Rumors and speculations

Orion took his seat with an air of indifference, his posture exuding a casual arrogance that was neither exaggerated nor forced. His long, crimson locks cascaded over his shoulders, framing a face of striking handsomeness. His piercing red eyes, cold yet magnetic, reflected an innate nobility that commanded silent recognition. Few dared to question his origins. After all, in a city accustomed to wayward noble scions, no one wished to offend a man of high birth by doubting his status.

The assumption was an easy one to make. Here in Elsmere, where young men often defied family expectations to seek glory as hunters, Orion was merely another privileged youth who had rebelled against his lineage. His presence raised no alarms, no suspicion. It was precisely the anonymity he desired.

Seated in the dimly lit corner of the tavern, Orion cradled a wooden mug in his hand, the scent of grape wine faintly tickling his senses. The taste was tolerable at best. The secret crypt where he had stored his own collection held far finer vintages, ones that had taken him time to appreciate. This cheap substitute, however, was a poor replacement. He considered summoning a bottle from the red runes etched along his arm but dismissed the notion almost immediately. He wasn't here for indulgence.

He was here for information.

Elsmere had changed. The reports he had read from the Secret Order were outdated, and that alone made them unreliable. He needed firsthand knowledge of the city's current affairs, and there was no better place to gather intelligence than a tavern filled with inebriated hunters eager to boast of their exploits.

His keen gaze drifted over the establishment, scanning the room with subtle intent. The flickering lanterns cast long shadows across the walls, illuminating the varied patrons engaged in hushed discussions or raucous laughter. Amid the ordinary bustle, however, two figures stood out like ink on parchment.

Clad in dark, unassuming attire, they wore plain black obsidian masks that concealed their features entirely. Thr same one whose gaze had made orion nerveous upon his arrival. A peculiar choice of mask, one that invited unnecessary attention. Orion wasn't the only one who had noticed them and found them unnerving. The city guards seems to be deployed to spy on them in disguise, keeping their eyes on the duo as well, their scrutiny cautious yet unmistakable.

Sensing the silent surveillance, one of the masked figures made a subtle hand gesture to his companion. Without hesitation, they abandoned their drinks and swiftly departed, vanishing into the night.

Orion smirked, lifting his mug to his lips. "Good thing I didn't wear the mask here," he mused internally.

He set the drink down and leaned back, his senses stretching beyond the visible, beyond the mundane. The manacores of the mages within the tavern glowed like embers to his sight, each radiating a unique hue. Most shimmered in the yellow spectrum, indicative of competent yet unremarkable magic users. A few flickered with a silver luster, their power more refined, more dangerous.

Yet, nowhere did he find the unmistakable brilliance of a radiant silver core.

Orion allowed himself a small measure of relief. A radiant silver mage, should one have been present, would have been capable of piercing his concealment, of recognizing him for what he truly was. To the untrained eye, he appeared to be no more than a yellow core mage, but in reality, his power simmered beneath the surface, veiled and controlled.

Satisfied with his assessment, he turned his attention back to the conversations unfolding around him, filtering through the murmurs with practiced ease. Tales of hunts and near-misses filled the air, some exaggerated, others tinged with real fear. The most persistent whispers, however, revolved around the emperor himself.

"—Gone into deep meditation, they say. Hasn't been seen in over a year."

"Bullshit," Orion scoffed under his breath. He dismissed the thought, his interest drawn to another table where a group of hunters sat hunched over their drinks, their expressions grim.

A bearded man, broad-shouldered and rugged from years of battle, leaned forward. His voice, though hushed, carried a weight that silenced those around him. "It's a treacherous time," he muttered. "I've seen the wounded in the hospital, heard the stories firsthand. Even silver core mages are coming back broken."

His companions stiffened. One, a younger man with wary eyes, hesitated before asking, "How bad is it?"

The bearded man exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. "Four separate groups have gone after the wyverns. Two barely made it out, one only survived because of a wandering mage. The last…" He trailed off, his voice heavy with meaning. "The last didn't make it."

Orion remained impassive, but inwardly, his mind pieced together the implications. The hunters he had saved earlier had been among those unfortunate enough to encounter the wyverns.

At the man's words, one of his companions shifted uneasily. "Is it true… that it was the und—"

A sharp crash interrupted him. The wooden mug in the bearded man's grip slammed against the table with force, causing those nearby to flinch. His eyes, dark and serious, pinned the younger hunter with an unspoken warning. "Mind your words, Ragues," he said, voice low. "We're in public."

Ragues swallowed hard, nodding in understanding. Even so, the bearded man exhaled, unable to resist the pull of his own fears. "These are but whispers," he admitted, his tone laced with reluctance. "Rumors. But in these times, who can say what's real and what's not?"

Ragues frowned but accepted the answer. "That's why we need to be careful. We wait a few days before heading out again. The world outside is dangerous, and we can't afford to be reckless." He lifted his mug, draining the last of his drink. His comrades followed suit, a silent agreement passing between them.

Just as the last drop left his lips, the world shifted.

A shockwave, powerful and relentless, swept through the tavern like an unseen hand, rattling the wooden beams and shaking the very foundation of the building.

Tables upended, drinks spilled, and startled cries erupted in the wake of the tremor. Orion's grip tightened instinctively around his mug, his eyes narrowing.

This was no ordinary disturbance.

As the tavern settled into uneasy silence, a single thought echoed through his mind:

Something was coming.