The gates drew closer, the gates of Arnhiem, of the shining city. The obsidian spires, ornamented with titan crystal, rose from beyond the city walls, glimmering in the red sun that rose in the east. The sight was mesmerizing, more so than the bountiful vales and hills of the Eldian countryside. The walls were rather impressive themselves, carved out of red sandstone, festooned with bulwarks and bastions of marble and obsidian that added to the intricately constructed magnificence of the structures that extended from the circumference to the very heart of the city. Arnhiem truly was worthy of being the Capital of Eldia.
Wilmar swayed with the stride of his steed, allowing his muscles to relax for a bit. It was not that he needed relaxation, but it felt comfortable nonetheless. From behind, he heard the clatter of hooves accelerate towards him.
"You are making a scene," informed Hector, his voice reverberating through the brass face plate of his helmet, "People are staring."
Wilmar did not look at him and maintained his gaze on the gates, and thus on the road. The flow of pedestrians to and from the city was considerable, which was to be expected since citizens from the surrounding villages and farmsteads would be on their way to sell produce in the grand markets. Wilmar saw men and women, even children, walking or riding carts. Most were dressed in tunics and garbs of cotton and linen while some wore fur-lined hats and coats, a badge of their wealth. Regardless of that, however, they all cleared the way.
"The people are always staring, Hector," Wilmar reminded, "And it is probably because of the banner and the retinue rather than the way I ride."
The retinue he spoke of was composed of thirty mounted housecarls dressed in ornate lamellar plates, and servants and retainers twice that number following their trail. The banner his flag bearer wore was a red plumed helm on a dark brown background, the crest of House Astelan. It was natural for the commoners to stare, because that was the intended effect. Some even knelt and bowed as Wilmar rode past them. He had learned to ignore it.
After witnessing ten lifetimes worth of memories, who wouldn't, he thought to himself.
Another set of hooves sped up to him, "You are not a lordling anymore, Master Wilmar," the familiar voice of Lady Sigune spoke, "You are a Titan Lord now, one of the Nine. I assume it would not hurt to act as such for once."
"I…" Wilmar straightened up, a flicker of embarrassment flashing over his face, "I will try, Ma."
Sigune smiled warmly at him. She was not his biological mother, but Wilmar loved and respected her as if she was, if not more. A middle-aged woman with pale skin and raven hair similar to Wilmar's, her eyes were brown where his were grey. The indigo cloak lined with threads of silver marked her out as a scholar, and the amulet of an owl totem was the batch of her post. Sigune had served as a caretaker and mentor to Wilmar since he was a toddler. Now that he was chosen to bear the Titan for his House, she was the natural choice for the position of Wilmar's seneschal.
They had reached the colossal entrance to the city, which was forty meters high and twenty meters broad. Three watchtowers were supplanted over the gates, mounted with ballistae and manned with archers. But that was not the most breathtaking aspect of the spectacle. Two titans, each twenty meters tall, stood like statues on either side of the entrance, unmoving and unflinching. Their faces, contrasting heavily with their regular brethren, were impassive, their eyes lifeless. Deep purple cloths were wrapped around their bodies in the fashion of the toga donned by the nobility. In their hands lay long war-staffs composed entirely of titan crystals.
"What sorcery is this?" gasped Hector, making no effort to hide the awe from his voice, "These can't be mindless titans."
"They are not," said Wilmar, vivid images captured by eyes that were not his resurfaced in his mind, "They are the Sentinels of Freyas, right?" He glanced at Sigune.
"You are correct," she replied, "These titans were created by Freyas, the last Fritz to hold the War hammer. As for your question, Captain Hector, it is the Titan sorcery of the royal druids that is at play here."
He nodded, pretending to understand what the scholar had said.
The titans moved as Wilmar rode into the threshold. The horses flinched and neighed, their natural instincts compelling them to flee but their riders stood ground. Each Sentinel titan brought its right hand over the chest, curling it into the Eldian salute, and lowered their head, as if bowing.
No, they are bowing, Wilmar thought, bowing to me.
"They recognize your gift," Sigune told him, before looking ahead, "And there comes the welcoming party."
A squad of twenty soldiers wearing bronze armor over violet robes marched in Wilmar's direction. They were led by a man atop a massive white horse. The feather crested helmet marked him as an officer, probably a corporal or a sergeant.
"Lord Astelan," the officer removed the helm and bowed his head, "The Praetorian guard is here to escort you to the palace, given it is your first visit to the capital."
"Of course," Wilmar nodded nonchalantly, "Lead on."
The officer bowed again, then wore his helm and turned his steed. Like most people of common birth, even Eldians, he did not know much about the Power of Titans. To them it was a mystical force of divine origin wielded by their rulers and heroes. They were unaware of its nuances and intricacies, and most importantly its limitations. The ability to retain the memories of one's predecessor was, however, the most guarded due to its personal and emotional nature. Even among the nobles, there were few who knew of this ability.
In that cognitive state, Wilmar had visited the capital several times in different bodies and he had seen the city grow and change. The uniform grid layout and the wide, neatly paved roads, and the slat covered sewer lines were the few things that remained constant. The buildings which were initially of simple stone and wood were replaced by those of exquisite granite and marble. Sculptures and obelisks that were raised on crossroads and squares were renovated and repainted. And the towers, there were always new towers; marvelous structures created by a blend of architectural mathematics and Titan sorcery that validated those that claimed Arnhiem to be the jewel of Eldia.
Then there was the Crystal Palace, standing at the center of the city in all its pristine glory. The main road led directly to the palace, the outer walls of which were adorned with banners of various noble houses who were visiting the city for the royal summit. The largest and most ornate of them were the eight, which would soon turn to nine now that Wilmar had arrived. Soldiers and slaves wearing the colors and crests of their masters' heraldry filled quarters located in the greater courtyard, for they were denied access into the inner walls, where only servants of the royal family were permitted.
Wilmar and his retinue were given lodgings in one of the nine towers built on the periphery of the inner walls. The rooms and halls were furnished with markings and crests of House Astelan. Wilmar's suite was on the top floor, from where the view of the city and its vicinity were clear. From the windows, he could see the pine forests spread into the western horizon, the lush fields of wheat that covered the cleared land to the north, and the aqueducts that ran along the country roads. He wondered if this was what it felt to see from the eyes of the colossus titan, and then realized that he didn't wish to know.
Wilmar walked to the room that faced the inner palace. Despite the name, only a fraction of it was constructed from titan crystal; materials like marble and cobbled granite were the main components of the structure. That did not change the fact that the palace was beautiful; his attention shifted to the dome that lay at the center of it all and the hair on his neck rose.
"Novatrium," Wilmar spoke autonomously as he realised he had no memory of the place.
It was rumored that the Founder had the ability of manipulating memories. That notion was terrifying, which was a common theme on matters relating to the Royal family. It was of now consequence to him though. For Wilmar would make his own memories when he took his seat in the Court of Nine Thrones.