The first hour was exhilarating. The second was tolerable. By the third, John's legs ached from gripping Frostfeather's sides and his face felt frozen.

  He poked his nose. Nothing. Completely numb.

  He poked it again, harder. Still nothing.

  "Stop that," Erin called back.

  "Can't feel my face."

  "Your face is going to get stuck that way if you keep squashing it."

  "Okay, mom."

  There was a pause. The air felt even colder.

  "How old do you think I am?"

  John grinned. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

  "I can fly upside down," Erin said sweetly. "Can you?"

  John's grip on the saddle tightened. "Point taken. My face is perfect. No touching it."

  "Smart choice."

  The landscape changed as they flew south. The hills flattened into plains, then gave way to farmland. Roads became more frequent, cutting straight lines between settlements. Towns grew larger, more prosperous-looking.

  The sun was sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold.

  Leon raised his hand, signaling. The formation tightened.

  Ahead, a city rose from the plains.

  Thornhaven.

  From this height, John could see how old it was. Layers upon layers of construction, the city built on top of itself again and again over centuries. Newer districts with straight streets gave way to older quarters that twisted on themselves organically. And at the center, the oldest section sat visibly higher, as if the weight of ages had literally elevated it above everything else.

  Stone walls surrounded it, but the city had clearly outgrown them. Buildings and estates spread beyond the fortifications in organized districts. The inner city was dense, packed with commerce and life. But the outer ring, particularly to the west, opened up into estates with proper grounds.

  The noble district.

  Leon banked toward it, toward a manor of pale stone with grounds that sprawled across several acres. Gardens, a proper courtyard, stables, even what looked like an orchard. Not the largest estate John could see, but substantial.

  The griffins descended in formation, landing in the courtyard with practiced precision. Guards stood at attention by the entrance, barely flinching at their arrival.

  John dismounted with significantly more grace than his first attempt back in Greyford. His legs still felt like jelly, but at least he didn't face-plant.

  He immediately poked his nose again. Still numb, but warming.

  "You're strange," Erin observed.

  "Just checking it's still there."

  Frostfeather stretched her wings, shaking out the frost that had accumulated during the flight, then reached over and gently bumped John's shoulder with her beak. Hard enough to make him stumble.

  "Do they always have this much personality?" John asked.

  "Always," Erin said. "You should see them when they don't like someone. Stormwind once refused to let a duke mount him because the man smelled like cheap perfume."

  "Smart griffin," John said.

  A stable hand approached, bowing to Erin before offering Frostfeather a strip of dried meat. The griffin accepted it with regal dignity, then allowed herself to be led away.

  "Home," Lia said, stretching. She sounded relieved.

  "One of them, anyway," Leon corrected. He was already moving toward the manor entrance, where a steward had appeared, looking both pleased and deeply stressed.

  "Commander Valebrant! Lady Valebrant!" The steward bowed. "We weren't expecting you. I would have prepared—" He gestured helplessly at the manor behind him. "I apologize in advance for the state of things."

  "Last minute decision," Leon said. "We'll need rooms for our companions." He gestured to John, Marcus, Erin, and Garren. "And have someone see to the griffins. They've been flying all day."

  "Of course, my lord." The steward's expression was pained. "I must mention... your parents arranged for a guest to stay here. She arrived two weeks ago. We were instructed to provide her with full access to the library and research space."

  Leon and Lia exchanged glances. Both looked surprised.

  "They didn't mention this," Lia said.

  "The letter only arrived three days before she did, my lady." The steward looked genuinely distressed now.

  "Who is she?" Leon asked.

  "Scholar Sybelra Mistwood, my lord. An elf.” The steward's voice took on a desperate edge. "She brought quite an extensive collection of her own books. And papers. And research materials. She's very particular about her workspace, my lord. Very particular. I've been forbidden from having anything cleaned or organized. She insists she has a system, but—" He caught himself. "My apologies."

  John's head snapped up. Mistwood.

  "Mistwood?" Lia's voice brightened immediately. "The metamagical theorist?"

  "You know of her?" the steward asked, looking relieved.

  Lia's eyes lit up with genuine excitement. "Do you think she'll be teaching at the Academy? I should write to the administration—"

  He knew that name.

  His mind raced, trying to place it. The game had thousands of NPCs, but that name—

  "Where is she now?" Lia asked.

