As the first light of dawn crept into the horizon, the cave dwellers arose and prepared to greet the day. The morning ritual began: they went to the meadow, and once again, as if under some magical spell, the village emerged from the magical chests. Wooden houses, tents, and small buildings came out of the reduced forms, combining to form the bustling little village where everyone would spend the day.
George, now well rested and with determination in his heart, set out for the adventure that lay before him. He was presented with an old, worn-out trunk made of pure, ancient leather. It had clothes, simple but robust, that would carry him through the numerous days that stretched ahead. A cart, hauled by two strong horses, stood ready for him. The journey in front of him was long, but it had to be done if he was ever to meet up with the sorcerer and receive answers to AlbëToryl's mysteries.
Minerva approached George with a sad but soft face. She wished to accompany him, but her position as the leader, guardian, and mother to her people tied her to the village. Her heart was heavy as she approached George, talking softly and with emotion.
"You are destined for a life that will change you, George," Minerva began softly. "You have been bold and strong, and now you embark on the unknown, not a stranger but a belonger. You will sometimes feel lost, but always remember that the citizens of AlbëToryl stand behind you. You carry our hope on this journey. Have faith in yourselves, and have faith in those who travel beside you. And when you ever find yourselves weighed down with doubt, look to your griffin—he will guide you."
She placed her hand on his shoulder, her eyes shining with unspoken words. "I will wait for your return, as will this land. Go with our blessings, George."
Mia stood at some distance, observing the scene before her. She longed to accompany him, to explore the world outside the meadow and be by his side, but she was where she was supposed to be, beside Minerva. Even so, she couldn't help but grin with her mind's eye picturing George on this grand adventure. She met his gaze and nodded, her silent goodbye for the time being.
Behind the cart a gnome stood, the same one who had interrupted George earlier in the cave. He scowled slightly but understood his work. He knew the routes well, and while he had a cranky attitude, he was reliable. The gnome growled out, "I'll bring you there, but don't expect any chit-chat."
Riding in front of the cart was the rider, a hulking, muscular minotaur with thick fur and piercing eyes. His name was Ragnir, and he had been chosen for his strength and endurance. He was a quiet man, not much to say but nodding a greeting to George.
George turned to gaze at everyone one last time, sipping in the faces of those who had become like family to him, even though it had been such a brief time. His griffin stayed beside him, its sharp eyes surveying the space with interest and devotion. George nodded solemnly to Minerva, Mia, and all the others present.
"I'll be back," George said with confidence, though a small twinge of nervousness rippled through him.
With that, he climbed into the cart, sitting next to the gnome, while his griffin nestled comfortably beside him. The horses whinnied, eager to start moving, and Ragnir took the reins. The cart jerked forward, and they were off, riding out of the village and into the unknown.
As they walked across the meadow, the village disappeared back into the magic chests once more. AlbëToryl's magic surged and ebbed around them, a reminder of the secret power that this land held. George sat in silence, watching the village disappear behind him, knowing that his path had just changed direction.
As the cart jolted along the road, the tension between Jeremy and George lingered on until the gnome finally broke it in a rough voice. "The name's Jeremy," he stated without deviating course, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "Figured I'd let you know, since we'll be riding together a lot.".
George leaned forward in his chair, giving a polite nod. "Jeremy… well, nice to meet you proper, really. I'm George, though I'm sure you knew that anyway."
A half-smirk from Jeremy, "Aye, hard not to. Everyone was talking about you in the caves."
For a moment the two sat silently again, the rhythmic squeaking of the cart wheels filling the air, but then Jeremy finally spoke up, his voice this time one of contemplation. "You know, I never got to see my original home. I was born right there in that cave you just left.". My parents were members of one of the ancient clans, but they lost their place much earlier than I was born. They sacrificed their lives to protect us from Trevor's monsters.
George turned to see him, startled by how frankly Jeremy talked of something so intimate. "Sorry to hear it," George replied softly. "That must've been tough on you, up until now being raised in a cave, having no idea what it was like to live outdoors."
Jeremy shrugged. "It's all I've ever known, really. The caves. they're cramped, yeah, and there's not much light, but they're safe. The world outside is dangerous. But even with the safety, it's not a great life. You see the same walls, the same people. Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like, you know? To be in a real village, to walk through woods or fields that aren't shadowed by fear.".
George nodded, recognizing the seriousness of those words. He thought of his own world. "I guess, I guess I can understand. Where I'm from, we've got cities filled with people—skyscrapers that go all the way up to the clouds, cars that go faster than horses. But with all that, sometimes it feels like you're just… alone in the crowd, living your life without actually paying attention to what's happening around you."
Jeremy gave him a sidelong glance. "Cars?"
George laughed. "Yes, gadgets we use for travel. You wouldn't believe me if I told you all about my world. But one thing is the same—people are always rushing somewhere, always doing something. There is beauty in my world too, but we're too busy to see it.".
The gnome stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Sounds strange… but interesting. Guess every world has its own problems and successes."
