Date: April 16, 541, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
The morning prayer of muscles and sweat had been uttered, and to everyone's surprise, Master Koch, after breakfast, didn't line them up on the yard. Instead, he jerked his head towards Sarim Agrim. The Administrator of Ligra stood by one of the arched windows, looking out at the city spread at the foot of the estate. His fingers slowly worked amber prayer beads.
"Rest," he said, without turning. "Strength forged without respite becomes brittle, like over-tempered steel. The world beyond the walls is no less important than the world in this yard. Go into the city. Visit the 'Moon Garden.' Hear what Ligra says without embellishment and decrees. But remember," his gaze slid over them, cold and heavy, "you are the eyes and ears of the Agrim family. Behave accordingly."
Dur felt a strange sensation. Leaving the estate gates was desirable, but now these walls had become less a prison and more a shelter. Outside, the city awaited him, where he could be watched, where he was a target.
Maël, on the contrary, perked up noticeably. He nearly jumped for joy.
"The 'Moon Garden'! Oh, Dur, you have no idea! The best tea west of the Capital of Emptiness! And cherry pies..." He grabbed Dur by the sleeve and dragged him away before Koch could change his mind.
An hour later, they stood before an unprepossessing, at first glance, building in one of Ligra's central quarters. A sign of dark wood with an elegantly carved crescent moon and a cherry branch hung over the heavy door. Nothing flashy, no ostentatious luxury—only restrained, self-assured elegance.
"Prepare your nose," Maël warned, pushing the door.
And the aroma indeed hit Dur's sense of smell like a physical force. Hundreds of scents: bitter, floral, smoky, sweetish. The air was thick and warm, filled with the quiet chime of porcelain and muffled voices. The interior was done in calm tones: polished dark wood, low tables, screens creating secluded corners, scrolls with calligraphy depicting mountains and rivers on the walls.
And people. Wealthy townsfolk in silks, merchants in solid but not flashy attire, a couple of garrison officers without armor but with the bearing that betrayed their profession. Everyone spoke quietly, restrainedly. There was no market noise, no coarse tavern laughter. Here, order reigned, but an order different from Koch's training ground—it was the order of money, status, and hidden intrigue.
A silent servant girl in a simple but impeccably clean dress led them to a table in the corner. Maël moved here like a fish in water; his posture instantly changed, becoming casually aristocratic. He nodded to the girl, and she silently disappeared, only to return with a small wooden board covered in various items—a menu.
"What do you prefer?" Maël asked Dur, a slight mockery in his voice. "'Green Dragon from Mount Rising Sun' or perhaps 'White Peony with Frost Petals'?"
Dur was taken aback. He was used to plain water, tea from forest herbs, and sometimes a gulp of strong ale. This world of refined names and rituals was alien to him.
"You choose," he muttered, feeling like a clumsy bear cub in a glass shop.
Maël ordered something complicated-sounding from the girl; she nodded and left. A few minutes later, she returned with a small teapot of dark clay, two delicate handleless cups, and a plate of light pastries.
"Now for the main event," Maël whispered, and the excitement of a student about to demonstrate a trick lit up in his eyes.
He made several smooth, precise movements: rinsed the cups with hot water from the kettle, then poured the tea leaves, let them steep exactly as long as needed, and poured the beverage into the cups. The wisp of steam rising from the cup smelled of grass, flowers, and something elusively mineral.
"Drink slowly," Maël instructed. "Don't gulp. Let the taste unfold on your tongue."
Dur cautiously took a sip. It tasted unlike anything he had tried. First—a slight bitterness, then—a floral sweetness, and finally—a long, refreshing aftertaste. It was complex. And refined. He silently nodded, acknowledging the mastery.
And then he began to listen. Truly listen. Not just with his ears, but with all his senses, as Torm had taught him in the forest. He caught snatches of conversations at nearby tables.
"...cargo flow through the pass has halved. The Alvostians have blocked the 'Stone Gargoyle' passage..."
"...steel prices have risen by thirty percent. The smiths are working three shifts..."
"...heard there were skirmishes in the border village of Gray Glade. We lost several men..."
"...Agrim Ma Rat won't tolerate this for long. It'll start soon..."
The words were quiet, spoken with feigned indifference, but Dur caught an underlying note of anxiety. This wasn't panicked market gossip. It was a sober, businesslike analysis of an impending catastrophe. These people weren't afraid of a sudden attack; they were preparing for it, like an inevitable rainy season. And this cold, calculated preparation was far more frightening.
"Hear that?" Maël asked quietly, watching his face.
"Yes," Dur replied just as quietly. "They're not asking if there will be a war. They're deciding how to profit from it or minimize losses."
Maël smiled grimly.
"Welcome to the world of big houses, Dur. War for them isn't heroics, it's accounting. Losses, profits, assets, and liabilities. My father..." he hesitated, for the first time slightly lifting the veil, "...Agrim Ma Rat sees the world as a giant mechanism. War is just an overload on the system, to be survived with minimal damage to the gears."
They finished their tea in silence. Dur watched the elegant hands of a merchant's wife at the next table, fingering jade prayer beads, the focused face of an officer studying a map, the calm confidence of the establishment's owner. These people were part of the machine Maël spoke of. And he, Dur, was now also a tiny cog. But he remembered the oath under the Old Pine. He didn't want to be a cog. He wanted to be the one who rebuilds the mechanism itself.
"Thank you," Dur said unexpectedly, catching Maël's surprised look. "For this tea. And for… the chance to hear this. Now I understand what we're fighting against. Not just Alvost's soldiers."
Maël sighed, and for a moment, weariness from the burden of knowledge he had carried since childhood flickered in his eyes.
"Against the system, Dur. Always against the system. But to break it, you first have to understand it down to the last screw. And then find the weak link."
Leaving the "Moon Garden" and stepping back onto Ligra's noisy streets, Dur felt the world had become more complex, multifaceted, and dangerous for him. But he also felt the incredible value of the person sitting beside him. Maël was his guide, not only through the city but through the labyrinth of power. And over this day, their strange friendship had been sealed by something greater than a mutually beneficial alliance. Now they were bound by a shared, frightening, and grandiose understanding.