  "There was a rumor about a ruin being discovered north of here. She was very excited about it. Grabbed several of her books and left. Said something about needing to see it before 'that idiot' ruined everything." The steward looked even more miserable. "I don't expect her back for at least a few days."

  John's stomach dropped. Was she going to Greyford?

  Leon's eyes flicked to John. The Commander had made the same connection. For a moment their gazes held, an unspoken question passing between them.

  Then Leon looked back at the steward. "We'll meet her when she returns. Show us the damage."

  "Of course, my lord." The steward bowed and gestured for them to follow, still looking like a man on the edge of a breakdown.

  The interior of the manor was warm and well-maintained. Or at least, it had been. Now it looked like a library had exploded.

  Books were everywhere. Stacked on side tables, piled on chairs, spread across every available surface. But it wasn't just books. Loose papers covered in cramped handwriting were pinned to walls. Maps were spread across surfaces, their corners weighted down by strange brass instruments John didn't recognize.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "She brought all of these?" Marcus asked, staring.

  "Some of them," the steward said miserably. "The rest are ours. She's been pulling books from the family library for cross-reference. I've tried to keep track, but she moves them constantly. And the food... She forgets to eat, then demands meals at odd hours, then forgets she asked for them, and—" He caught himself again. "My apologies. Scholar Mistwood is a brilliant woman."

  "And very messy," Lia observed.

  "I'm not permitted to say that, my lady." The steward's tone suggested he desperately wanted to.

  They passed what had once been a dining room.

  John stopped.

  A crystalline lattice hung suspended in the air above the table, rotating slowly without any visible support. Threads of pale light connected various points, pulsing in a rhythm that made his teeth ache. Around its base, a circle of smaller crystals hummed in harmony, each one marked with symbols that—

  Oh.

  The Lich Queen.

  One of the game's harder bosses. An elf who'd turned to necromancy after the death of her daughter.

  And she was living in the Valebrant manor. Doing research.

  On becoming a lich?

  "John?" Lia's voice broke through his paralysis. "Are you alright?"

  He realized he'd frozen in the doorway, staring at the lattice. Everyone was looking at him.

  "Fine," John managed. "Just... never seen anything like that before."

  "Unsettling, isn't it?" the steward said. "She assured me it's perfectly safe, but I confess I'm not comfortable with it."

  Leon cleared his throat. "Once Scholar Mistwood returns, I will politely request that she confine her materials to the library and her own quarters."

  The steward's expression transformed. He looked at Leon with such profound hope and devotion it was almost religious. "My lord, that would be—" He caught himself, straightening. "That would be most appreciated, Commander."

  "The dining room is obviously unusable," Leon continued. "What are the arrangements for dinner?"

  "I can have meals sent to rooms, my lord, or—"

  "Actually," John said, "I'd like to explore the city. Get my bearings."

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  Lia's face lit up immediately. "I could show you around! The market district is wonderful at night, and there's a bookshop that—"

  "Lia!" Leon interrupted, grinning. "You don't want to spend time with your favorite brother? I'm hurt."

  "I was just—"

  "Nope. Too late. You've wounded me deeply." Before she could protest further, Leon scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  "Leon! Put me down!" Lia laughed, swatting at his back.

  "Can't. I must go sulk." He started walking toward the stairs, Lia still protesting between laughs.

  "I'll kill you!"

  "You love me too much!"

  Their voices faded as they disappeared up the stairs.

  Marcus snorted. "Smooth."

  The steward cleared his throat. "I can arrange a carriage for you, sir. To take you into the city proper?"

  "That would be perfect. Thank you."

  The carriage dropped John at the edge of the market district. The driver gave him directions back to the manor and promised to return in two hours if John wanted a ride back.

  John stepped into the night market.

  It was overwhelming.

  Lanterns hung between buildings, casting warm light over thousands of people. The noise hit him like a wave. Vendors calling out their wares, customers haggling, street performers singing, children laughing. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread and something sweet mixed with smoke from the cooking fires.

  And the people.

  Not just humans. A dwarf woman argued loudly with a fruit vendor, her braided beard swinging as she gestured. Two elves stood by a fountain, their movements impossibly graceful, ears twitching at sounds John couldn't hear. A half-orc carried a barrel over his shoulder that must have weighed more than John did, barely breaking a sweat.