As they traveled along, George leaned over the cart, drinking in the view that lay before him. Ancient trees loomed along the path, their arms reaching out in crooked fingers towards heaven. Beyond them in the distance, great mountains rose to the clouds, their peaks kissed by puffy white, their shadows stretching far out across the valley. Suddenly, a shattering screech pierced the air, and George raised his eyes to see two giant dragons flying overhead, their great wings cutting the wind like a knife.
"Dragons!" George exclaimed, watching as the creatures moved so quietly across the sky, their scales shining in the sun. Jeremy grinned, clearly used to seeing them.
"Aye, they're known around here. Just hope they don't take a liking to us," Jeremy complained, but there didn't seem to be any true fear in his voice.
The cart traveled over a river, its water shining as it spilled alongside them. George leaned his head out a bit and spotted humanoid forms splashing in the water—long, flowing tresses and shiny scales visible before they sank beneath the surface once more.
Are they… mermaids?" George exclaimed, his eyes wide with amazement.
Jeremy nodded. "Yup. Stay away from them, though. They're not the friendly type you're probably imagining. Some folks say they've lured a lot of men down into the depths, never to be seen again."
As they continued further into the woods, George also saw great, multicolored birds with large wings, their feathers shining like gemstones as they flew rapidly between the trees. Occasionally, supernatural lights darted in the shadows, flickering like will-o'-the-wisps, giving their trip an eerie ambience.
After a few hours of walking, the woods grew thinner, and the trees opened up to disclose a wide open plain. In the distance, a village loomed—bigger and more organized than the village George left behind. Houses here were built of stone, sturdy and permanent, unlike the enchanted village to which he was used. Importance seemed to resonate in this village, as though the people living here knew more and had greater authority than others of the other clans.
We're close now," Jeremy said, his tone more serious. "This is where the Supreme Sorcerer lives. No directions required; I know the way.".
They traveled through the village with no hesitation, the villagers pausing from their work to look after the cart as it moved. George felt the difference in these individuals here—taller, more powerful, with eyes that sparkled with a withheld wisdom. There was a sense of being watched, not merely by the population, but by the air.
The cart came to rest just beyond the village, in the shadow of a giant oak's dark recesses. Unlike the stone houses along the village, this tent was at odds—simple, yet somehow more tragic. Jeremy and the minotaur disembarked from the cart, George bringing up the rear with Gryff, with an unsettling feeling of expectation crawling up his spine.
This is where he remains," Jeremy said, gesturing toward the tent opening. The gnome's usual sarcasm had vanished, replaced by something more subdued. He gestured toward the tent flap, and then toward George. "Only you may enter, son.".
George hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to collect himself. Gryff's reassuring heat was there beside him, but before the young griffin could shift to follow him, Jeremy restrained him. "Not this time, boy," Jeremy whispered gently to Gryff. The griffin emitted a complaining growl, his bright golden eyes shadowed with disappointment at being denied permission to remain with George.
"I'll be back, Gryff," George whispered, giving the creature a reassuring pat before turning towards the tent. With one last breath, he stepped forward, pushing aside the flap of the tent and walking inside.
The interior was not what George had expected. He had imagined a chamber filled with magical relics, arcane symbols, and mystical objects. But instead, it looked…ordinary. The room was black and plain—a worn rug, a few chairs, and a single wooden table. Nothing inside here screamed sorcery, no mystical gear or magical energies about. It was as though he had opened the door to a plain, ancient house, but one from another age, perhaps an ancient lost age of AlbëToryl.
Standing at the other end of the tent, his back to him, was a tall figure. George could see the broad shoulders, his demeanor unhurried and commanding, but there was something of a mystery that clung to him. For a moment, George was frozen, not knowing how to break the silence.
"Pretty human," George finally spat out softly, his voice brimming with incredulity. He hadn't expected the Supreme Sorcerer to look like.this. He wasn't dismayed, but shocked.
The man before him chuckled softly, a low, conspiratorial laugh that vibrated silently within the tent. "I am human only when I have to be," the sorcerer answered softly. He moved slowly towards George, stepping into the dim light that spilled through the opening of the tent. As George at last got a good look at him, he was amazed. The sorcerer was indeed a human—one tall, middle-aged man who was oddly handsome, with eyes that glowed with wisdom far greater than his years.
He moved toward George, his steps measured and refined. "So, George," he said, his tone silky but firm. "You have so many questions, all churning in your mind, waiting to be revealed. Am I right?"
George opened his mouth to respond, but the sorcerer's hand rose to his lips before he could speak a word. "I will not tell you what you wish," the sorcerer said in an authoritative voice, his tone darkening. "But… I can take you there. Show you where it began.".
Before George could even begin to understand his words, the sorcerer snapped his hand in a slow, sweeping arc, waving it across George's face. George felt a rush of air and a shock of lightness, as if the world itself was breaking apart, melting away into something.else.
The air around him disintegrated, twisting and distorting. He could no longer see the tent, village, or sorcerer. Nothing was real; everything
was unraveling, like the threads of AlbëToryl being ripped apart.
"To be continued."