Chapter Text
The capital city of Erzielen was what one would expect from the capital of a large and prosperous nation; a grand collection of buildings of all shapes, sizes and colours sprawling from the far reaches of the city perimeter with a near-constant buzz of noise as the residents and traders went about their daily business without concern. The people who arrived in the city from afar always brought with them snippets of their culture and languages, and it wasn’t a strange sight to see people dressed in strange garments in bright colours giving a demonstration of a weapon or an instrument from their homeland to an enthralled audience.
The lower town, built outside of the city walls, was largely residential and it wasn’t uncommon to see children rushing around playing - often holding wooden swords and play fighting - whilst their parents worked around them. Lower mage’s, largely untrained in arcane magic and without a fixed specialisation, practiced openly on the streets, their hands waving patterns and lighting up the air as small glyphs momentarily painted the dirt at their feet and wide-eyed children watched. In a field on the edge of the lower town the knights, new and old, trained vigorously in a field as bright-eyed men and women watched from the sidelines, dreaming of the day they could join.
The upper town was a bustling hive of commercial activity, with merchants calling out to the public from stalls decorated with bright signs and smartly dressed civilians making their way purposefully through the cobblestone streets, past the tall grey-bricked houses that lay partially in the shadow of the King’s castle, and towards whatever business they wished to conduct.
The castle itself towered over a large portion of the upper town; made of limestone with spiralling towers rising high into the clear sky and large expanses of stained-glass allowing light into the rooms and corridors within. Crimson flags sat high above on the parapets and even from the ground it was possible to see the helmets of the guards above reflected in the sunlight, whilst the steady sounds of horse hooves and lady’s shoes on the flagstone tiles were sounds that each resident had grown so used to it barely registered. The castle’s courtyards were numerous and, through the generosity and kindness of their beloved King, most were open to the general public, enabling everyone to enjoy the wonders of the fountains and gardens when the weather was pleasant. Which it often was.
Much to Ryan’s mild annoyance, one of the few courtyards that was not open to the public and one that was mostly bereft of decoration, was the one surrounded on all sides by the workshops of the mages. His own workshop, snugly nestled in the far corner of that courtyard, with its solid oakwood door and a basket full of cheerily bright flowers hanging from the wall next to it, was where he spent the vast majority of his time and he couldn’t help but feel a bit...isolated.
Having been born in the city he was used to the hustle and bustle of the other citizens, the steady thrum of a city alive, but the workshops weren’t located close enough to the buildings of the upper town for the sound to carry and Ryan often found himself mulling over his creations in near-silence. His neighbours, fellow mages in the arcane arts, were all older than him and he found them to be far too serious and involved in their work to socialise with on a daily basis.
That wasn’t to say that Ryan himself wasn’t serious and involved in his work; as one of the best Redstone mages in the country his skills and expertise were called upon frequently and had earned him a place on the council of the King himself, a privilege which had in turn granted him a vast amount of freedom in his work.
This freedom he used to his advantage, and his moderately-sized workshop was filled to the brim with experiments of all different sizes and knickknacks that his travels had accumulated. One wall was entirely taken up by a bookshelf, large tomes of nearly every subject imaginable were stacked upon it and as Ryan walked past, automatically sidestepping a spot where the wooden floorboards creaked, a loose sheaf of paper fluttered from where it had been shoved between two books and Ryan sighed.
He reached the window, pulled on the clasp and pushed it open to let in a cool breeze. They’d been experiencing an unusually hot summer, and despite the usual coolness that the stone walls of the castle were able to give off the heat had quickly reached stifling levels and Ryan had found himself propping his door open and opening all the windows in his workshop in the vague hopes of catching some cool air with limited success.
He breathed in, wiping at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand and pulling his shirt up over his head. Left in his vest, sufficient enough to maintain a medium of modesty as well as help cool him down, he slung the shirt over the back of the chair at his desk and strolled over to his workbench. He reached out a hand and carefully picked up a delicate golden instrument from where it was propped up on an instrument rack. With his other hand he reached up to the ceiling, where dozens of leather pouches hung by coloured string and, without looking at which pouch his hand closed around he lightly tugged. Easily responding to the movement, the pouch smoothly came away from its string and Ryan gently set it onto the bench, pulling at the piece of string that tied it shut and revealing the contents within.
Inside the pouch, glimmering slightly in the sunlight that streamed in through the open window, sat an indeterminable amount of powdered Redstone. The tiny granules looked soft in the light and as Ryan dipped the golden instrument - a long-handled device with what looked like a strange combination of a scoop and a sieve attached to the end - into the pile they seemed to glow lightly.
