[h3]Chapter 1 | Saturday Morning | West Gate of Ambrosia[/h3][hr]
The morning so far had been uneventful for Ely. The night before was much the same, in all honesty. A week earlier Ely had been in one of the towns on the outskirts playing as a man-of-the-people for those less fortunate than he. In matters of wealth they were equal for Ely had very little coin in his coffers, but in the relations of spirituality, Ely’s pockets were nearly endless. From an early age he had been engrossed in the flows of magical preaching, and for years more he had been a helper to those in need. Despite this all, he was no zealot, but understanding and patient in his movements. He had to be with his chosen, yet unchosen, craft: magic.

While his first exposure to magic was abrupt, catastrophic, and jarring, he had learned to control his preferred element, Air, and held a vast knowledge on the other elements as well. Air was chosen for various reasons, it’s versatility being the most supreme. In one moment he could be casting a cutting burst of wind, in the next he could be shielding himself from harm. With the flip of a dime that defense could turn to offense, or be repurposed entirely for utility. Years it took to develop the expertise in his practice, but that wasn’t the only thing in his repertoire. With him he had a spear; a two-meter-long metallic weapon with a grip fashioned from heavy cloth wrappings. It resembled an ancient Roman hasta in appearance and was one of his most prized possessions, the other two being his vehicle and magical crystal.

He twirled that crystal now sitting in his silver buggy with his boots propped up on the dashboard. The windows were open, allowing the cool breezes of the outside air to funnel in and keep the calm alongside the music streaming softly from the radio. He was in a state of calm, parked outside of the house he grew up in. Inside was his father, a man whose years were catching up to him but he refused to sit down. It was a somber thing, being out there, but he yearned to be home, yearned to see his father. Now that he saw him though, there was a twinge of regret in his mind.

The night before, he had traveled up from the south, travelling through the falling sun, through dusk, to reach Ambrosia by total nightfall. It was a dangerous venture but it was something he felt he had to do. It had been years since he saw his father properly. Now he realized why.

Suddenly the music stopped, a crackling taking over his speakers that brought him pause. He was not miffed because of the abrupt silence, but he was curious. Ely slid his feet of the dash and set them down properly in order to listen to the broadcast. The Jarl, Janne Gustaven, spoke on about how the wealthy were putting their efforts, and resources, into a combined project. The Great Reclamation Project, it was called. Curious still, Ely shifted, leaning into his speaker more readily. Next the Jarl said the Ambrosian Conscription Rule was to be invoked, requiring every hunter, engineer, and ADF agent to heed the call of the invocation.

Ely looked sadly to the house he grew up in. His father was inside resting after a night shift and now the man was being called again but for something else entirely. This was bigger than his usual patrols, this was something on a grander scale. Ely wondered if his old man could keep up with that sort of project, the sudden laying of the foundation of the West Coast. That was momentous, was it not?

Ely sat back in his seat, biting down on his thumbnail in thought. There was nothing said about mages but he knew the Pledge would lend their support. While he was no longer an official member of the Pledge, he still held up their ideals and followed - mostly - in their decisions. He believed he still represented them, at least until he was able to set a stage for himself, if at all. The Pledge would remain a deep part of who he was and, in the recesses of his gut, he knew he would face reprimanding for not signing up.

Almost begrudgingly, he started his car and backed out of his father’s rubble-filled driveway and onto the road. After that he sped on to the plaza where the sign-ups were being held. He parked, braced himself for the crowds, then piled out of his car, making sure the doors were locked before heading off.

Ely’s spear gleaned in the sunlight, freshly cleaned, pale metal refracting the rays crisply. It swayed some small ways about his head as he walked onward through the crowds. The crystal around his neck, the catalyst of his power, swung like a pendulum with each step. The elongated shard trailed down to the center of his belly, bound at the top tightly by metal braces. He lost himself in the sea of people, his shining spear swaying above him the entire walk towards his objective: signing up.