Chadwick Rye

Jarik Millwright pressed his back against the cool stone wall of the Brass Griffin tavern, watching the legendary Thornwood Company celebrate their return from the Whispering Depths. Their laughter rang through the evening air like music, punctuated by the clink of tankards and the rhythmic thump of Kael Stormwind’s boot keeping time as he recounted their latest triumph over a nest of crystal spiders.

From his shadowed alcove near the tavern’s entrance, Jarik could study them without being noticed—something that had become his specialty over the past three years. Sera Brightblade sat with her back straight despite the day’s obvious exertion, her auburn hair catching firelight as she gestured animatedly. Her leather armor bore fresh scuff marks and a tear along one shoulder that would need mending, yet she moved with the fluid confidence of someone whose body was a perfectly tuned instrument.

Beside her, Tobias Quickfingers lounged with deceptive casualness, his slight frame disguising reflexes that could pluck a coin from the air or slip a blade between ribs before most people registered movement. Even relaxed, he radiated the coiled energy of a spring ready to release.

And there was Lyanna Moonwhisper, the elven mage whose delicate features masked a will strong enough to bend reality to her desires. She sipped her wine with elegant precision, occasionally murmuring observations that made the others lean forward with respect.

Jarik’s gaze lingered on each of them before settling on the empty chair at their table—a chair that had belonged to Marcus Ironhold before the veteran warrior decided to retire to a small farm outside the city walls. The Thornwood Company had been seeking a replacement for three months, and Jarik had been gathering courage to approach them for almost as long.

His hand unconsciously moved to rest on the soft curve of his belly, hidden beneath the loose-fitting tunic he favored. At twenty-four, Jarik possessed a keen mind for logistics and an encyclopedic knowledge of Lumen Vale’s ancient ruins and hidden passages. His cartography skills were renowned throughout the Scholar’s Quarter, and he could read seven languages fluently. He knew the location of every mapped entrance to the Lower Caverns and had memorized trade routes that stretched from the Crystal Spires to the distant ports of Saltmere.

What he didn’t possess was the lung capacity to climb a flight of stairs without breathing hard, or the muscle tone to lift anything heavier than a stack of parchments. His arms were soft from years spent bent over drawing tables, his legs unsteady from a lifetime of choosing books over physical pursuits. The closest he’d come to adventure was the time he’d gotten lost in the Archive District and had to ask three different people for directions back to his lodgings.

“Another round for the heroes!” called Mallory from behind the bar, his weathered face split by a proud grin. The tavern keeper had been feeding adventurers for thirty years and took personal satisfaction in their successes.

Jarik watched as Kael stood to accept the fresh tankards, his movements displaying the unconscious grace of someone who trusted his body completely. The ranger’s frame was lean but powerful, built for the long treks through wilderness that had made his reputation. Even this simple action—rising, walking, returning—spoke of physical competence that Jarik could only observe with a mixture of admiration and despair.

“To Marcus,” Sera raised her tankard, her voice carrying clearly through the tavern’s din. “May his retirement be blessed with peaceful harvests and boring sunsets.”

“To Marcus,” the others echoed, and something in their tone made Jarik’s chest tighten with longing. This was belonging. This was purpose. This was everything he’d dreamed of since childhood but never dared pursue.

A serving girl approached their table—young Mira, whose quick smile and quicker wit had made her popular with the adventuring crowd. Jarik strained to hear her words over the general tavern noise.

“…heard you might be looking for someone to round out the company? My brother Tam’s been training with the city guard, and—”

“Kind of you to think of us, Mira,” Sera’s response carried gentle but firm dismissal. “But we need someone with specific skills. Mapping, navigation, historical knowledge of the ruins. Marcus was good with a sword, true enough, but his real value was knowing these mountains like his own backyard.”

Jarik’s heart hammered against his ribs. Those were his skills—exactly his skills. But the conversation continued, flowing past his moment of hope like water around a stone.

