*Date: 33,480 Third Quarter — Kingdom of Satar, Capital City Parthanon*
The road curved between marble cliffs that shimmered faintly under the morning sun. Demir had seen ruins, mines, and forges that swallowed light, but never something like this.
Capital City of Parthanon was huge and vast. For the heart of the game, the developers had thought of everything. The walls of Parthanon rose from the mountain base like a sculpted dream. White stone veined with gold reached so high it seemed to scrape the artificial clouds. A faint blue mist coiled around its highest spires, giving the entire city an ethereal quality that made it seem more like a painting than reality.
Alef gestured at the gleaming walls. "It's the heart of the continent. Where all the surviving races pretend to play nice."
Two massive doors began to part with a groaning sound of enchanted gears, revealing the Grand Causeway beyond. As they entered, the fisherman who had brought them across called out, "That beast seems untamed! If she causes any trouble, you will be punished!"
Demir turned to the experienced players. "What should we do?"
Lysara considered Asena's massive form. "It would be best not to put her behind city walls. The island has a huge forest. Let's leave her there for now. You can visit her. It's only for a couple of days anyway."
Demir leaned in close to Asena, meeting her golden eyes. "Sorry, girl. The city's not welcoming for a big girl like you. I will visit you, all right?"
Asena puffed and gave Demir a light head toss. She howled once, the sound echoing off the marble cliffs, but even under her angry demeanor, she didn't want to be trapped between city walls. She understood.
Marco watched the silver wolf pad toward the tree line. "Demir, are you sure you should let her go? You might not find her again."
Demir smiled. "You have no idea how far she can smell me and find me to beat me in her games."
They waved goodbye to Asena and entered the gates. Inside, the city pulsed with impossible life. Players and local races were living in a medieval fantasy metropolis that exceeded anything Demir had imagined. Floating carriages bustled about, carrying goods through streets paved with beautifully crafted stone. Elves with silver hair and perfect faces glided past dwarves hauling crates of goods. Player merchants shouted over the noise, hawking everything from enchanted weapons to exotic foods.
A horn sounded in the distance, not a war horn this time, but the ceremonial call from the Colosseum of Crowns.
Marven's head snapped toward the sound. "Is the tournament started?"
Alef shook his head. "I don't think so. Those are probably daily exhibition matches for gamblers."
Demir looked around at the chaos of commerce. "Oh, and gambling. This city has it all, doesn't it?"
Lysara was coming back to the group after speaking with someone near the gate. When she rejoined them, her expression was mixed.
"Good news and bad news."
Alef sighed. "What is it this time?"
Lysara gestured for them to follow as they led their horses toward an inn to stable them. An elven boy took the reins, his movements efficient and practiced.
"The tournament is going to happen, but it will be held nearly five weeks later. Maybe more."
Demir frowned. "Why?"
"Rex Choars, the one running the event, is apparently sick."
Marven nodded slowly. "Yeah, you mentioned he was getting medical attention from the real universe."
Alef sighed heavily. "That old crook was so rich he was staying young even without surgical immortality. Now that his monthly treatment is gone..."
Marco spoke, his voice moody and dark. "He's dying, like the rest of us."
The human innkeeper, by the looks of it a non-player local, brought food and beverages to their table while the group argued about what to do in the remaining five weeks. Five weeks wasn't too long, but it was too long to just sit around. Demir had to make the most of it. He could work during the days and look through every inn and community service for any sign of Aris.
Lysara set down her drink. "I'm going to find us a place to stay for five weeks. We can't just rent five rooms for more than a month at inn prices. Until then, we should meet here every night, okay?"
The group gave their approval.
Marven turned to Demir. "You seem like you're in thinking mode again. What do you have in mind?"
"Well, I have a profession now. I'll look for a blacksmith to work for and maybe learn one or two things."
"How about you, Marco?" Marven was trying to draw the older man out of his shell, but he was more reluctant than ever. And just sleeping the days away like usual wasn't an option.
Demir answered for him. "He's with me. We can work together, and he'll help me find inns and pubs to ask around about my friend."
Marco nodded silently.
Marven stood. "Then I'll look around the town and notify you if I can find any good jobs."
Demir pointed at his gear. "Since none of us has access to our inventory anymore, should we leave our gear in our rooms?"
Alef laughed, a genuine sound of amusement. "Man, I miss those days. With a button, we could change our clothes. Carry your blade. It's expensive, but you can leave your shield and armor in your room."
Demir smiled unintentionally. When was the last time in more than four years that he'd been in a safe place, able to truly take off his whole set other than in the secluded valley? He forced the meal down, went upstairs to his appointed room, and took off his armor. He strapped his sword to his side. Now that he was carrying less, he felt like a feather.
"Come on, Marco. Let's visit some shops."
Marven grabbed her bow. "I'm coming too."
The metropolis was bustling with interesting people hustling, trying to sell food, services, anything they could get their hands on. But the trio had lived in communal towns and refugee camps for years, and they didn't have more than a silver coin among them.
When they finally found the industrial area of the town, woodworkers, blacksmiths, potters, and all sorts of goods makers were taking orders from locals and producing goods. The clang of hammers and the smell of burning wood filled the air.
They visited each blacksmith, but every one of them sent them back to the streets, claiming they didn't need any helpers.
"We don't need twenty or forty-year-old apprentices," one burly dwarf grumbled in a thick accent. "Kids' help is cheap and they don't talk back."
Demir's shoulders slumped. "No one wants to take a twenty-one-year-old as an apprentice. I guess we should look for other jobs."
A very old elven lady approached them. Her hair was white as snow, her face lined with centuries of life, but her eyes were sharp. "Hey, you kids looking for jobs?"
Marven stepped forward eagerly. "We are. Do you need help? We can do anything."
The elven lady nodded slowly. "My blacksmith husband died long ago, and I'm getting too old to get the work done. Most of the orders are gone. Help me finish this nail job, and I can give you a silver. How is that?"
A man passed by, apparently another shop owner by the looks of it, a crafter of some kind. "Huh! A silver for three people? Slavery was abolished years ago, granny Velori. Kids, find a transporting job, a cleaning job. She's a cheapskate."
Velori scurried at the man with surprising speed. "Get lost, you piece of shit! Like he ever helped all those years!" She shooed him away and turned back to them with a forced smile. "Come on, kids. What do you say?"
Demir considered. "Sure, there are no other jobs anyway. But it's just me and Marco. She's not really my helper."
Velori waved dismissively. "I don't care who works as long as someone does the job."
She took them through back alleys of the shop area and entered an almost-ruined blacksmith workshop. The door was broken free from its hinges and just leaning against the wall. Inside was a mess of coals, pliers, and tools scattered everywhere. Worst of all, the forge seemed half broken, its stones crumbling and its chimney partially collapsed.
Demir gulped.
Marco stared in disbelief. "Just cleaning and fixing this place will take at least a week."
Marven put her hands on her hips. "Come on, guys, don't start complaining. A start is a start. I can help with the cleaning." She began assigning tasks. "Demir, gather the junk. Marco, fix the broken things. And I can sweep and wipe the dirt."
Demir looked at the mess, then at Velori's hopeful face, and sighed.
It was a start.