7 • LARICE

HEAVY RAINFALL BROUGHT NOTHING BUT MISERY for Larice Whitewind ever since. She had gotten herself into the same situation before, causing the biggest trouble she had made in her entire life, where she lost control of her curse and accidentally killed those people—five people, actually, in the past. She tried not to remember any more of it, as it would only worsen her mental condition now.

“Move.” Arien Homeli pushed Larice at her back to climb up on the wide stairs.

Larice glared back at the middle-aged Grand Hunter before heading on. She held the pearls from her broken necklace close to her chest; her hair, skin, and garments all soaking wet from the rain.

In front of them stood the main fort of Shavath—the Fortresi. It sheltered the upper ranks of dragon hunters in the positions of administering the whole fortress.

At the top of the three-story building hung two different banners; dark and thick and wet from the rain. One was the banner of Shavath and the other one of the Dravalon Empire. The country’s flag depicted a symbol of a golden sunburst in honor of their Summer Deity and Sun God, Phlareus—the demigod bird with skin and feathers of blazing fire.

Larice had come to learn from the ancient books in Librad that during the Age of the Empyreal Gods, Phlareus left his own core to the people from which they called the Heart of the Phoenix. They had kept it inside the Sun Palace in Sunvar; the capital city of Drava. But despite her interest, she had no such belief in Dravalonian god. Back in her country in Glacia, they also worshipped a different deity, but she couldn’t remember the name anymore.

“I said MOVE,” Arien spoke with a louder voice this time.

Two armed men stood on guard on both sides of the entrance. As they opened the double doors, a warm gust of air brushed on her face. The bronze-made doors revealed a darker hallway, with dim oil lamps hanging on both walls.

Larice made her way inside, dripping wet and leaving tracks on the morion quartz floor. She had never been inside the Fortresi. So entering the place made her uncomfortable … and more nervous. 

The long hallway led the path towards the Gallerion ahead; a maze-like chamber filled with shelves and cabinets and stante all made of glass. Each one displayed Dragonites—those tiny, amber spheres collected by dragon hunters after slaying a dragon. Above each set of collections labeled the name of the hunter who had obtained them.

Larice slowed down as she gazed at the ranks of hunters based on the number of Dragonites they had collected.

Those who had slain a single dragon were ranked as Slayers. They could reach the rank of Crusade Hunters if they collected at least ten Dragonites. Grand Hunters like Arien Homeli had slain over twenty-five dragons. Higher to them were the Archon Hunters—talented experts who had defeated more than fifty dragons. And lastly, above all were the Master Hunters; the highest rank in Shavath who had collected over a hundred Dragonites.

Currently, Shavath held no Master Hunters. The last one, Gariffon the Dominator, had died of age a couple of years ago, so all responsibilities fell to the two Archon Hunters running the entire fortress.

Larice gave a sad smile when her eyes found his name. “Riqui the Swordmaster …” she whispered. The name was displayed before Gariffon the Dominator under the Master Hunters rank, but Riqui’s Dragonites had long been taken away for whatever reason.

A traitor, the people had said … but Larice never took that as a truth.  

She had known that her mentor had administered Shavath long before he found her. But she didn’t know why they banished him from Drava. Riqui had never once mentioned it before. But he was a good and honorable man. She believed he would never do something bad enough for him to get banished.

At the center of the Gallerion stood the Statue of Murgal, who was entitled as the First Hero of Drava. He founded a guild of dragon hunters, and together, they built all of what’s standing in Shavath now. They used Murgal’s black sword, called the Unburnt, to make their banner—and that pair of snow-white dragon wings was from the ice dragon he had slain.

As they climbed to the second floor, her thoughts went back to the incident she had caused earlier. She’s not the one who started it … it wasn’t her fault—but in everyone’s eyes; it was. The new trainees would definitely avoid her now, after what they had witnessed. But she did not care anymore. All she needed was to get out of this forsaken place. But before that, she had to get the truth or the clue or whatever it was waiting for her in Ardrad.

Right … Ardrad …

If only she could head inside there now, she would never leave until she finds any information connected to her village. But first, she had to deal with this trouble once again.

They stopped before the black sycamore door at the end of the hall. Arien had to knock twice before saying, “Pardon, Archon Quarth … I have her.”

A few seconds later, a toneless voice responded, “Send her in.”

Arien glanced at Larice and gestured for the door. “Go … and give some respect, for heaven’s sake. You don’t want to get into more trouble than what you are in now,” Arien warned her before turning around and walking away.

Larice wiped her wet face down, then opened the door. The Master Chamber appeared to be gloomier than what she expected. She found gray bookshelves, soft leather couches, and a flagon of red wine resting on the low table. The air tasted cold, as the windows were left open to the rain.

A tall man in his early thirties, with curled hair and russet-brown eyes, leaned back in his chair once took notice of her presence. “Sit.” His dead serious tone pushed Larice forward to the leather seat in front of the long desk. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“It’s shouldn’t be me. He started it—“

“Don’t start making excuses with me, Whitewind,” he interrupted with a warning glare.

