Chapter 67: Sugar and Stone

  They left the plaza behind without ceremony.

  Aoife blinked at Lance as Ellowen gestured for him to follow. Slade opened his mouth as if to protest, then seemed to reconsider when Perrin placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay close,” Perrin told them both. “Do not wander. If anyone approaches you with promises of early advancement, rare artifacts, or secret tutoring sessions, you decline politely and come find me.”

  Aoife tilted her head. “What if they offer dessert?”

  Perrin regarded her evenly. “Especially then. Now, follow the guards that are rounding up the other kids. They will show you where you need to go.”

  Lance barely had time to smirk before Ellowen turned and began walking.

  There was no urgency in his stride. No visible protection spell flaring to life. Yet the crowd parted around him with subtle instinct, like water around a stone sunk deep in the riverbed. Lance followed half a step behind, trying not to look like he was being singled out.

  The city swallowed them quickly.

  Up close, the capital was less overwhelming than it had been from afar, but more intricate. The avenues were paved in pale stone veined with silver filaments that pulsed faintly beneath their feet. Mana conduits, Lance realized. They branched off into the walls of buildings and rose into crystalline fixtures mounted on corners and rooftops.

  Everything here was connected.

  Vendors lined the wide avenue leading away from the Ascendant intake district. Bright awnings fluttered overhead. Artificers demonstrated minor enchanted trinkets that spun and chimed in glass cases. Street performers wove illusionary butterflies into the air, drawing laughter from clusters of children too young for tomorrow’s ceremony.

  The scent of roasted nuts mingled with incense and warm bread.

  Above them, bridges arced between upper tiers of the city, shimmering faintly where enchantment reinforced their weight. Scholars in layered robes crossed overhead without glancing down. Carriages bearing noble crests rolled past in designated lanes, their wheels never quite touching the ground.

  Lance turned slowly as they walked, trying to absorb it all.

  “You’ve been here a hundred times,” he said. “Does it ever stop feeling like this?”

  Ellowen did not answer immediately. He watched a group of initiates in pale blue robes hurry past, scrolls tucked under their arms.

  “No,” he said at last. “It simply begins to feel expensive.”

  Lance snorted softly.

  They passed a fountain shaped like an unfurling flower. Water flowed upward instead of down, spiraling toward a suspended crystal before cascading gently into a basin below. Coins glittered at the bottom.

  Further along, the architecture shifted subtly. The buildings grew older, stone darkened with age rather than polished to brilliance. Windows were narrower. Decorative runes were carved by hand instead of etched by master arrays.

  Lance noticed the difference immediately.

  “This part isn’t as... bright.”

  “It is older,” Ellowen replied. “Older stone holds memory. New districts are built to impress. These were built to endure, back when survival and strength was more important than trying to impress weak nobles.” He stopped, then turned and looked at me, "Don't repeat that last part.”

  They turned down a narrower street lined with bakeries, tailors, and small cafes. The noise of the main avenue softened into a comfortable murmur. Lanterns were already being lit though the sky still held traces of gold.

  Ellowen stopped before a modest storefront with a wooden sign carved in the shape of braided wheat.

  Warmth spilled from within.

  Without a word, he stepped inside.

  The interior was small but inviting. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with loaves dusted in flour, sugared pastries glazed to perfection, and rolls brushed with honey. A stone oven crackled in the back. The air was thick with sweetness and heat.

  A middle aged woman behind the counter looked up, eyes widening slightly when she recognized Ellowen.

  “Master,” she said, inclining her head.

  “The usual,” Ellowen replied simply.

  Her gaze shifted to Lance with open curiosity. “First timer?”

  Lance hesitated. Opting for just a small smile and Nod.

  She smiled knowingly and disappeared into the back.

  Ellowen gestured toward a small table by the window. They sat.

  Lance rested his elbows carefully against the polished wood. Outside, he could see the distant rise of the ceremonial district. Tall spires of pale stone reached skyward, their surfaces etched with script that glowed faintly even in daylight. The main hall stood at the center, a domed structure crowned with a suspended ring of crystal that rotated slowly in the air above it.

  “That’s where it happens,” Lance said quietly.

  “Yes.”

  They fell into silence until the baker returned, placing a wooden board between them. Steam rose from fresh pastries twisted with cinnamon and honey. A smaller plate held delicate layered sweets filled with fruit preserve.

  Ellowen slid the board toward Lance.

  “Eat.”

  Lance blinked. “That’s it? No speech?”

  Ellowen regarded him steadily. “You will receive many speeches in the coming days. Most will contain advice. Some will contain warnings. A few will contain veiled threats disguised as encouragement.”

  Lance reached for one of the pastries.

  “And this?”

  “This,” Ellowen said, folding his hands loosely on the table, “is your last moment of anonymity.”

  Lance paused mid bite.

