Chapter 39: Mages
The mages arrived, but it was different from what Drahon had anticipated.
He had expected war, brutality, and him doing some berserk things, but what his eyes met was simply shocking.
The mages arrived tattered and burned, their robes scorched at the hems, some stained with dried blood. Their faces were hollow with exhaustion, eyes sunken from days of travel and battle. Most clutched their staves like lifelines, though some were too injured to even stand straight.
Their armor, once decorated with glowing arcane sigils, now flickered dimly, magic nearly drained. A few still carried the scent of ash and smoke, the remnants of the battlefield clinging to them like a curse. Despite their condition, something fierce lingered in their eyes, perhaps remnants of pride, of loyalty to a kingdom that no longer stood.
Drahon stood facing them, guards flanking him from both sides, holding swords and shields, ready to strike if they noticed foul play.
Galen, Liora, and the others stood, looking at the guards in surprise.
"You were right, m’lord," Marwen said. "There are mages but..., they do not come for war."
Drahon squinted his eyes as he looked at the mages, his demeanor carrying authority. Think of a seventeen-year-old acting like a grown man, that was what Drahon was doing.
He always knew he had it in him, to do some bit of acting.
"Since you do not come to fight," Drahon said. "What do you come for?"
A mage stepped forward from the others, staggering as he walked closer to Drahon. He bowed, looking at the ground, and began to speak:
"M’lord, we come to seek refuge."