Date: April 13, 541, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
Ligra was drowning in twilight. From the height of the terrace of the estate's eastern wing, the city seemed a cluster of fireflies trapped in a deep bowl of gray granite. The lights of the lanterns trembled in the wind, and above the bastions, a pale moon slowly rose, painting the Estate's spires a cold silver color.
Dur sat on the stone parapet, dangling his legs into the void. His palms, cut up from gripping the heavy training sword all day, burned with fire. Master Koch had outdone himself today: he had made Dur practice strikes while standing waist-deep in an icy pool, while the other recruits trained their Spirit summoning on dry land. Koch called it "environmental resistance," but Dur only felt the cold water, his eternal nightmare, trying to drain his remaining strength. He had endured, but the price was high—inside him had again settled that very feeling of oppressive silence he had felt during the training with Joran.
Maël approached silently. His steps on the marble were light, almost weightless. He leaned against a column next to Dur, holding a small flask of warm tea mixed with honey and spices.
"Drink," Maël offered the flask to his friend. "It'll ease the spasm. Koch was especially… inventive today. He wants you to hate water, Dur. Wants your rage to break the barrier that's keeping your energy locked up."
Dur took a sip. The warmth slowly began to spread through his veins, dulling the aching pain in his muscles.
"I don't feel any rage, Maël," Dur answered quietly, looking at the distant band of forest beyond the walls. "I only feel how small I am. Did you see the recruits today? Those who've been accepted into the Family can break logs with a single move of their Spirit. And I… I'm just a man with a piece of wood in my hands."
Maël smiled softly. His face, lit by the moonlight, seemed a mask of an ancient deity—wise and infinitely cunning.
"Ligra is just a door, Dur. A small border fortress on the edge of vast holdings. Everything here seems great because beyond the walls is only wild forest and bandits. But I grew up in places where Ligra with all its bastions would seem like a mere trading post. The Agrim family rules millions of souls. And believe me, there, in the big cities, physical strength is just the foundation. True power belongs to those who can see beyond the edge."
Maël fell silent, studying his friend's face. He felt that today Dur was ready for the conversation they had been putting off since the moment they met.
"You promised to tell me," Maël reminded him. "Why did you come to Ligra? What dream leads a savage from the northern forests to the East?"
Dur was silent for a long time. He remembered the "Old Pine" orphanage. Remembered Kaedan's red hair, Gil's clear eyes, and Ulvia's freckles. Remembered the oath they had sworn under the giant pine, when the world seemed simple and understandable to them.
"There were four of us," Dur finally spoke, his voice wavering from unaccustomed frankness. "Four orphans who had nothing but each other. We swore we would build a Better World. A world with no orphanages, where no one would feel 'superfluous' or 'trash,' as they say here. We went our separate ways to the four corners to find strength and knowledge. To one day meet again and fulfill that promise."
Maël didn't interrupt. His usual ironic smile was gone. He listened with that intense concentration that marked him as a man accustomed to analyzing every word.
"My dream, Maël…" Dur clenched his fists. "I want to build a place that will be a home for those like us. Where you won't have to pay the 'Order Tax' with your freedom. Where the power of the Spirit will serve creation, not destruction and imprisonment."
Dur smiled bitterly and looked at his battered hands.
"But today I understood. It really is just a dream. A child's beautiful fairy tale. Until I become stronger… truly stronger… I won't even be able to find my friends, let alone build a new world. I saw how those bandits in the forest used their abilities. I saw how magical beasts in the thicket can tear people apart just by their presence. I'm the weakest link in our oath, Maël. Kaedan already wielded a Spirit at eleven. Gil is smarter than anyone I've seen. And I… I'm just Dur."
Maël sighed and took the flask. He took a sip and looked at Dur with a strange, almost pained tenderness.
"You're wrong about one thing, my friend. You're not the weakest link. You're the anchor. Do you know why Sarim keeps you here? Not because you swing a sword well. But because you have something Joran and the other recruits lack. You have a core that doesn't break under the weight of circumstances."
Maël walked to the edge of the parapet and pointed at the city.
"Ligra has stood for centuries because the people here accepted the Agrim rules. It's fair: protection for a tax. Before them, there was blood and chaos here, people didn't live to twenty. The Family brought life. But they also constrained it. Your dream is a challenge to the very essence of our world. To build a 'Better World' in the age of Spirits and Energy… that means standing alongside the legends of the past."
Maël turned, and his eyes flashed.
"You say you can't fulfill your dream until you become stronger. You're right. But strength isn't just fists. It's also the connections you make. I'll help you, Dur. Not because I'm kind. But because your dream is the most interesting and crazy thing I've heard in all my years. And I want to see you try to make it happen."
"Why are you doing this, Maël?" Dur asked. "You could live here in luxury, serve Sarim, become an important man. You're cunning, you're smart. Why do you need a vagabond with his fairy tales?"
Maël laughed—this time with his usual, light laugh.
"Because luxury is boring, Dur! In the Estate, everyone knows who I am… that is, everyone knows my place. But with you, I'm Maël, the one who can overturn a cabbage cart and save a friend from the 'Iron Collars.' That's my freedom."
They stood in silence, two young men on the edge of a vast world they didn't fully understand. Dur felt the weight on his heart become a little lighter. His dream was no longer just his secret. It had gained its first ally.
"Let's go to sleep," said Maël, clapping Dur on the shoulder. "Tomorrow Koch promised an endurance training session in the pouring rain. He says if we learn to ignore the cold, our Spirit itself will want to warm us."
Dur nodded. He looked east once more. Somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, the sea awaited him. And he knew: sooner or later, he would meet it not with horror, but as an equal. But the path to that sea lay through pain, through sweat on Ligra's training ground, and through Maël's cunning plans.
They left the terrace, leaving the moonlight to flood the empty granite slabs. And in the shadow of one of the columns, Sarim Agrim, who had been quietly observing this scene, folded his arms over his chest. His face was impenetrable.
"A 'Better World,' is it…" the Administrator whispered. "Well, Dur. Let's see if you have the spirit not to break when you understand what such worlds are really built from."
Ligra slept. The web of fates continued to weave, intertwining the lives of a hunter and a prince into one unbreakable knot.