Larice lowered her gaze to the desk where she found his name.

Quarth Ortel—Archon Hunter.

The other one didn’t seem to be around, she noticed.

“You’ve caused enough mess already,” Quarth said. “You think you could get away from what you did in Librad this morning? What else? Skipping your dawn training routine? And now you’re hurting one of your fellow hunters? What’s next? You tell me.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt that stupid—“ Larice paused and rubbed her face slowly. “You don’t know what happened. You don’t know what they did to me.”

“Yes, I do. But that’s not the point. The problem is not them. It’s you, young woman.”

Larice darted her eyes at him, eyebrows storming in disbelief. “Me?” So it’s her fault now? She’s the bad person? It was them who insulted her … broke her necklace … she only tried to defend herself because she had every right to do so. 

“Yes, you … Your manners, stubbornness, and overreacting were never welcome here in Shavath.”

“Overreacting? That was overreacting? Do you even know how it feels—“ Larice stopped, gazed down, and shook her head. It’s pointless. They would never understand her and all the things she’s going through. “Just … forget it.”

“Forget is not the word, Whitewind,” Quarth said. “Such actions you committed have consequences. I’m hoping you’re aware of that.”

“So what’re you going to do? Expel me?”

“You’ll be suspended from your sessions until you learn your lesson. You’ll help the workers clean, cook, serve … all the chores needed.”

“What?” Larice raised her voice. “That’s unfair! How come it’s only me? What about Barded and his friends? How can you just let them get away from what they did to me?”

“They have done nothing from what Arien reported. It was only you who lost control of your—“

“Arien never saw the entire thing! Everything Barded told him was a lie.”

“For hell’s sake, Whitewind!” Quarth massaged his temples. “Just accept the damn consequences. I’ve got more important things to attend to.”

Larice tightened her grasp on her pearls as she shifted her eyes away, gazing at the rain outside the windows. She couldn’t believe the entire world kept on turning against her just because she’s different … and cursed. As much as she hated everyone, she hated herself—and this damn curse within her.

“And one last thing …” Quarth eyed her with suspicion. “You’re now banned from entering Librad.”

Larice almost jumped from her seat. “Are you MAD? Why in the world would you do that?” This would be the end of her. All her plans would be … Larice shut her eyes.

“Erlind had enough of your attitude … and what’s this you’re asking from the old keeper? What’s inside Ardrad is OUT of your concern already, young lady.”

“That old hag …” Larice muttered, squeezing her fists.

“I will no longer allow you entering Librad,” Quarth warned her. “And keep in mind that once you cause another trouble again, I’ll have your things packed up and send you to the Monases in Sunvar City for good.”

The Monases … Larice found herself on the verge of blowing up. She would never go to that isolated place where they locked all women inside to weave fabrics for the rest of their lives. It’s the last thing she’d ever want in this world.

The door of the chamber opened all of a sudden.

Larice turned her head, only to see another tall man, younger than Quarth. With a sharp face and a silver shade of eyes, he studied her without the slightest hint of interest as he entered through the door.

“Estes,” Quarth greeted. “It took you longer than expected. Anything happened?”

Estes? Larice had heard the familiar name before, from what the people had been talking. Was he the other Archon Hunter? He looked too young to have slain half a hundred dragons. But the way he walked and carried himself, she could tell he’s a seasoned warrior … far above her to be exact.

“I met with a northern scout,” Estes answered as he unbelted the long sheath of his katana and hung it on the wall, beside the great sword. “The dragons have destroyed the ships from the White Fortress. They left nothing in the ruins, I hear.”

“As expected,” Quarth said, totally ignoring Larice’s presence in front of him. “And the Dravalon Army?”

Estes sat on the couch, wiping his hair with the towel. “They’re on the march to Harana Desert. The Emperor has called for our banners to prepare at the front lines. Two days we’ve got. You shall take five hundred and lead the host with the marching army in the west desert. I’ll take the east forest with my own men.”

Larice didn’t have the slightest idea of what the two were talking about. But they mentioned the army marching … Was there another war about to happen? She was left wondering until Quarth called her.

“Whitewind.” He gestured at the door.

Larice stood up, giving him one last glare before turning around to walk out. Inside her mind, she cursed him and everyone here in Shavath. Not only that those stupid guys played the victim to get out, but Larice also got banned from entering Librad.

This was far worse than what she had expected.

She had to get inside no matter what to pursue her plan. But if she would get caught, it would be the end of her. They would send her to that locked-up place of eternal suffering from weaving fabrics. She couldn’t even imagine herself spending the rest of her life with those aged women.

However, she’s here now. This would be her only chance to get the thing she wanted the most.

Then she decided.

No one could stop her … not even Quarth.

She pulled out the bronze key from her pocket and studied it. She knew something’s in there—inside Ardrad. And she would find it …

At sunset …