  Ellowen continued calmly. “A Legendary Class holder does not enter the Ascension Ceremony as one among many. You will be observed differently. Measured differently. Desired differently. Also, I made up the part of you guys have a special ceremony. I just thought you would like a bit of peace one last time.. For a long while.”

  “Well, thank you I guess.” Lance took a slow bite.

  The pastry was warm and impossibly soft. Sugar melted against his tongue. For a moment, the tension in his chest eased.

  “Whats so bad about it?” he said.

  “Whats bad is you will be known to the world within Days. Now, think about how were attacked on the way here. Now, imagine everyone else knows what you are as well.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes.

  Outside, the flow of pedestrians thickened as evening deepened. Laughter drifted from across the street. Somewhere nearby, a stringed instrument began to play.

  Lance wiped his fingers on a cloth napkin. “You didn’t bring out anything above Tier Four during the fight,” he said carefully.

  Ellowen’s eyes flicked toward him.

  Perrin’s teasing words echoed in the back of Lance’s mind.

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  “I know you have some real nasties sleeping within you.”

  Ellowen’s expression did not shift.

  “You heard that huh..” he said quietly. “One does not display every blade in one’s possession simply because a wolf bares its teeth.”

  Lance leaned back slightly. “So you were holding back.”

  “No, it just simply wasn't necessary.”

  Before Lance could press further, the bakery door burst open.

  A gust of cool evening air swept in along with a flurry of hurried footsteps. Someone stumbled over her own feet..

  “Sorry, sorry, grandma I’m not late, I promise I am not late,” a girl’s voice blurted.

  She skidded to a stop directly beside their table.

  In her hands was a tray stacked precariously high with fresh loaves.

  Time seemed to slow.

  Her foot caught the edge of the rug.

  The tray tilted.

  Lance had just enough time to look up before an entire loaf of still warm bread dropped squarely onto his head.

  Flour puffed into the air.

  The bakery went silent.

  The loaf slid down his face and landed in his lap.

  There was a heartbeat of stillness.

  Then the girl gasped. “Oh no.”

  Lance blinked slowly, brushing flour from his eyes.

  Ellowen did not move.

  The girl crouched immediately, scrambling to retrieve the fallen bread. She had dark hair pulled back in a loose tie that had half escaped during her near collision. A streak of flour already marked one cheek.

  “I am so sorry,” she said quickly, not quite meeting his eyes. “You were not there a second ago.”

  “I was,” Lance replied dryly.

  She froze, then finally looked up at him properly.

  For a moment, confusion crossed her features. Then something sharper flickered behind her gaze.

  “Oh,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You’re one of them.”

  “One of who?”

  “The ceremony arrivals.”

  Lance glanced down at the silver band on his wrist.

  “Yes.”

  She eyed the flour still dusting his shoulders. “Legendary?”

  Ellowen’s gaze sharpened faintly.

  Lance hesitated.

  “Maybe.”

  She grinned suddenly.

  “At least you have a good sense of humor!” she said. “If you ever see one of those mythical legendary people just roaming around a bakery come find me!”

  Despite himself, Lance laughed.

  Ellowen relaxed, realizing she was joking.

  She stood, balancing the salvaged tray with surprising ease this time.

  “I’m sorry about the bread,” she added, brushing stray flour off his sleeve without hesitation. “It was fresh too.”

  “I noticed.”

  The baker from behind the counter sighed dramatically. “Ember.”

  So that was her name.

  Ember rolled her eyes. “It slipped.”

  “You tripped.”

  “Same thing.”

  She looked back at Lance, offering a hand as if helping him up from a battlefield rather than a bakery mishap.

  “Welcome to the capital,” she said. “Try not to get crushed by anything heavier than bread tomorrow.”

  Lance took her hand.

  Her grip was firm.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Ellowen watched the exchange without comment, though something unreadable passed through his eyes.

  Outside, the bells began to toll again, marking the final hour before full night.

  The city hummed with anticipation.

  And somewhere beneath the scent of sugar and stone, fate quietly adjusted its course.

  _________________________________

  They left the warmth of the bakery behind and returned to the steady pulse of the capital.

  Night had settled fully now. Lanterns hung from iron posts along the streets, each flame contained within crystal casings etched with stabilizing runes. Their light was steady and clean, casting long reflections across the silver veined stone beneath Lance’s boots. The higher tiers of the city shimmered faintly overhead, suspended walkways glowing like constellations brought low.

  Lance walked beside Ellowen in thoughtful silence.

  The encounter in the bakery lingered in his mind more than he expected. The flour. The grin. The casual way she had said legendary, as if it were something that could be joked about.

  I guess the rumors about their rarity were true. She talked about it the way people talked about the bengals winning a super bowl back on earth. A mythical Fairy tail.

  “You knew her,” Lance said at last.

