The mist rolled in from the sea like an old friend, curling through the narrow, stone-lined streets of Valen. The town clung to the cliffs like a stubborn barnacle, battered by endless tides but never broken. Here, life was measured by the call of gulls and the pull of the nets, by simple joys and ancient songs sung into the mist.

It was here, amidst the salt and silence, that six young souls grew into something more. Peren, whose quiet discipline made him as steady as the tides. Rand, whose gentle heart masked a sharp and questioning mind. Trevor, always grinning, always scheming, always thinking one step ahead. Moroseth, the black-scaled dragonborn whose silent love of life burned deeper than any sea-storm. Biff, a towering red-scaled barbarian whose heart was bigger than his fists were deadly. And Baris — clever, ambitious Baris — whose hunger for something greater had already begun to twist into something darker.

The Naming Day came not with fanfare, but with fog. In the great Gathering Hall at the center of Valen, the youths of the town gathered beneath the ancient banners of the Eternal Order and the Eternal Conflict — two emblems, two futures. To choose Order was to choose structure, hierarchy, duty. To choose Conflict was to choose freedom, risk, and the chaos of making one’s own path.

Peren was the first to step forward. Without hesitation, he knelt before the swirling sigil of Conflict. Biff thundered behind him a moment later, thumping to one knee so hard the stone cracked. "Oops," he muttered, flashing a sheepish grin. Rand hesitated — but only for a heartbeat — before joining them. Moroseth followed, silent as mist. Trevor swaggered across the room with a roguish grin, throwing a wink at the gathered crowd as he chose. Last came Baris, lingering just long enough to make the elders of the Order frown before turning his back on them with a smirk.

As the last oath was sworn, a heavy silence fell.

From the shadows at the edge of the hall, a figure stepped forward — tall, clad in storm-gray robes shot through with threads of crimson and gold. His face was lined with years and battles, but his eyes burned with a fire undimmed by time.

Lord Voss.

The leader of the Eternal Conflict.

He regarded them for a long moment, his gaze weighing and measuring.

"You have chosen freedom," Voss said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the stones underfoot. "You have chosen to forge your own path. Know that it will not be an easy one."

He stepped closer, and the six felt the weight of expectation settle on their shoulders like a mantle.

"Kosh is a city of gold and stone," Voss continued. "A place where Order festers, hiding behind coin and power. It is there you must plant a seed of change."

He held out a simple parchment scroll, sealed with black wax.

"This is your first duty. Travel to Kosh. Secure an inn. Build a place where ideas can breathe. Where freedom can take root in the cracks left by greed."

The companions exchanged glances — a thousand emotions flashing between them — excitement, fear, pride.

"You will not be alone," Voss said, a rare smile tugging at his weathered mouth. "Conflict stirs already. Others will come. But you... you will be the first."

With a final nod, Lord Voss turned and vanished into the mist, leaving only the weight of destiny behind him.

That night, under a sky heavy with mist and starlight, the six gathered around a beachside fire. They spoke of what they would build. "We’ll open an inn," Trevor said, tossing a pebble into the black waves. "A real one. A home for our kind. A place where no Order thumb weighs on your choices."

"An inn?" Biff said, perplexed. "Do inns have... big fires?"

Trevor laughed. "The biggest."

"We’ll need gold," Rand said, ever practical. "And favor, even among the Order, if we are to survive."

"We’ll have both," Baris promised, voice low and secretive. "One way or another."

Above them, the mist blurred the stars. Tomorrow, their journey would begin — and the world would start to change.