  John stared. He couldn't help it. In Greyford, everyone had been human. Here...

  "First time in a big city, lad?"

  John turned. The speaker was an older man selling grilled skewers, grinning at him knowingly.

  "That obvious?"

  "You've got that look." He chuckled. "Don't worry. Everyone stares their first time. You'll get used to it."

  John bought a skewer, and kept walking. He had a purpose here. He needed to get his bearings.

  He found an alchemy stall, well-lit and organized. The vendor, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes, looked him up and down.

  "What do you need?"

  "Stamina potions. Health potions. What have you got?"

  She produced several vials. "Basic stamina, five gold each. They'll keep you going for an hour, maybe two depending on exertion. Health potions, ten gold. These are good quality. Close a wound, stop bleeding."

  "What about speed boosts?" John asked. "Single use."

  The woman looked him up and down. Took in his simple clothes, the lack of any visible wealth. Her expression shifted.

  "Those are expensive," she said carefully.

  John pulled out his coin pouch and shook it. The heavy clink of gold was unmistakable.

  The woman's eyes narrowed slightly. She reached under the counter and pulled out a small leather pouch. From it, she drew a thin silver chain with a tiny vial pendant attached. The liquid inside swirled with an unnatural green glow. "Haste charm. Crush the vial, lasts about a minute, more if you're lucky."

  "I'll take two."

  “Eighty gold each. And fair warning, when it wears off you'll be sick. Lasts for hours."

  "I'll take them anyway. And three stamina potions, same for health."

  The woman calculated in her head. "Two hundred and five gold total."

  John counted out the coins, watching his pouch empty to almost nothing. But he didn't care. Being Rank One in Thornhaven was rough. He needed every advantage he could get.

  Speaking of…

  As he stored the potions in his ring, he looked around properly. The fountain, the angle of the streets, the way the market district opened up to his left.

  He knew where he was.

  Which meant he knew where to find what he needed.

  John walked with purpose now, navigating the side streets until he found it. A tiny shop, barely more than a closet, with a faded sign that read "Grimble's Curiosities." The window display was full of junk. Broken pottery, tarnished silverware, a stuffed rat that had seen better days.

  Perfect.

  Inside, the shop was cramped and dusty. A thin man sat behind the counter, with suspicious eyes and a permanent frown.

  "Can I help you?" His tone suggested he'd rather not.

  John browsed the shelves, pretending casual interest. On the third shelf, behind a cracked teapot and what might have been a cursed doll, sat a small wooden horse. Badly carved, covered in dust.

  "How much for the horse?"

  The man's eyes narrowed. "That old thing?" He studied John. "Two silver."

  John pulled out the coins without a word.

  The man didn't move.

  "Are you going to take them?"

  "Nobody pays asking price. Not for junk like that." The man leaned forward slightly. "Why do you want it?"

  "Does it matter?"

  The man stared at him for a long moment, then snatched the coins. "Fine. Your funeral." He wrapped the horse in old paper and shoved it across the counter. "But if you come back complaining, I don't do refunds."

  "I won’t."

  John left before the man could ask more questions. He could feel the shopkeeper watching him through the window as he walked away.

  Once he was out of sight down an alley, John took out the wooden horse and smashed it against the cobblestones.

  It shattered.

  Among the splinters, a pendant on a thin chain. The horse emblem etched into its surface glowed faintly.

  [Swift Stride Pendant]

  [+20% Movement Speed]

  Too easy. John slipped it over his head. The pendant settled against his chest, warm through his shirt. He could feel the difference immediately. His body felt lighter, more responsive.

  Now he was ready.

  John turned and walked with purpose. There was a quest here in Thornhaven that couldn't wait. Not if his memory was right. Not if the game's timeline held true.

  He navigated through the thinning crowds as the market began to wind down, following streets he remembered. Left at the fountain. Right past the closed smithy. Down into the older quarter where the buildings leaned together and the lantern light didn't quite reach.

  Then he saw it.

  Down a tiny side street, barely visible in the lantern light. Weathered wood. A sign so faded you could hardly read it.

  Willowmere Orphanage.

  He knew that place. Knew that door.

  John took a deep breath.

  He walked into the alley and slowly removed his sword from his scabbard.