Bridging Worlds: Book 1 Celestoria's Time
Kingdom in Mourning

They had been traveling on foot for what felt like an eternity, their journey taking them to Ignisfell, the capital of Celestoria. As they reached the imposing city gates, a sense of solemnity hung in the air. The city, known for its vibrant life and grandeur, now seemed shrouded in grief. The passing of their beloved King Altair had left an indelible mark, and the city appeared to be trapped in an unending state of mourning.

The cobblestone streets were eerily quiet, and the once-bustling marketplace lay deserted. People, like specters, moved with heavy hearts, and even the colorful banners adorning the buildings hung limp in the stillness. Ignisfell had become a city of whispers and solitude.

After walking for a while through the somber streets, the weary travelers came upon a small tavern with a weathered sign that read “Minstrel Chalice.” With a shared glance, they decided to enter in search of a warm meal and a respite from their journey. As they pushed open the creaking wooden door, they were met with an unusual sight – the tavern was empty, the only sounds coming from the soft crackling of a fire in the hearth.

Moments later, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a warm smile approached their table. “Welcome, travelers,” she greeted them, her voice a soothing melody in the otherwise quiet space. “Please, take a seat. What can I get for you today?”

Eamon took the lead. “We’ll have a bit of everything,” he said with a grin. “Start with a hearty stew, fresh bread, and a flagon of your finest ale. And if you have any local specialties, we’d love to try those too.”

Geran, always eager to explore new culinary experiences, chimed in, “And do you have any of those sweet pastries?” Pointing to nearby table.

Kiryo, the group’s silent observer, nodded in agreement, adding, “Yes, we’re quite hungry. A few plates of your specialties would be appreciated.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Rosche, the youngest of the group, couldn’t contain her curiosity as she looked around the tavern. “Why is the city so quiet?” she asked the tavern woman.

The woman’s smile faded, replaced by a look of sadness. She leaned in closer and spoke in a hushed tone, as if sharing a secret. “The city has been in mourning since the death of King Altair,” she explained. “But there’s more to it. In the absence of a strong ruler, Celestoria has become a target. Thieves, barbarians, and conquerors see an opportunity to take advantage. The remaining royals, they’ve turned a blind eye to the plight of the people. It’s a dark time for this city.”

The group exchanged glances, some of them contemplating the tavern woman’s words, while others just wanted to complete their original mission. They knew their primary goal lay elsewhere, and the city’s troubles were not their burden to bear.

The woman returned to their table, carrying a tray laden with steaming bowls of stew, plates of pastries, and frothy mugs of ale. The aroma of the food was comforting, but the weight of the tavern woman’s revelations hung heavily in the air.

Their food arrived, and they ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

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