The city of Vieyovern, located in the barony of Viravieyont within the Esteta Kingdom, was a place that could be reached in a single day's carriage ride from the kingdom's capital. Yet, despite its proximity to the capital, the city's size and appearance were more akin to a modest rural manor. Its dark gray stone walls, covered in moss, and the soldiers patrolling atop them in thick metal armor gave it the look of a small fortress guarding the kingdom's outskirts rather than a proper city.
On a small hill overlooking this city stood the modest castle of the Baron of Viravieyont. The castle's walls were not particularly high, and its main tower was adorned with plain stone statues, lacking any grand embellishments. There was no moat to speak of. The courtyard, however, was spacious, filled with several stables and carriages, a reflection of the baron's fondness for riding horses.
In the eyes of the world, the baron was known as the "Treasure-Hunter Baron." The story behind this nickname was not particularly complex. Twenty years ago, the baron had been an adventurer, wandering from city to town, sometimes sleeping by a roadside campfire. Through a series of fortunate coincidences, he came into possession of a gemstone. By yet another stroke of luck, this gemstone found its way onto the finger of the current king, Ricas IX, transforming the young adventurer into the lord of Vieyovern, a small city near the capital, and granting him the title and estate of Viravieyont.
From the day he was granted the barony, the baron's life changed beyond comparison to his days as an adventurer. He could eat rich, fatty meats at every meal, sleep until his back and hips ached without worry, and drink without calculating how many coins remained in his purse. Twenty years had passed since he began living the life of a noble, and the baron's appearance had changed as well.
Though wrinkles now lined his face, his cheeks were plump and rosy, giving him a lively and vibrant look. His graying beard was neatly trimmed, and his mustache, in particular, curled upward toward his cheeks in a comical fashion. Despite spending much of his time riding around the city's outskirts rather than staying in the confines of the small, stifling city, he had not gained much weight. However, the toned muscles of his adventuring days were gone, and his shoulders, once broad enough to bear heavy armor, had narrowed, now struggling under the weight of even a thick cloth cloak.
After growing accustomed to the life of a baron rather than an adventurer, many more years passed. One day, well into the afternoon, the baron rose late and was about to begin his day with a meal of lamb cooked with herbs and spices, accompanied by sweet honeyed wine. Just then, a servant approached and informed him that someone had requested an audience. Suppressing a burp, the baron asked, "Who in the world is asking for me…?" The servant replied that it was a stranger, someone he had never seen before. However, the visitor had said, "The baron will understand my meaning. Tell him I am a merchant come to sell the Eye of Velahirr." The servant added that the stranger was currently waiting in the castle's hall.
The baron, stroking the greasy ends of his mustache still slick from the lamb dish, widened his eyes and turned sharply to the servant.
"The Eye of Velahirr?! Did you say the Eye of Velahirr? Are you certain that's what was said?"
"Yes, my lord." the servant replied.
"I heard it clearly with my own ears—the Eye of Velahirr."
"Is he still waiting? I'll see him at once. Bring him in immediately!"
Urged on by the baron's insistence, the servant hurriedly left the room. By the time the servant returned with the visitor, the tea brought for after the meal had cooled to a pleasant temperature. Following the servant was an old man dressed in a tattered hood and cloak, stepping into the room where the baron waited.
Beneath the hood, a white beard hung from a square jaw, and the man's cloak was covered in dust and stains. His hands were clasped politely in front of him as he walked with slow, careful steps, as if trying not to make a sound.
Guided by the servant, the old man sat across from the baron at the long dining table. Setting down his teacup, the baron asked, "You said you wished to sell me the Eye of Velahirr?"
"Yes, my lord." the old man replied.
"The Eye of Velahirr."
Velahirr. A mythical creature mentioned even in the writings of the renowned adventurer and scholar Undur Nabazarr. A small dragon with blue scales and pale pink patterns, it was so rare that only twelve recorded sightings existed in all of history, eight of which were discoveries of its bones. The reason this small blue dragon was so famous was its eight eyes.
Its eyes, blue like its scales with golden pupils, shimmered with an orange hue depending on their movement and the light they caught, sometimes glowing like a bright yellow sun. The dragon was called a "phantom dragon" for another reason: upon its death, its eyes hardened and turned transparent, transforming into gem-like stones.
Known as a creature whose beauty was perfected in death, the Eye of Velahirr was a radiant gem that rivaled any jewel in the world, coveted by all across the continent.
