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“Vaster, even. But its beauty goes beyond mere size. Izadmond’s allure is in its setting.

Imagine a city carved into the mountain itself, with every street revealing a different view.

It sprawls from the peaks down to the valley.

It’s ancient too, one of the oldest cities on the continent, and every stone holds stories of the past.”

The genuine love in his voice makes me wonder what it’s like to be so deeply attached to a place. “It sounds like a dream. Ahiras always spoke of the East as a graveyard of once-great cities.”

Darian snorts. “Lies, mostly. Izadmond is not ruined, but it is not at its glory either. It isn’t as prosperous as Shemiran or Jamheer, that’s true.

Yes, there are slums here, but they seem functional, not like some of the hovels back in Izadmond.

Wealth doesn’t flow there as freely anymore, which is a tragedy.

It pains me to see our true potential choked. ”

“How so?”

“Izadmond sits on the perfect trade route. Our ports are the closest to Aethelon and Vyllia, making us prime candidates for cross-continental trade. But merchants crave safety, and that is what we struggle to provide.” A shadow crosses his face, and again, I’m struck by the love he has for his home.

“Tales of Daevas, their altered monster raids, and their unexpected settlements make travel a risky gamble. It’s a real shame. ”

“Doesn’t Martysh have checkpoints along the Doozak Mountains? How do Daevas manage to cross them?”

Darian nods slightly. “The Izadeon border stretches a fearsome length along the mountains, and though there are both Martysh and Izadeonian watchtowers, even the most vigilant eyes can be breached. These creatures slither through like shadows and build their festering nests on the heights overlooking the passes.”

Living with such a constant threat at the borders, trapped in a never-ending cycle of violence, must be a heavy burden to bear. My heart aches for them, for the sacrifices they have made, for the battles they have fought, and for the ones they have lost.

I recall our history lessons in Firelands that painted a completely different picture.

We were told that when the Great War was declared over, the eastern provinces, especially Izadeon, vehemently opposed the treaty and the establishment of Firelands due to the teachings of the Faith, which had a long history of instigating violence against sorcerers.

I voice my newfound doubts. “We were always told Izadeon’s hatred for sorcerers fueled their refusal to accept the Great War’s end and Firelands’s establishment.

But it seems Izadeon was right all those years ago.

The true threat never truly vanished. And the war…

perhaps it should have continued beyond the mountains before it was declared over and the treaty was signed. ”

Darian’s lips twist into a bitter smile.

“For Izadeon, the war never truly ended. That much is certain. And it would not end until the army of men ventures beyond the mountains to eradicate the Daevas. However, you would not be wrong to assume that hatred runs deep in the East. Even to this day, many, especially followers of the Faith, blame sorcerers for the Great War. They think they were the ones who ventured beyond the mountains and corrupted the Daevas into savages through alteration magic.”

“Do you believe that? That sorcerers were behind the Daeva attack?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Darian admits.

“There are records of sorcerers trespassing south of Izadeon for decades before the war, but how they passed the mountains unharmed is a mystery. And to me, it’s all irrelevant to our current predicament.

I’d rather not rely on speculation and hate.

Our problem is the Daevas. That’s what I want to focus on solving—not what altered them or motivated their ambush.

Blaming sorcery is a distraction, often rooted in pure ignorance, and is mostly found among the uneducated, the poor, and those clinging to blind Faith peddled by the Temple and the Dartheon court.

It’s easier to point fingers than to admit their own ineptitude. ”

I blink in surprise. In our monarch-less continent, High Lord Demar Dartheon, like all High Lords, is a king in all but name. But here stands an Izadeonian, expressing such blatant scorn for his own liege!

“Does the High Lord assume any responsibility for the state of the province?”

Darian lets out a harsh, humorless bark of laughter.

“Responsibility? Of course. A competent ruler can make a difference, even when facing monstrous threats. But the Dartheons? Incompetence seems to be their hereditary trait. The previous High Lord, Dmitro Dartheon, was a tyrant masquerading as a benevolent leader, spilling the blood of his kin as easily as he poured himself a drink. He secretly assassinated all his brothers and their sons out of fear of treason. His son, Demar, may not rule through fear, but he is no less ineffectual. Demar spends more time with courtesans and wine than attending to the needs of the province. Thankfully, we have Bahador’s father, who is the true power behind the throne and keeps Izadeon afloat while High Lord Demar squanders its resources. ”

“You seem to love Izadeon so much. Why did you decide to leave, then?”

Darian hesitates for a moment, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he appears to be struggling to respond.

He opens his mouth, looks at me, and then immediately closes it.

I can’t decipher the emotion in his eyes, but it almost seems like…

guilt? Whatever it is, I immediately regret asking the question.

I know what it feels like not to want to discuss something you’re embarrassed about, and I wish I hadn’t put him in this position.

But before I can change the subject, he says, “I’ve wanted to leave for as long as I can remember.

All through my childhood, I planted the seeds of my escape.

I kept dreaming about mounting my favorite horse and riding off to some unknown, distant place where no one knew who I was—living free of expectation and shame.

I only told Faelas and Bahador about my plans, inviting them to join me.

But at the time, Faelas was preparing to join Madrisa as soon as he turned sixteen, and Bahador never wanted anything in life except to become a commander in the Izadeonian army.

So, I decided to leave without them. I even had a bag packed with my most valuable belongings, waiting for my sixteenth birthday.

” He sighs. “Faelas’s father died a few days before my planned departure.

Other events occurred soon after that, which changed my plans. It… changed me.”

Darian’s voice softens slightly, and his gaze becomes distant as if he is talking to a ghost or perhaps just to himself. I hold my breath, not wanting to disturb this fragile moment. It feels almost like he has stumbled upon a hidden door within himself—one that leads to his long-forgotten dreams.

But then, as quickly as it appeared, that look vanishes. He turns to me, his eyes regaining their familiar warmth, and smiles—the smile that makes my insides melt like butter on hot bread.

“This might sound strange, Arien, but you remind me of those lost dreams. Of the boy I used to be, the one who dreamed of escaping the walls of his world and venturing into the unknown. Maybe it’s because you actually did what I never dared to do—you left.

You ignored expectations and chased your own desires.

” He pauses, and there’s a hint of wistfulness in his eyes.

He runs a hand through his hair. “These days, I find myself dreaming again. Dreaming of leaving—not just with Bahador and Faelas, but with you, too. The four of us, riding off into the sunset, with no destination in mind, the wind at our backs and the open road ahead.”

His words strike me like a bolt of lightning.

He wants me to be part of his dream escape?

And he’s crediting me with reawakening that dream in him?

It feels as if someone took my heart, dipped it in warm honey, and sprinkled it with stardust. I, Arien, the girl who always felt worthless, am somehow a source of inspiration for this incredible man.

A wave of unfamiliar emotions fills me—a longing, an attachment, a sense of connection so profound it is almost frightening.

It feels foreign, yet familiar, like a melody I’d heard in a dream.

It is as if I’ve known Darian my whole life as if our souls have already danced together in some distant realm as we planned for shared adventures and whispered secrets under a starlit sky.

“Well, damn. We got so caught up in the sights and sounds I completely forgot to sketch a map of the town,” Darian suddenly exclaims, bringing me back to the moment.

I grin at him. “Don’t worry. I remember it.”