Ch5:Start of the journey.

Two years had passed since the night of the explosion in the alley, and Archeas was now twelve years old. The years had been kind to him in some ways, harsh in others. He had grown taller, leaner, and a bit wiser. His face bore the marks of hard living, but his eyes still held a spark of determination.

He had managed to secure a job as a sewer cleaner, earning 60 brass coins a week. The work was filthy and exhausting, but it provided a steady income and a semblance of stability in his otherwise chaotic life. Archeas found himself grateful for the routine, even if it meant descending into the dark, stinking bowels of Crolas each day.

One afternoon, as he emerged from the sewer, covered in grime but with a pocket full of coins, Archeas felt a rare sense of satisfaction. The job allowed him to afford decent food and a more secure sleeping place—a small, rundown room he rented in a boarding house.

"Not the life I dreamed of," he thought, "but it's better than the streets."

After collecting his pay from the overseer, he decided to treat himself to a warm meal at a nearby tavern. As he sat at a corner table, savoring the hearty stew and fresh bread, his mind wandered back to the mysterious items in his possession. The parchment, key, and ring still puzzled him, though he had learned a bit more about their nature over the past two years.

"It's magic," he reminded himself, feeling the familiar pulsing energy within him. "Real magic, and somehow it's tied to me."

He had sought out information where he could, talking to anyone who seemed knowledgeable about the arcane. Bits and pieces of lore had come his way, but nothing that fully explained the power he felt inside or the purpose of the items he carried.

"One day," he mused, taking another bite of bread, "I'll find someone who can teach me everything. For now, I just have to keep surviving."

As he finished his meal and paid the tavern keeper, Archeas stepped out into the fading light of the evening. The streets of Crolas were alive with activity, vendors calling out their wares and children playing in the narrow alleys. Despite the challenges, there was a vibrancy to the city that he had come to appreciate.

Walking back to his boarding house, Archeas thought about how far he had come since that fateful night two years ago. He had found a way to make his life a bit easier, but the mysteries he carried with him were still unsolved. The pulsing energy, the symbols on the parchment, the ring—they all hinted at a destiny beyond the life of a sewer cleaner.

"One day," he vowed, "I'll understand it all. I'll find my place in this world, whatever it takes."

One day, as Archeas was returning from his job, he was tired and covered in grime from the sewers. He wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings and accidentally bumped into a standing carriage, some of the filth from his clothes smearing onto its polished surface.

"Watch where you're going, you filthy urchin!" the merchant inside the carriage snapped, his face contorting with disgust. "Look at what you've done to my carriage!"

Archeas felt a surge of anger at the man's harsh words. He had heard worse in his life, but something about the merchant's tone and the sheer disdain in his eyes triggered a familiar resolve in him.

"Sorry, sir," Archeas said, bowing his head submissively. But as he did so, his fingers moved with practiced stealth, lifting the merchant's coin pouch from his belt. "Won't happen again."

The merchant scowled, muttering more insults as Archeas quickly moved away, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and satisfaction. He hurried back to his room, barely able to contain his excitement until he could count his haul.

Once safely inside, he dumped the contents of the pouch onto his bed. He stared in amazement at the pile of brass coins. Adding them to his existing savings, he now had a total of 1300 brass coins.

"Maybe getting angry isn't so bad after all," he chuckled, feeling the weight of the coins. "This should be enough to get me out of here."

For months, Archeas had been toying with the idea of leaving Crolas, feeling that the city's narrow streets and dark alleys could no longer contain his ambitions. The mysteries of the old man's items still haunted him, and he knew he needed to explore further, to find someone who could help him understand his burgeoning magical abilities.

"Three more days," he decided, staring out of the small window in his room. "Three more days to get everything in order, then I'm leaving this place."

Archeas spent the next few days making preparations. He purchased provisions, a sturdy cloak, and a map of the surrounding regions. He also took care to stash his valuables—parchment, key, and ring—securely within his belongings.

The night before his planned departure, he sat in his room, the pulsing energy within him a constant reminder of the power he carried. He pulled out the parchment one last time, tracing the symbols with his finger.

"Tomorrow, I'll be on my way to finding answers," he murmured. "No more sewers, no more street life. It's time to see what lies beyond Crolas."

As dawn broke, Archeas took out his cleanest clothes and got dressed, carefully buttoning up his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles in his trousers. He pulled on his sturdy cloak, slipped into his worn but reliable shoes, and slung his packed bag over his shoulder.

Before leaving, he took a moment to look at the ring once more. The grayish-black metal with its immaculate carvings still fascinated him. "Maybe it's time you came with me," he murmured, slipping the ring onto his finger. It felt surprisingly warm and seemed to fit perfectly, as if it was meant for him.

With a deep breath, Archeas stepped out of his room and made his way through the quiet streets of Crolas. The city was still waking up, the first light of dawn casting a soft glow on the cobblestones. He walked with purpose, each step taking him closer to the edge of the city and his waiting caravan.

Arriving at the caravan, he was greeted by the driver, a burly man with a kind smile. "Ready for your journey, lad?" the driver asked, eyeing Archeas's small but well-packed bag.

"Yes, sir," Archeas replied, trying to hide his nervousness. "I've been ready for a long time."

"Good," the driver said, helping Archeas onto the caravan. "We leave in just a moment. You can sit here and get comfortable. It's a long ride."

Archeas settled into his seat, the ring on his finger feeling like a reassuring presence. As the caravan began to move, he looked back at the city of Crolas, watching it slowly recede into the distance.

"Goodbye, old life," he whispered. "Hello, new adventures."

The road ahead was long and uncertain, but Archeas felt a sense of freedom and excitement he hadn't known before. The mysteries of his past, the potential of his magic, and the promise of new discoveries filled his mind.

As the caravan trundled along, Archeas allowed himself to dream. He imagined finding a mentor who could teach him about magic, uncovering the secrets of the parchment and key, and perhaps even discovering the true purpose of the ring now resting on his finger.

"Whatever lies ahead," he thought, determination lighting his eyes, "I'll face it head-on. This is just the beginning."

With the city of Crolas behind him and the open road ahead, Archeas's journey into the unknown had truly begun.