“Plus,” added Tobias with a wry grin, “whoever joins us needs to keep up. The Depths don’t care if you’re tired, and crystal spiders don’t wait for you to catch your breath.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Keep up. Such a simple phrase, yet it contained multitudes of exclusion. Jarik could navigate them through ruins that had been lost for centuries, could identify traps by architectural inconsistencies that others would miss, could read the ancient warning-runes that marked the most dangerous passages. But none of that mattered if he collapsed from exhaustion after the first hour of travel.

He remained in his alcove long after the Thornwood Company had departed, nursing a single mug of small beer and wrestling with the stark reality of his situation. The tavern gradually emptied, leaving only the dedicated drinkers and a few late-night card games. The fire burned low, casting dancing shadows that seemed to mock his stillness.

Finally, as the bells of Midnight chimed from the Crystal Spires, Jarik made his way through the quiet streets toward his small apartment above Master Penrick’s mapmaking shop. The climb to his third-floor room left him slightly winded—a fact he’d previously attributed to the steep stairs rather than his own condition.

His chambers were cramped but comfortable, every available surface covered with maps, charts, reference books, and the tools of his trade. By candlelight, he could see his life’s work spread around him: precise drawings of tunnel systems, detailed botanical notes on underground flora, careful reproductions of runic inscriptions that might hold keys to understanding the city’s deepest mysteries.

It was impressive scholarship. It was also completely useless if he couldn’t physically access the places he’d spent years studying.

Jarik sank into his reading chair—a piece of furniture that had molded itself to his sedentary form over years of use—and stared at a map he’d been working on for months. It showed a theoretical route through the Sunken Gardens, a district that had been abandoned after a catastrophic flood three centuries ago. The passages were partially collapsed, requiring careful navigation and occasional crawling through tight spaces. He’d planned every detail, calculated every risk, identified the safest path to chambers that hadn’t seen daylight since Lumen Vale was young.

But planning required action, and action required a body capable of more than gentle walks between library and tavern.

The realization struck him with uncomfortable clarity: he was a spectator to his own dreams.

For the first time in years, Jarik really looked at himself—not the quick glance in his washbasin mirror while preparing for another day of comfortable routine, but a genuine assessment of the person he’d become. His reflection in the dark window showed soft features that had never been tested by wind or weather, hands unmarked by callus or scar, posture that spoke of accommodation to weakness rather than cultivation of strength.

He thought of Sera Brightblade’s confident stride, of Kael Stormwind’s easy endurance, of Tobias Quickfingers’ coiled readiness. They inhabited their bodies like instruments they’d mastered through years of practice and dedication. Jarik inhabited his like an uncomfortable costume he’d never quite learned to wear properly.

But bodies, unlike destinies, could be changed.

The thought came quietly, without fanfare or dramatic revelation. Simply: bodies could be changed.

Dawn was still hours away when Jarik lit a fresh candle and pulled out a sheet of parchment. If he could map the hidden passages of ancient ruins, he could certainly map a path from where he was to where he needed to be. The principles were the same: identify the starting point, determine the destination, calculate the most efficient route, and account for obstacles along the way.

His quill scratched steadily as he began to write:

*Physical Conditioning Program – Day One Preparations*

*Current Assessment:*
*- Can climb two flights of stairs before breathing heavily*
*- Cannot lift standard adventuring pack (estimated weight: 40 pounds)*
*- Walking endurance approximately two hours on level ground*
*- No experience with physical combat or weapon handling*
*- Coordination adequate for fine motor tasks, questionable for athletic pursuits*

*Goals:*
*- Build cardiovascular endurance sufficient for day-long treks*
*- Develop functional strength for climbing, lifting, carrying*
*- Improve balance and agility for navigating difficult terrain*
*- Learn basic self-defense and weapon competency*
*- Timeline: Six months to demonstrate readiness*

*Resources Available:*
*- City Guard training grounds (public access during morning hours)*
*- Merchant’s Guild gymnasium (membership fee acceptable)*
*- Master Ironhold’s Combat Academy (expensive but comprehensive)*
*- Running paths along the Upper Terraces*

*Phase One (Weeks 1-4): Foundation Building*
*- Daily morning walks, increasing distance gradually*
*- Basic strength exercises using body weight*
*- Flexibility work to prevent injury*
*- Dietary modifications to support physical changes*

The candle burned lower as Jarik continued his planning, applying the same methodical approach he brought to cartographic projects. By the time gray dawn light began seeping through his windows, he had filled six pages with detailed schedules, progress markers, and contingency plans.

