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In the town of Fyr’nay, the Royal News Service was already up and running. The sun had barely managed to peek its rim over the horizon, but in the large, wooden building, messengers and agents were creating a general state of chaos. Nilrid was used to the disorder. He had served as a crier since he was twelve years old, calling out the news in the northern edge of Fyr’nay and some of the smaller villages inside the Wysia Forest. At fifteen, he stood nearly six feet tall, with muscular legs, a towering posture and light brown hair. His parents and most of his friends lived in a small village called Gastrin, in the neighboring country of Mallsey. While Nilrid enjoyed his job, and was paid well, he always felt as though he didn’t belong in Fyr’nay. Taking his trumpet out his case and assembling the various pieces, he pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and looked over the day’s news...
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