"Did you capture the Velahirr yourself?" the baron asked, leaning forward to get a better look at the old man's face beneath the hood.
"No, my lord." the old man replied.
"I found only the remains and the eyes within its skull."
"You were lucky, then. How many eyes were in that skull?"
"Two, my lord. They seem to be the smallest of its eyes. I searched the area for others, but it was in vain."
"Show them to me. I want to see the Eyes of Velahirr with my own eyes."
At the baron's request, the old man rose from his seat and slowly approached the baron's side. From within his cloak, he produced a small pouch that fit in the palm of his hand and handed it to the baron. The baron summoned a servant to bring gloves and a tray lined with soft cloth, then carefully placed the contents of the pouch onto the tray.
"Good heavens… It's true…" the baron murmured. "Twenty years, perhaps? No, even longer…"
Two Eyes of Velahirr gleamed on the white cloth atop the tray, their transparent blue forms encasing what looked like tiny suns trapped within. Their mesmerizing orange glow captivated the beholder. Holding one of the small gems between his thumb and forefinger, the baron gazed at it, his mind drifting back to his days as an adventurer. After a moment, he set the gem down and turned to the old man.
"Do you have a price in mind?"
In his younger days, the baron might have haggled fiercely or tried to extract something more from the deal. But unlike other nobles, he had never indulged in extravagance, and his coffers were filled with wealth accumulated over the years. Thus, the negotiation with the old man was brief. For a sum equivalent to several years' worth of the barony's taxes, the baron became the owner of the pair of Velahirr's Eyes.
The Eyes of Velahirr. These gem-like eyes of the small dragon held a charm beyond their beauty as jewels. Word of the baron, who had lived frugally for over twenty years, spending a fortune to acquire them spread among the people of the barony.
The baron had rarely spent large sums, save for the occasional lavish meal where three or four lambs were slaughtered to prepare a variety of dishes. His clothing, the furniture and paintings decorating the castle, and even the carriages he used were all purchased under his directive to the servants: "Something befitting a noble's status, but nothing excessive."
After acquiring the Eyes of Velahirr, a small change crept into the baron's routine. His days remained much like those of any noble—rising late in the morning, going hunting, or pacing the castle to settle his stomach after overeating. But as the sun set and the late evening arrived, he would retreat to his room and gaze at the Eyes of Velahirr, a new ritual added to the end of his day.
One day, perhaps desiring a brighter room, the baron ordered his servants to bring additional lanterns to illuminate his chambers. From then on, every night, he would sit in the brightly lit room, holding the pair of small gems, turning them this way and that in the light, admiring them until sleep overtook him.
Aside from using more lanterns and waking later than usual, these were minor changes to his routine. Then, one afternoon, a small box arrived, commissioned from a workshop in the capital to house the Eyes of Velahirr. Taking the box in one hand and a jar of lantern oil in the other, the baron headed to his room earlier than usual.
Opening the box, the baron gazed at the Eyes of Velahirr resting on the soft white cloth within.
"Truly a beautiful gem." he murmured.
"No matter how often I look, I never tire of it…"
The box itself, carved from drake bone and adorned with small pearls, was a work of art crafted by a renowned workshop in the capital. But to the baron, whose eyes and heart were captivated by the Eyes of Velahirr, it was merely a sturdy container to protect his precious treasure.
As more time passed and the sun set, the hoots of owls echoed from the forest beyond the castle. Surrounded by the light of multiple lanterns and the soft glow of a brass mirror hanging behind them, the baron rose from his seat, stretched his stiff back and hips, and walked to a cabinet in the corner of his bedroom where bottles of liquor were kept. Pouring a full glass of wine, he returned to his seat.
Sipping slowly from the glass, the baron held the closed box aloft, turning it this way and that. Suddenly, his expression darkened. Frowning, he narrowed his eyes and brought the box closer to his face.
"What's this… this black smudge? It's bothersome…"
A small black spot, like a stain, marred the side of the box. He tried to rub it away with his finger, but the mark seemed to be part of the drake bone material itself, not a surface blemish.
"I'll have to send a servant to the workshop tomorrow to inquire about this stain." the baron thought, taking a deep breath and letting out a long sigh as he leaned back in his chair.
To think that a box commissioned to hold such precious gems would have a flaw. Disappointed after days of anticipation, the baron sighed once more and rose from his chair.