Redstone was a tricky substance to use, owing in fact to its often volatile and dangerous nature, and as such the number of mages who worked with it - let alone specialised in it - were few and far between. Ryan’s own Master, whom he’d apprenticed under for over ten years until his retirement, had been highly skilled in most things but lacked the finesse and the will to fully master anything to do with Redstone at all and, upon discovering Ryan’s seemingly natural affinity with it, urged him to learn all he could.
And he had, he mused as his eyes drifted to the tall staff propped up in the corner by the open door. An orb, made of pure Redstone ore that had been smelted and molded into shape by a magesmith in the lower town, sat atop it and resonated a faint hum that Ryan’s ears had been trained to hear.
He slowly measured a small amount of the powdered Redstone with the instrument and deposited it into a small funnel, fixed in place to a stand, that rested atop the opening of a small and thin copper capsule that was securely held at the base of the stand. The powder trickled in, filling the capsule, and when it was full Ryan carefully capped it shut before picking it up out of its holder. He then held it in the palm of his hand and with a soft, but firm, voice commanded.
“Heat.”
He closed his fingers around the capsule as he felt the steady flow of energy in his body shift - rushing up from his feet to his fingertips and emitting out from his palm - and he concentrated on directing it towards the small capsule that rested there. He could feel the Redstone powder react and heard a light satisfying chime, almost like a small bell dinging, as it resonated within the small copper chamber and felt the sudden return of energy from the object. He quickly halted the energy coming from himself, almost nodding as the capsule retained its charge, and reached over to a small box of components. He placed the capsule alongside a similar one that sat, ready and humming slightly, in the box and completed the circuit.
A motor in the box reacted, buzzing loudly for a few seconds before falling silent. Ryan smirked and disconnected the circuit.
“Hey!”
Ryan looked up towards the open window as a sharp cry filtered in from the alley below, his hands frozen above the box as low mumblings of conversation filtered in and his brow creased in confusion. The alley that looped around his side of the mages workshops was rarely used and if it was he couldn’t think of any reason for anyone to be yelling in it. As the murmurings got louder, clearly forming into a full-blown argument if the loud smack was any indication, he moved towards the open window and prepared himself to break up a fight between friends, but the sight that met his eyes made him freeze.
He didn’t think the small group below could be described as friends, if the openly hostile looks on the majority of their faces were anything to go by. Two tall, muscular men and one angry looking woman - all dressed in the green armour of the Knights with one of the men seeming to be covered in bright yellow paint - were staring down a slim, lanky young man wearing the strangest outfit Ryan thought he’d ever seen; both hands clamped to his face as thick red liquid streamed from his nose.
Ryan watched, his jaw dropping slightly, as the tallest man - the one covered in paint - seemed to get ready to throw another punch.
“Hey!” Ryan called, startling the group. The three Knights immediately turned, their alert eyes scanning the windows that faced into the alley and then fixing on Ryan. Their victim, Ryan could hardly find a word in his vocabulary to describe him as anything but, immediately fumbled with the handle of the locked gate behind him in an attempt to use the distraction to flee and Ryan’s sympathy for him grew. “Isn’t there something in your Code about not harming innocents?!”
“But Sir, he-”
Ryan, raising a hand to shush the woman’s indignant yell even though he was fairly certain she couldn’t see it from where she stood, and interrupted. “I don’t care what he did, you don’t go around beating up civilians. Now get out of here before I report you to your Captain!”
The Knights immediately stood to attention, saluted and after sending brief looks of contempt back at the other man they scrambled out of the alley.
“Are you okay?” Ryan called, watching as the young man’s free hand dropped from the gate’s handle as the other still remained resolutely covering his nose. He mumbled something that Ryan didn’t catch. “Hang on, I’ll be right down.”
It didn’t take long to get from his workshop to the alley, finding that approaching it from the locked gate quicker than going into the castle itself. He waved a hand, the lock sliding back at the unspoken command, and pulled it open to face the young man in the strange outfit. He was shorter than Ryan and as he looked up at him with bright hazel eyes, one hand still covering his nose, Ryan couldn’t help but realise that the strange outfit he was wearing seemed to be a genuine Creeper skin.
“Er, dank y’u,” the man said, his voice muffled, causing the brief look of surprise that had crossed Ryan’s face to give way to one of concern.
“C’mon,” he beckoned, gesturing for the younger man to follow him. “I can fix you up.”
Despite giving him a hesitant look the young man silently followed him through the other half of the alley, out into the courtyard - dragging his feet against the flagstones in a way that made Ryan want to tell him to walk properly - and across to the workshop. Ryan gestured for him to take a seat and he did so quietly, propping a bow that Ryan hadn’t noticed before up against the wall beside him, and Ryan’s confusion grew. Archers were rare in this part of the city; tending to keep to the Western side where the target ranges were and rarely carrying their weapons into the labyrinth of corridors inside of the castle. Ryan’s eyes scanned it briefly, noting a certain unfamiliar uniqueness about it, before turning to the stranger.
