Chapter 133: The Western University
The following day, we made toward the distant city. With the end of our month-long journey in sight, Soltair and Trithe were in high spirits, constantly skipping ahead, only turning and waiting impatiently for me to catch up. Fyren remained at my side, but I felt somewhat awkward around him. Why exactly was he so interested in me? As we approached the city through a low, winding valley, I recognized the towering walls. They rested high above us, built into the mountain itself, but the tips of the central citadel peaked behind the stone curtains.
I took a shaky breath, summoning my staff just so I had something to hold on to. Judging from the lack of damage, the dragon had yet to strike, but for how long? As far as I could tell, none of my visions had been inaccurate, although many hadn’t come to pass yet, which meant it was only a matter of time.
As we got within range of regular human vision, curious heads began appearing over the parapets. I couldn’t blame them. We approached from the depths of the mountains, far from the normal routes travelers and merchants followed. The reception was warm, however, especially once they realized our identities.
As they directed us toward a nearby side gate, I reached into my spatial satchel, my fingers finding the soft folds of the enchanted cloak. I hesitated, peering up at the guards atop the walls. We were too far below for them to get a good look at my features, so I could still hide myself.
A subtle pressure washed over me, and I turned to find Fyren watching me. His gentle smile gave me pause, and I slowly nodded. I released a pent-up breath and dropped my satchel.
"No cloak?" Soltair asked, eying me curiously. Suddenly, his expression fell, and leaned over, whispering, "Does the Sunpurge still hurt?"
I shook my head, not quite sure how to respond. "I, uh, think it’s better this way."
The harsh shriek of metal ripped through the air as the gates opened. As the heavy wooden doors swung aside, a fully assembled troop of guards raised their swords, saluting us. Although their chests heaved as though they’d been sprinting, their eyes gleamed excitedly. A violet rose was stamped on each of their steel breastplates, the crest of the Western University.
"Welcome, heroes!" A grizzled man exclaimed with dark, gray-flecked hair. Unlike the armored guards, he wore fine robes and carried a golden staff. The items glowed so brightly it didn’t take the Eyes of Fate to know they were magical.
Soltair took the lead and stepped through the gate, pulling the rest of us behind him in his wake. "I’m afraid we must skip the pleasantries. I need to speak with the City Lord."