The Kingdom of Solvaris stretched far beyond the small town of Ashford, and though Jones Frost had once marched through its borders as a soldier, this was the first time he had truly seen it with his own eyes.
With hesitant courage, he guided his safe along the cobbled road until he reached the towering gate of the outer city.
To enter the capital, one needed identification
either a family name registered within the kingdom, or the household one intended to visit. Since the end of the war, new policies and peace treaties had changed almost everything.
Jones knew none of this.
The gatekeeper eyed him for a long moment, then leaned close, whispering with a sly grin,
"You needn't show me those papers… You look like a man who hasn't got any. Why don't you simply pay me, eh?"
Jones stared at him silently before handing over the small pouch of coins Alina had given him.
The gatekeeper raised his brows.
"Are you certain?"
Jones nodded once.
The man stepped aside. "Very well. Enter."
Beyond the gate lay not the royal capital itself, but the great outer city
a vast, bustling place through which all travelers passed before reaching the kingdom proper. Merchants shouted over newspapers, townsfolk debated the rapidly changing rules of the realm, and new inventions unknown to Jones passed by in strange shapes and forms.
He moved through the streets quietly, absorbing every unfamiliar sight. Women gossiping near a storefront whispered about peculiar happenings; men hurried past clutching broadsheets filled with political news and trade reforms.
Everything had changed since the war.
And he understood none of it.
As he continued on, he entered a less reputable district of the city, a place known as Goldspire. Its name was sweet, but its alleyways were not. The deeper he went, the narrower the streets became, until he reached a dark corner where a group of rough-looking youths were beating a man and stripping him of his belongings.
Jones walked past without a word, indifferent to their shouts and blows.
Noticing his fine black coat and clean appearance, the boys turned toward him, thinking him wealthy enough to rob. But before they could approach, the Enforcers
the kingdom's policing authority
arrived. The thieves scattered instantly.
Unfortunately, the Enforcers did not believe Jones to be innocent.
Nor did the victim, who, disoriented and bleeding, pointed at him in fear.
Within moments, both men were thrown into the local prison.
Jones said nothing.
He simply looked around the cell, studying the faces of the prisoners passing by.
After a long silence, he asked a single question:
"What is the name of this place? Am I close to the main kingdom?"
The robbed man stared at him as though he were mad.
"Is this a jest? Do you mean to say you know not where you stand? Are you of this kingdom or from one of the neighbouring lands?"
Since the end of the war, many borders, cities, and titles had been renamed. Jones knew nothing of these changes.
After six long hours, the Enforcers finally released them.
Outside the station, the battered man turned to him.
"My name is Torin Gareth."
Jones nodded in acknowledgment.
Gareth hesitated, then motioned him forward. "Come with me."
Jones followed him through the winding streets until they reached a modest inn.
"This," Gareth declared, "is where you shall sleep for tonight. I own this place. Consider it… repayment. You stayed in the cell with me, after all."
Jones didn't fully understand the gratitude
he had done nothing. But he had no other place to go; the map Alina gave him had been lost somewhere along the way. He accepted without protest.
The next morning, an inn employee entered Jones's room carrying folded clothes.
"Sir Gareth asked me to deliver these," he said with a bow. "He also said to thank you
for staying with him through the night in the prison cell. This is his apology."
Jones blinked slowly.
Why thank me? I merely existed beside him, he wondered.
Still, he accepted the clothing and dressed.
By the time he stepped out into the hall, he no longer resembled the forgotten man who had left Ashford.
The suit was finely cut, black from collar to hem. His shoes shone. A simple black hat rested atop his cleanly trimmed hair. Every part of him
his bearing, his posture, his appearance had shifted.
He looked, for the first time in years, like a man of noble blood.
Like someone the world might finally notice again.