to make you part of the system, but not as a soldier, as…" Maël hesitated. "As a 'project.' If you endure his training, you'll become a force to be reckoned with, even in the Inner Circle."
Dur remembered the battle in Black Grove. He remembered how Maël "shifted rhythm," how his Spirit of Adaptability literally reshaped reality to the needs of battle.
"I saw your power, Maël. You were… different. Not the guy from the market."
"That's only the beginning," Maël looked at his palms. "My Spirit truly awakened only yesterday. I feel something constantly changing, adapting inside me. But without Agrim discipline, this Spirit will just burn my mind."
There was a knock at the door. A servant in a gray livery entered and bowed respectfully.
"Master Sarim awaits you in the Small Dining Hall. Please follow me."
The Small Hall turned out not to be so small. The walls were decorated with tapestries depicting the Family's history, and behind a long table of black wood sat Sarim. He was reading some report, slowly sipping from a small cup.
When the friends entered, he put down the papers. His gaze slid over Dur, noting his posture and how the youth's hand instinctively sought his knife, even in safety.
"Sit down," Sarim indicated the chairs. "Eat. Knowledge isn't absorbed on an empty stomach."
Breakfast was plentiful but passed in silence. Sarim didn't ask questions until they had finished. Only when the servants had cleared the dishes did he speak.
"Yesterday's fight revealed your weaknesses. Dur, you rely only on physics and instinct. Against ordinary beasts, that's effective. But against Spirit wielders… you survived only by luck and Maël's help. Your will is strong, but it's unformed. Maël, you're the opposite. Your Spirit awakened, but your body isn't ready for such loads. You burned out in ten minutes of battle. If there had been one more opponent on that clearing, you'd both be dead."
Sarim stood and walked to a map hanging on the wall.
"From today, your life in the attics is over. You will live in the eastern wing of the estate. Mornings—physical training with the Family's masters. Afternoons—strategy, history, and geography. Evenings—meditations for Energy control. Dur, I will assign you the best instructors in archery and close combat. You must learn to withstand energy, without possessing it… for now."
"Why are you helping me?" Dur asked directly. "I'm an outsider."
Sarim turned, and in his eyes Dur saw that same steel that was in his father's.
"Because the world is changing, Dur. Alvost is gathering forces at the borders. The Cursed Tribe, which we haven't heard from in decades, is showing signs again. The Agrim family doesn't just need loyal servants. We need wolves who know what honor and friendship are. You have proven your loyalty to Maël. That means you have proven your worth to me."
Sarim paused, his voice softening.
"You want to become stronger to fulfill your dream, don't you? I don't know what it is, but I'll give you the tools to achieve it. But remember: everything has a price."
Dur looked at Maël. He nodded almost imperceptibly.
"I agree," said Dur.
"Good. Then we begin immediately. Maël, take him to the 'Inner Courtyard' training ground. Master Koch is waiting for you there. And try not to die in the first hour."
Leaving the hall, Dur felt one door closing behind him and another opening. Ligra was no longer just a city. It had become his forge. He walked along marble corridors, his steps sounding firm. He hadn't yet told Maël about his dream, about wanting to find his friends and build a world without orphanages and chains, but he felt: here, in the heart of the Agrim family, his path East was acquiring true meaning.
Maël walked beside him, smiling again.
"Master Koch is an old sadist, Dur. But he knows how to turn your body into living weaponry. Shall we have some fun?"
Dur just smirked. Having fun, in the Agrim understanding, clearly meant a lot of pain, but he was ready for it. The bandit hunt had been a lesson in survival. Now the lessons of power were beginning.