#9

The capital of Dryvener was unlike anything Arwenzylle had ever imagined. Its towering spires and bustling markets were a stark contrast to the quiet, bleak orphanage she had left behind. The streets were alive with energy—merchants shouting their wares, street performers captivating crowds, and the distinct clang of blacksmiths at work echoing through the alleys.

But Arwenzylle kept her hood low and her steps quick. Her escape from the soldiers had left her with nothing but her resolve and the whisper of hope that Duke Veynar was here. She avoided the main streets, sticking to the labyrinth of alleys that snaked through the city like veins.

It was there, in the shadows of the alleyways, that she first sensed she wasn’t alone. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as the faint scuff of boots against cobblestone reached her ears. She turned sharply into a narrow passage, her hand gripping the hilt of her rusty dagger.

“Following a child? A bit beneath you, don’t you think?” a low, resonant voice cut through the silence, freezing Arwenzylle in her tracks.

From the shadows ahead, a cloaked figure stepped forward, his presence commanding despite the humble attire. He didn’t draw a weapon, but the sheer intensity of his gaze was enough to stop her pursuers in their tracks.

“Duke Veynar,” one of the men stammered, taking a step back.

The cloaked figure—Duke Veynar—said nothing, his piercing eyes flicking between the men. With a single, deliberate motion, he reached for the sword at his side, though he didn’t unsheath it. The men exchanged nervous glances before retreating, disappearing down the alley without another word.

Silence settled once more, broken only by the faint hum of the city beyond.

“Come out,” Veynar said, his voice calm but firm. “I know you’re there.”

Arwenzylle hesitated, her heart pounding. But she knew better than to run. Stepping out of the shadows, she kept her head low, clutching the dagger in her hand.

Veynar studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “That was bold,” he said finally, nodding toward the weapon in her grip. “But foolish. A blade like that wouldn’t save you against them.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Arwenzylle replied, her voice trembling but steady. “And I won’t apologize for trying to survive.”

A flicker of something—respect, perhaps—passed through his eyes. “You’re braver than most. But bravery alone won’t get you far.”

She took a step forward, her small frame dwarfed by his presence. “I know who you are,” she said, her voice rising with determination. “Duke Veynar of Whales. The man who fought an army and won. The man even the Emperor of Windhurge respects. I came here to find you.”

Veynar raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “And why would a child be looking for me?”

“Because I need your help,” she said, her fists clenching at her sides. “Teach me how to fight. Teach me how to survive. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his gaze weighing her words as if testing their sincerity. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the alley.

“You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that,” he said, his laughter fading into a smirk. “But do you even know what you’re asking for? The path you want to take is one of blood and pain. It’s not something a child should bear.”

Arwenzylle met his gaze, her voice steady and firm. “I’m not just a child. I’ve already faced death, and I’ll do it again if I have to. But I won’t let anyone else decide my fate. Not anymore.”

Veynar studied her for a long moment, then sighed, his expression softening. “Very well. If you’re so determined to ruin your life, I won’t stop you.” He turned, motioning for her to follow. “But don’t expect mercy from me. If you want to survive, you’ll have to earn it.”

Arwenzylle’s heart swelled with a mix of relief and apprehension. She had found him—the Duke of Whales. And now, her fight to change her fate would truly begin.

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