The wind moved gently through the northern walls of Arsenic, stirring the crimson banners of the city watch and sending little dust devils down its sun-stained roads. From atop the central gate, City Lord Elric stood beside Kalem, watching the last of the carts roll away from the forge annex—empty now, save for smoke trails and the scent of iron.
"You're truly leaving then?" Elric asked, arms folded behind his back.
Kalem stood straight, his lean frame casting a long shadow across the stone. "Yes. Your city is good, Elric. Kind. More so than many I've seen. But the world is vast, and I've been still too long."
The lord gave a small nod. "Will you walk into war again?"
"Not unless it walks into me first," Kalem said. Then he paused. "But I won't leave you defenseless."
With that, he reached sideways into the air—and from the space beside him, a long staff unfolded. Pale silver in color, wrapped in thread lines of faint blue mana. The runes etched into its shaft pulsed once as if aware of its own significance.
"When the sky darkens, and you see no other way," Kalem said, handing the staff over, "plant this into the highest terrace stone and speak the phrase 'Vaelor Ascendit.' It will raise a shield across your walls. Not forever—but long enough."
Elric took it in both hands, surprised by the weight, but more by the warmth that pulsed through it. "This is..."
"A farewell," Kalem said simply.
And then he turned, cloak whipping around his heels, and walked away from the city he had sheltered, healed, and left stronger than when he came.
The road beyond Arsenic was wild and winding. Stone turned to sand, then to moss-covered clay as the two travelers moved northward. Kalem walked with measured strides, his boots silent despite the terrain. Beside him, Garrick kept pace, his journal clutched beneath one arm, his satchel bouncing lightly against his hip.
"You still haven't told me what direction we're headed," Garrick said, ducking beneath a low branch.
"Wherever the wind leads," Kalem replied.
"That's not a direction. That's a mood."
Kalem gave him a sidelong glance. "Isn't your job to follow the mood of men?"
"I'm a recorder," Garrick said, adjusting his collar, "Not a poet. I watch the deeds of strange folk and write them down before time forgets. That's the official part."
"And the rest?"
"The rest is traveling with a friend," Garrick said with a shrug. "I've been paid to follow kings, conquerors, and broken lords. But they never shared apples or shielded strangers for the sake of it. You did. That alone is worth more ink than ten battle scrolls."
Kalem looked back to the road. "Most travelers would weep from envy if they knew you were paid to walk."
"And most lords would faint if they knew you gave away a city shield for free," Garrick quipped.
Kalem smirked.
They walked a while in silence, broken only by birdsong and the distant call of a merchant's bell. As they reached a stone outcrop overlooking a field of quiet grass, Garrick leaned on his staff and said, "You know, people might think you're directionless."
"Perhaps," Kalem said. "But I have my gift. And as long as I can make things, I have purpose."
"And what shall you make next?" Garrick asked, genuinely curious.
"A weapon," Kalem said without hesitation. "Something on the level of Sol. Or beyond it."
Garrick raised a brow. "What could warrant something beyond Sol? It carved flames through steel and erased cavalry in seconds."
"Sol was fire," Kalem said. "But not all battles are fought in heat. Some require ice. Others—gravity, light, sound. I have ideas. But I need rare things."
"Like what?"
Kalem's eyes narrowed. "Void crystal. Frostroot. The dust of a sleeping star. Things forgotten or buried."
"Lovely," Garrick sighed. "Let me just scribble that into my shopping list beneath dried pears and candle wax."
Kalem chuckled under his breath. "Relax, historian. I'm not asking you to find them. Just to write what happens when I do."
"And what if you never find them?"
Kalem looked up, toward the horizon. "Then I will still walk. Still build. Still help. Until I do."
That evening, they made camp beneath a crooked tree by a slow-moving brook. Kalem gathered twigs and lit a controlled flame from a flick of his palm, while Garrick pulled out dried bread and a bit of cheese saved from the city kitchen.
The fire crackled quietly.
"Did you ever think you'd be this?" Garrick asked. "The kind of man who forges gifts for strangers and walks roads with no map?"
"I thought I'd be dead," Kalem answered.
Garrick blinked.
"I mean it," Kalem continued, tearing a piece of bread in half. "There were days when all I lived for was the next battle. Days I believed my life would end with a sword in my hand and blood in my teeth."
"And now?"
"Now... I've seen how a wheel can change a life. And I think that's more powerful than a spear."
Garrick smiled, finally, and clinked his tin cup against Kalem's. "To wheels. And stars. And whatever madness you drag me into next."
Kalem raised his own. "To recording it all. Whether we succeed—or burn."