Chapter 6 – The Road to Astravar's Heart

The road to Astravar's capital stretched out, a straight and narrow road bordered by rolling hills and scattered occasional groves of trees. The sun was setting behind them, turning the horizon with shades of gold and red.

The wheels of the carriage creaked over the rough road, raising small clouds of dust that settled on their boots and cloaks. For the most part, the first day passed quietly, punctuated by the sound of hooves and the occasional greeting from passing travelers. composed of the straight-backed wooden seat. At first, she spoke little. But as the hours passed, she started to talk of the capital, not in a wistful manner befitting a traveler, but in a manner that spoke of years spent within its marble corridors.

"The capital of Astravar isn't at all like the cities of the kingdom," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Every road, every structure, is a declaration of power. Most people who live there are high-ranking officers or members of the upper class who serve directly under the Emperor. The families who hold influence in Astravar aren't simply wealthy—they are the backbone of imperial authority."

Jack leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. "So... rich people and their politics. Sounds thrilling."

"You'll find it's more than that," Mira replied without missing a beat. "Those who rise in the capital do so because they've learned to survive in its games. And those who fail... disappear."

The mood grew more serious. Ralf shifted in his seat, and Leo looked out the carriage window, watching the scenery go past.

...

By evening, they stopped beside a massive oak tree whose trunk was so wide that four grown men could not have wrapped their arms around it. The grass beneath its branches was soft and cool, carrying the earthy scent of damp soil. They built a small fire, and the night sounds of distant owls filled the gaps in their quiet conversation.

Leo leaned against the trunk, eyes half-lidded as Mira continued to speak of the capital—its towering walls, its markets lit brighter than the kingdom's royal court, and the way its seasons seemed to follow their own rhythm.

Jack, tossing a twig into the flames, muttered, "I'll bet the nobles there wouldn't last a week in Mawrech. Too much mud. Not enough servants to wipe their noses."

"Jack," Ralf warned, though his lips twitched.

Mira only smirked faintly before turning her gaze to the fire. "Sleep. We leave at sunrise. If we time it right, we'll enter the capital by midday tomorrow."

.....

The morning air was crisp, the kind that stung the lungs and made every breath feel sharp and clean. The road gradually widened, and the green fields began to give way to scattered clusters of buildings.

At first, these were small workshops—woodcutters, smithies, tanneries—but soon they passed sprawling complexes of brick and steel. Smokestacks rose into the sky, coughing plumes of gray that curled against the pale blue. The metallic tang of oil and iron replaced the fresh scent of grass.

Leo pressed closer to the window.

Besides these alleyways, workers in rough brown tunics moved hastily from one building to the next, hauling crates, rolling barrels, shouting over the constant hiss of steam vents and the clang of metal. It was a world that seemed to pulse with its own relentless heartbeat—fast, hot, and unyielding.

"Quite the view, isn't it?" Mira's sound was casual, but her eyes tracked every detail.

"It's... loud," Leo admitted after a moment.

Jack leaned over to peek out the same window. "Loud? Try deafening. And it smells like someone boiled a sword in a barrel of soup."

Leo smirked despite himself.

....

The further they went, the less green they saw. Fields became paved roads. Timber walls became stone facades streaked with soot. By the time the last group of factories fell away, the landscape before them was dominated by a sight that caught Leo's breath.

A wall.

It rose so high it appeared to scrape the clouds, Its stones were old and worn but unyielding. The utter scale of it made the surrounding buildings in the area look like children's toys. The massive gate at its center could have swallowed a fortress whole. From this distance, Leo could see shapes wheeling far above—birds circling near the top of the wall, their cries faint against the wind.

As they got closer, the shadow of the wall enveloped them, cool and heavy. Two armored guards stepped forward, the sunlight flashing off their polished breastplates.

"Do you have the required documents to enter the capital?" one of the guards asked, his tone curt but not hostile.

Without hesitation, Mira reached into her satchel and brought out a set of parchment documents stamped with the wax seal of the Kingdom of Valdros. She handed these over to the guard and examined them briefly before nodding.

"You may pass."

The carriage creaked forward.

Leo tilted his head back, trying to take in the full height of the gate as they passed beneath it. The arch overhead was nearly twenty meters tall, its keystone carved with the imperial crest—a crowned dragon with wings outstretched. For a moment, all sound seemed to muffle, replaced by the low, distant echo of hooves on stone.

When they emerged on the other side, the world changed.

....

The streets of Astravar were nothing like the dirt and smoke outside its walls. Smooth stone pavements stretched in precise lines, surrounded by rows of spaced streetlamps. The lamps themselves were works of art—slender iron posts with glass lanterns, their light catching in polished brass fittings.

People moved with purpose but without haste. Women in silken gowns, the color of deep wine or summer sky, glided past, their skirts embroidered with gold thread. Men in tailored coats of rich fabrics carried canes tipped with silver or ivory. The air was thick with scents—fresh bread, perfumed oil, roasting chestnuts—and under it all, a faint sweetness Leo couldn't name.

Jack let out a low whistle. "I think I just saw someone wearing more gold on their shoes than I've ever seen in my life."

Ralf muttered, "Try not to stare."

"Too late." Jack grinned.

....

Mira guided the carriage through the main street, past fountains that sprayed crystalline water into the air. Shopkeepers sold jeweled trinkets from stalls draped in silk canopies. Music drifted from open balconies—harps, violins, and a voice singing in a language Leo didn't know.

"This way," Mira said finally. "We'll be staying at a friend's house tonight. The exam begins at ten tomorrow morning."

...

The streets slowly widened, the sound of the markets fading to a refined quiet. The houses here were not houses at all, but mansions—tall, graceful structures of pale stone, their windows framed with carved reliefs and flowering vines.

Leo spotted one with a balcony overflowing with white roses, their blooms so perfect they seemed unreal. Another had gates of black wrought iron shaped into curling vines and guarded by stone lions.

But when they reached the estate that Mira guided, even Jack stopped talking. It was Draxler's estate.

The main gate alone was a marvel—tall and gilded, the gold catching the late-afternoon sun so that it looked as though it were burning. Beyond it spread a long, tree-lined drive, the leaves murmuring in the warm breeze. In the distance, a mansion of white stone rose high, its roof crowned with spires that shimmered like crystal.

A neatly dressed man on horseback approached as Mira dismounted. She spoke quietly with him, and he bowed before riding back toward the mansion.

Jack leaned toward Leo. "So... your sister's friends with these people? Should I start calling you 'Your Grace'?"

"Jack, shut your mouth," Ralf said flatly.

Moments later, a carriage—sleek, polished, and trimmed in brass—rolled up to the gate. The driver, dressed in deep blue livery, opened the door with a bow.

"Please get in, miss. Lady Lyra is expecting you all."

Inside the grounds, the air was cooler, carrying the scent of jasmine and freshly cut grass. The gardens were immense, filled with carefully shaped bushes and bursts of color from flowerbeds in full bloom. At the center stood a fountain shaped like a circle of swans, their stone wings touching at the tips. Water spilled from their beaks in graceful arcs, catching the light so it glittered like liquid silver.

Jack leaned close to Leo, eyes wide. "I swear, if I ever live in a place like this, I'm never leaving."

Leo didn't answer. He was too busy taking it all in—the scale, the elegance, and the quiet reminder in every polished surface that this was a world built for people far removed from the lives they'd left behind.

Somewhere ahead, behind the mansion's tall glass windows, decisions were already being made—decisions that would draw them deeper into the heart of Astravar than any of them could yet imagine.

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