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ModificationZerutod Saito
The southern plains of Fiore stretched out like a golden ocean, swaying gently under the midday sun. Zerutod trudged along the worn path, his pace steady, his expression as dry as the dust clinging to his boots. Crocus, the capital, lay far to the north, an unavoidable destination. Its towering spires were likely bustling with self-important mages and scheming officials—just the kind of environment Zerutod loathed.
"Why walk?" he muttered to himself. "Because teleporting would make life too convenient, apparently." His sarcasm, a constant companion, filled the otherwise quiet expanse. He adjusted his travel-worn coat, a barrier against the shifting winds as he crossed the rolling hills.
The journey north from the South was anything but smooth. The open plains gave way to rugged trails, scattered villages, and forests alive with the rustle of unseen creatures. Zerutod kept his interactions brief, moving through settlements with the efficiency of someone who valued solitude over small talk.
The northern roads were more populated, with caravans and travelers clogging the route to Crocus. Merchants hawked their goods, and curious eyes occasionally lingered on the lone mage. Zerutod ignored them, his cerulean lightning occasionally sparking faintly, a warning to those who thought to approach.
As he neared Crocus, the path widened, revealing the city’s imposing gates in the distance. The setting sun cast the capital in hues of amber and crimson, making it almost picturesque—if one ignored the bureaucratic weight that loomed within its walls.
Zerutod paused, running a hand through his silver hair. "The things I do for the sake of appearances," he muttered, striding forward. "Let’s hope this trip is worth the trouble."
"Why walk?" he muttered to himself. "Because teleporting would make life too convenient, apparently." His sarcasm, a constant companion, filled the otherwise quiet expanse. He adjusted his travel-worn coat, a barrier against the shifting winds as he crossed the rolling hills.
The journey north from the South was anything but smooth. The open plains gave way to rugged trails, scattered villages, and forests alive with the rustle of unseen creatures. Zerutod kept his interactions brief, moving through settlements with the efficiency of someone who valued solitude over small talk.
The northern roads were more populated, with caravans and travelers clogging the route to Crocus. Merchants hawked their goods, and curious eyes occasionally lingered on the lone mage. Zerutod ignored them, his cerulean lightning occasionally sparking faintly, a warning to those who thought to approach.
As he neared Crocus, the path widened, revealing the city’s imposing gates in the distance. The setting sun cast the capital in hues of amber and crimson, making it almost picturesque—if one ignored the bureaucratic weight that loomed within its walls.
Zerutod paused, running a hand through his silver hair. "The things I do for the sake of appearances," he muttered, striding forward. "Let’s hope this trip is worth the trouble."