“Okay, you’re going to have to move your hand y’know,” Ryan stated, waving a hand towards the young man’s face, where his hand was still firmly clamped. “I can’t fix it if I can’t see it.” He winced but complied, dropping his hand to his lap and Ryan’s eyes scanned the damage.
“It could be worse,” Ryan reassured him and the man huffed, rolling his eyes. He raised a hand, the other man watching him warily, and apologised. “This might feel a bit odd.” He rested the hand lightly upon the other’s nose and pulled at the flow of energy within him.
He’d always found it difficult to describe how magic worked, especially when using it to do different tasks. Healing, markedly different from heating something or shields, seemed to access a different part of his magic altogether; a part that almost seemed icy to his senses, as opposed to the gentle warmth he’d used to heat the capsule before. He pulled at the energy, inviting the chilly tendrils to pool together, and channeled it into his hand. In response his hand glowed blue for a moment, eliciting a startled gasp from the man as he quickly closed his eyes against the light, before the energy receded back - melting back into the steady flow - and the glow disappeared.
Ryan knew that he’d been successful even before moving his hand away as the stranger took in a deep breath through his nose and grinned brightly.
“Wow, a bit odd?” He asked, moving a hand to rub his nose and deciding against it upon seeing the blood smeared across his palms. Ryan was immediately struck by the unfamiliar accent, his brow creasing in thought as he moved towards the washbasin in the corner. He dipped a washcloth into the basin, wrung out the excess water and returned to the other man. On his feet now, and looking curiously around the workshop, the man accepted the washcloth with a sheepish grin and carefully started to wipe his hands clean. “Thanks.”
Ryan leant against a table - the top of which was half covered in books, a small pile of miscellaneous clothing and a wicker basket full of chicken eggs - with his arms folded. “No problem at all, I couldn’t just leave you there....” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow at the man. “D’you have a name?”
The man immediately held out his hand, no longer smeared with blood, and smiled “Gavin.”
“Nice to meet you Gavin, I’m Ryan,” Ryan shook Gavin’s hand and continued. “It’s especially nice to meet someone who can get onto the bad side of three of the King’s Knights at the same time.”
Gavin’s smile turned bashful as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and fidgeted with the frayed edge of the washcloth with the other. “Er...I didn’t do anything on purpose,” he explained. “I may have accidentally bumped into the tall one...and he may have accidentally fallen into a ladder...and there might’ve been a guy at the top of the ladder painting a mural or something and...” He shrugged, scrunching the washcloth into a ball and putting it down onto the side of the table. “I did apologise there and then but he wasn’t having it, and then his friends got involved and it just...spiralled from there I guess.”
“They looked like new trainees, and they’re generally quite hot-headed,” Ryan explained, shaking his head. “This heat isn’t helping.” Gavin hummed in response, looking around the workshop with interested eyes. “So Gavin, you don’t sound like you’re from around these parts.”
Gavin’s eyes hesitantly returned to Ryan’s face and he shrugged, folding his arms. Ryan could just about see him tugging on the material of his scarf from where he was stood. “Nah, I’m from Neulin.”
Ryan blinked at him, his mind mentally bringing up a map of the world. “That’s...pretty damn far,” he breathed, the mental map in his mind highlighting the smaller country. Gavin shrugged dismissively. “What brings you all the way over here?”
Gavin’s expression brightened instantly, an enthusiastic look crossing his features and he unfolded his arms. “I’m actually here with some friends, we’re looking for someone!”
“Well, I know a lot of people around here. Maybe I can help you out?”
Gavin opened his mouth, a clear acceptance of the offer on his face, before he closed it and a look of intense concentration appeared. Ryan could almost see the cogs turning and he stood there, still leaning against the table with his arms crossed, with a look of amusement on his face as Gavin spluttered.
“Wait, you said your name is Ryan right?”
Ryan nodded. “I do believe I did.”
“Ryan, as in Ryan Haywood?”
Ryan nodded, still amused by the look of surprise on Gavin’s face. “That would be me.”
Gavin stared at him blankly for a split second before whooping for joy, his hand coming up in a triumphant fist pump and Ryan straightened up; more concerned about how close Gavin was to his material pouches than the cheering his name had induced.
“Oh this is fantastic!” Gavin cheered, grinning widely and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Absolutely bloody fantastic!”
“Dare I ask, why is this fantastic?” Ryan asked cautiously. Gavin waved him off in a gesture that Ryan thought was supposed to be reassuring but was anything but.
“It’s you! We’re looking for you!”
Ryan looked at Gavin, taking in his open and friendly face with excited eyes fixed on him, and carefully replied. “Why are you looking for me?”
Gavin seemed to realise that he’d lost his cool and visibly composed himself before putting his hands onto his hips and proudly answering.
“We’d like you to join The Hunters.”