  Ellowen did not look at him. “I know many people in this city.”

  “That was not what I meant.”

  A faint smile touched Ellowen’s mouth. “No. You did not mean that.”

  They turned onto a broader avenue that sloped gently upward toward the ceremonial district. The crowds had thickened here. More children wearing silver participant bands moved in clusters, accompanied by anxious parents or composed guardians. Some walked stiffly, trying to look confident. Others clung close to their escorts.

  The energy was different from the markets.

  It buzzed.

  Anticipation hung in the air like the charge before a storm.

  Ahead, a large structure dominated the corner where three avenues converged. It rose five stories tall, built from pale stone reinforced with dark timber framing. Balconies lined the upper levels, each carved with intricate latticework. Warm light spilled from wide windows, and a polished wooden sign above the entrance bore the crest of the capital alongside stylized script.

  The building was part hotel, part tavern, part temporary barracks.

  Voices drifted out into the street in uneven waves.

  “This is where most of the participants are quartered,” Ellowen said.

  Lance tilted his head back slightly, taking it in. The structure felt sturdy rather than ostentatious. Practical. Designed to house many.

  As they stepped through the wide double doors, the noise doubled.

  The main hall stretched across nearly the entire ground floor. Long wooden tables filled the center, already crowded with children and their escorts. A large hearth burned along one wall, casting orange light over restless faces. Staircases on either side led to upper floors where rooms branched off in narrow corridors.

  The scent of stew and fresh bread mixed with nervous sweat and polished leather.

  Lance slowed.

  There were more of them than he expected.

  Dozens. Perhaps over a hundred.

  Some wore fine embroidered tunics that marked noble houses. Others sat in simple travel clothes, boots still dusted from long roads. Guards in varying uniforms stood along the walls or near pillars, arms folded, eyes sharp despite the informal setting.

  Conversation overlapped in fragments.

  “I heard the artifact chooses you, not the other way around.”

  “No, that was years ago. They changed it after the incident.”

  “My cousin said there’s a trial inside the hall. Not just standing around.”

  “What kind of trial?”

  “No idea. He would not tell me. Just said to be ready.”

  Lance and Ellowen moved through the hall without obstruction. A few heads turned. Mainly the older guards, Some recognized Ellowen. Others simply sensed something about him and looked away quickly.

  At one table near the hearth, three boys leaned close together, whispering intensely.

  “I am telling you, they release mana beasts into the chamber,” one insisted.

  “That makes no sense,” another shot back. “Why would they risk killing half the candidates?”

  “To thin them out.”

  The third boy paled. “You are lying.”

  Across the room, a girl with tightly braided hair spoke in hushed tones to an older woman in scholar’s robes.

  “They measure affinity first,” the girl said. “Then compatibility. Then the actual selection.”

  “And if nothing responds?” the woman asked quietly.

  The girl swallowed. “Then you go home.”

  Lance felt that sentence settle in his chest.

  He became aware of his silver band again. Ellowen handed it to him on their walk here. Funny how he could just hand him one when he was sure their was a long process to verify the person's identity to receive a band.

  Ellowen guided him toward a side corridor branching off the main hall. The noise dulled slightly there, though voices still carried through open doorways.

  “You will have a room on the fifth floor,” Ellowen said. “Separate from the others.”

  Lance glanced at him. “Because of the Legendary thing.”

  “Yes, Now.. go and rest. Tomorrow will be long.”

  They paused near the base of the staircase.

  From somewhere above, raised voices drifted down.

  “I heard there are instructors watching from behind mirrored panels.”

  “That is ridiculous.”

  “It is not. My brother swears he saw shadows moving last year.”

  Another voice chimed in. “My uncle says the capital nobles attend in secret. They scout promising candidates.”

  “That part is true,” someone replied grimly.

  Lance exhaled slowly.

  “So nobody actually knows what's going to happen.”

  “Correct,” Ellowen said.

  A pair of participants hurried past them up the stairs, nearly colliding in their rush.

  “I cannot sleep,” one muttered.

  “You do not need sleep,” the other replied too quickly. “Sleep is for after.”

  Lance watched them disappear.

  For all the speculation, beneath it lay the same thing.

  Fear.

  Hope.

  The possibility of walking out changed.

  Ellowen placed a steady hand on Lance’s shoulder.

  “Good luck young one, I am sure we will cross paths again.”

  WIth that, Ellowen vanished, literally. Just poof and gone. Except there was no dramatic sound effect.

  Lance sighed and headed to his quarters. It was much quieter on the fifth floor.

  As he entered the room, he fiddled with the ring his mother gave him before he departed for his journey. The new experiences and weight of everything didn't really make him nervous, just tired.

  So, he collapsed on his lavish bed and slept soundly. Dreams of how tomorrow will go like a lullaby within his head.