Quinn and Ravan parted ways the following day, almost in exactly opposite directions. Ravan directed his nixy toward the coast while Quinn led his nixy more inland in the direction of Crystalpeak, Duraland’s capitol. He gazed up at the palace which stood regal atop a snowy hill with its dome ice roofs, tall platinum spires, and back-drop of blue-tinted glaciers. As he patiently rode his nixy along the frosty streets out of Flurris, his mind seemed to recall on its own the years he had spent as Emperor Aldrich Stallard’s right-hand man almost three decades prior. Quinn had been his personal advisor, his loyal problem-solver, and he had worked so hard for so long to earn such a prestigious position.

With his father’s aid, Quinn had become a squire at the unusual age of six while most began training in the ways of a centurion knight at the age of eight. Many Durlanians were under the impression that Quinn’s father was strict and pushy, but the fact was that Quinn had to convi