Nathan squinted at it. "This is it?"
The paladin gave a short laugh. "This is the Aramore outpost. We don't need a fortress to make a difference."
Inside, the base was simple but sharp. Clean hallways. Rooms with beds, maps, weapons, books. A central gathering room with a round table and a glowing orb floating just above it—used for tracking Order operations.
"Home," the second paladin said, setting down her spear by the wall.
Before Nathan could ask any questions, someone else stepped into the room.
He was young—probably a bit older than Nathan—with sharp brown eyes, short, neatly kept hair, and an aura of confidence like he owned the place.
"Ah, you're the new recruit," the boy said, offering a hand. "Name's Arlen. Senior trainee."
Nathan blinked. "You're a trainee?"
Arlen grinned. "Sure. But don't let the title fool you. I've been with the Order since I was twelve. You'll learn fast."
Nathan glanced at the others. They didn't argue.
He hesitated, then shook Arlen's hand. "Nathan."
Arlen nodded. "Well, Nathan, welcome to Aramore. Things are gonna be different now."
"C'mon," he said, already heading down the hallway. "Let me show you around before someone decides you need to start mopping floors or sorting gear."
Nathan followed, still adjusting to the atmosphere.
"Main hall's back there," Arlen said, motioning to the round chamber they came from. "It's where we hold missions, meetings, or pretend to listen to Commander Feryn's lectures. Over here—" He turned left. "—mess hall. It's open most hours. Food's not bad, if you like stew and dried fruit five days a week."
Nathan peeked in. A couple of paladins sat at long tables, laughing over bowls of something steaming. One nodded at him.
He nodded back, still unsure if he was supposed to salute or bow or… something.
They kept walking.
"Second floor's sleeping quarters," Arlen continued. "You'll be bunking in Section B for now—solo room. Perks of being new."
"Thanks," Nathan muttered.
"You say that now. Wait till they ask you to clean out the wyvern stables."
Nathan raised a brow. "Wyvern stables?"
"Yeah. Don't worry, most of 'em don't bite." Arlen smirked. "Unless you smell like goat."
Nathan gave him a side-eye. "You're joking."
"…Mostly."
They reached a stairwell and climbed to the third floor. Here, the atmosphere shifted slightly. Quieter. A little colder.
"Library and archives," Arlen said, lowering his voice without needing to. "Restricted sections beyond the black doors. You'll need clearance. Don't get caught sneaking in—we had a guy try that once. He's still cleaning holy runes off the ceiling."
Nathan smirked a little.
Arlen turned and leaned casually against the railing. "You'll find most answers in here, if you know how to look. Magic theory, old battle reports, relic manifests, local politics, monster anatomy—though that one's not for weak stomachs."
Nathan took it all in. The shelves. The glowing orbs floating near reading stations. The silence that felt heavy but not oppressive.
"Question," Nathan asked. "Why here? Why Aramore?"
Arlen's smirk faded slightly. "It is. In Solyndor, way east. But Aramore's where the pressure is. Close to trade, border tensions, rising anomalies. But we deescalate those tensions and prevent a all out war."
He looked down at the street outside, hands in his pockets.
"And if something's going to go wrong, it'll go wrong here first."
Nathan nodded slowly.
That made sense.
Before Arlen could launch into another quip or explanation, a bell chimed softly from down the hall.
"Dinner," Arlen said, pushing off the railing. "You hungry?"
"I could eat."
They headed back down. Nathan's steps were a little slower now—not out of exhaustion, but because for the first time in days, maybe weeks, he wasn't running. Wasn't fighting.
He had a place, however temporary.
He had purpose—however foggy the road ahead might be.
And for now… that was enough.