An Archmage Among Adventurers

The forest thinned as she walked, the trees bending away from the low hills, and the undergrowth turned sparse underfoot. Elnora’s boots scraped the dirt path, a narrow ribbon that led her out of the wild toward the closest town inside Lorthraine’s borders. Greymire.

The town was still unseen, tucked behind the folds of land, but it pulled at her like a weight.

Her cloak clung to her shoulders, and the wool rubbed rough against her neck. She could feel the weight of it, not just in the soaked fabric but in memory—the name stitched into its seams. Elnora Valquinn. The name rang hollow now. Dead.

With each step, she left it behind.

A breeze kicked up the loose strands of hair at her neck. She sighed, brushing them away. “Eleanor would have scolded me for this.”

Her sister’s hair had always been perfect, every strand gleaming under their father’s watchful eyes. Elnora’s... No. Ellie’s was a tangled mess, a reminder of the girl who used to care.

She fumbled in her pocket for the ribbon, then pulled it tight, binding the hair back into a knot, rough and unremarkable. Practical. Like the merchant daughters who had passed through the estate, their eyes on the road, their hands busy with the work of living. Just like them, she thought.

It would do.

She walked on, the path winding through thinning trees until she reached a shallow stream running through the underbrush. The water rippled dark and sluggish beneath the arching branches.

Kneeling, she cupped her hands and splashed her face, scrubbing away the grime of the last few days. When she looked up, her reflection stared back—sharp eyes, hollow cheeks, the fine lines of her jaw still betraying the lineage she wished she could erase.

A snap of branches broke the quiet behind her. She froze. For a moment, her breath caught in her throat.

"Hey," a voice called, gruff and casual.

Elnora whipped around, her hand instinctively moving to the dagger at her belt. A man stood at the edge of the clearing, watching her with a raised brow. He was middle-aged, a farmer, by the look of his worn tunic and boots, a bundle of firewood slung over his shoulder.

"Don’t mean to startle you," he said, eyeing her tense posture. "Just didn’t expect to see anyone out this far."

Elnora forced herself to relax, though her fingers still hovered near the dagger. "I—" She paused, searching for the right tone, the right words. The name. "I’m just passing through."

"From up north?" The man nodded toward the woods behind her, clearly expecting some kind of explanation.

"Yes," she lied, quickly. Her voice felt strange in her throat. "Heading to Greymire."

"Bit of a long walk from there." He gave a slow nod, shifting the weight of the firewood. His eyes flicked over her, lingering a moment longer than she liked. "Best keep moving then. Storm might be coming in."

"Right," she said, and then, after a breath, added, "Thanks."

He shrugged, already turning away, trudging back into the trees. As he disappeared into the shadows, Elnora exhaled, the tension slowly leaking from her muscles. Ellie, she reminded herself.

Ellie Liddell. A nod to the author of a tale about a curious girl from a fictional kingdom simply known as United Kingdom who fell down a rabbit hole into a world called Wonderland.

When the man’s footsteps faded completely, she turned back to the stream, her reflection still there, watching. She reached for the dagger. Her fingers trembled, just for a moment, before she steadied them. The dagger caught her hair in rough hacks, uneven chunks falling into the water, drifting away downstream.

When she finished, her reflection was almost unrecognizable. Short, jagged, unkempt. The girl in the water wasn’t Elnora Valquinn anymore.

She wasn’t anyone at all.

With a sharp tug at her hood, she stood and kept walking, the farmland ahead stretching toward the distant silhouette of the town. Greymire.

The town came into view, its low thatched roofs and weathered stone walls pressing tight against the bend of the river. Elnora pulled her hood lower as she passed under the wooden arch that marked the town’s entrance. Two guards stood lazily by, barely giving her a glance.

A cart rattled by, its wheels clattering over cobblestones, and the driver—a woman with wild red hair—yelled down at one of the guards. "You lot going to open the damn gates on time or what?"

The guard waved her off with a roll of his eyes. "Calm yourself, woman. You’re early."

The woman scoffed, muttering under her breath as she flicked the reins. The cart lurched forward again, laden with cabbages, the green spilling out of burlap sacks. Ellie skirted past the cart, keeping her head down, her movements slow and deliberate. She wasn’t here to be seen.

The market square opened up before her, a mess of stalls and vendors hawking their goods, their voices competing for attention.

“Fresh bread! Just out of the oven!”

“Three coppers for the lot! You won’t find it cheaper!”

Ellie edged past a group of merchants arguing over the price of fish, her gaze drifting over the crowd. She needed to blend in, to disappear in the everyday noise of the town. A woman with a basket of herbs brushed past her, nearly knocking into her shoulder.

“Sorry!” the woman called over her shoulder, barely looking back.

Ellie mumbled something that might have been an acknowledgment, but it was swallowed by the crowd. No one paid her any mind. She was just another traveler, a thread in the hum of Greymire’s life.

Her heart hammered in her chest, but she kept walking, kept moving. Every step carried her further from Elnora, further from who she used to be.

The past was already slipping through her fingers.

A door creaked open nearby, and a group of men spilled out of the local tavern, their laughter loud, almost jarring against the quieter market streets.

One of them glanced at her, his gaze lingering on the way her hand rested near the dagger at her waist. "New in town?"

Ellie’s heart jumped, but she didn’t stop walking. "Just passing through."

He shrugged, barely interested in the answer. "We all are, in some way."

She walked faster, the sound of their laughter fading behind her. She couldn’t afford questions. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Ellie Liddell. She repeated the name over and over in her mind as she passed by crooked shutters, sagging roofs, the worn stones underfoot slick with mist. Here, she could be anyone.

No one would remember Elnora Valquinn in a place like this.

Not if she did everything right.