But plans, like maps, were only useful if someone was willing to follow them.

Jarik set his quill aside and looked out at Lumen Vale awakening beneath the first rays of sunlight. The Crystal Spires caught the dawn and scattered it in prismatic cascades across the terraced city. Market vendors would be setting up their stalls, early risers heading to work or worship, the eternal rhythm of urban life beginning another cycle.

Somewhere in those winding streets, the Thornwood Company was probably preparing for whatever expedition would next call them beyond the city’s protective walls. They would check their equipment, review their route, ensure that every member was ready for the challenges ahead. They would depend on each other’s competence and conditioning, knowing that in the deep places of the world, weakness could mean death for everyone.

Jarik stood slowly, his joints protesting the night’s long vigil. His body felt heavy, reluctant, accustomed to gentle treatment and predictable demands. But somewhere within that softness lay potential—muscle that could be built, lungs that could be strengthened, reflexes that could be trained.

He pulled on his heaviest boots, the pair he wore when expecting to walk more than his usual short distances. They felt substantial on his feet, a reminder that even small changes began with single steps. His heavy cloak came next, protection against the morning chill and a symbolic armor against the doubt that whispered he was too old, too soft, too set in his ways to change.

The stairs to street level seemed less daunting today, though he couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was having a destination beyond mere necessity. Perhaps it was the novelty of purpose beyond comfortable routine.

The morning air bit at his cheeks as he stepped onto the cobblestones of Cartographer’s Lane. A few early merchants nodded greeting—they knew him as the quiet man who bought the occasional pastry and sometimes asked directions to obscure districts. Today, their familiar nods felt like encouragement.

Jarik turned toward the Upper Terraces, where running paths wound between the homes of Lumen Vale’s wealthy citizens and offered views of the entire city spread below. He had walked these paths before, always at a leisurely pace, always stopping frequently to admire the scenery or study architectural details.

Today would be different. Today would be the first step of a journey that would either carry him toward his dreams or teach him the exact measure of his limitations.

He began to walk, setting a pace slightly faster than his usual amble. His breathing quickened after just a few minutes, but he maintained the rhythm, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other rather than the growing discomfort in his chest and legs.

By the time he reached the first scenic overlook—a marble platform that offered panoramic views of the city’s seven districts—sweat dampened his shirt despite the cool air. His pulse hammered in his ears, and his legs felt unsteady. Six months ago, he would have stopped here, convinced he’d pushed himself enough for one day.

Instead, Jarik paused only long enough to catch his breath and appreciate the view. The Crystal Spires rose like fingers of light from the city’s heart, their morning glow touching every terrace and boulevard with gentle radiance. Below, the Merchant Quarter bustled with early commerce, while the Scholar’s District maintained its scholarly quiet. The Lower Caverns, invisible from this height, stretched beneath everything like a hidden foundation supporting the visible world.

It was beautiful. It was home. And it was just the beginning of what lay beyond Lumen Vale’s walls, waiting to be discovered by someone brave enough and strong enough to seek it.

Jarik resumed walking, heading toward the second overlook and whatever lay beyond. His body protested with each step, but his mind had found a clarity that years of comfortable routine had obscured. This was what it meant to move toward something instead of simply moving through another day.

Behind him, the city continued its eternal dance of commerce and culture, scholarship and adventure. Somewhere in that maze of streets and possibilities, the Thornwood Company was making their own preparations for whatever expedition would next call them into the unknown.

In six months, if fortune and determination aligned, Jarik planned to be ready to join them.

For now, it was enough to take the next step, and then the next, building strength one movement at a time toward a future that no amount of maps could chart but only courage could reach.