Soft laughter filled the great dining hall of the temple. Kael sat between Doran and two young acolytes, smiling with a renewed light in his eyes.

  “Doesn’t look like we had to carry you down the mountain two days ago,” Doran said, snatching a piece of bread from Kael’s plate before taking a bite.

  Kael laughed openly.

  “I know… but I don’t remember ever healing like this in my life.”

  From the other side of the table, Alden watched him.

  “It’s strange,” he said quietly. “No wound should close that fast.”

  A gentle breeze crossed the hall, stirring the blue fabrics hanging from the stained-glass windows. Then Selenya spoke, her voice calm and steady.

  “The primordial fire holds ancient strength. The Order merely learns to follow its pulse.”

  Alden frowned slightly—not in defiance, but in honest confusion.

  “I suppose I’m just not used to… any of this.”

  There was no mockery in his tone. Only sincerity.

  But Lyanna, seated beside Selenya, froze with her spoon halfway to her lips. It was a minimal gesture, almost imperceptible. She slowly lowered her hand and, without a word, rose from the table. Her pale blue cloak brushed the floor as she walked away in silence.

  Kaelor followed her with his eyes for a brief moment.

  Doran cleared his throat, uncomfortable.

  The acolytes exchanged a quick glance.

  Alden lowered his gaze to his plate. He wasn’t sure what he had said wrong—but the silence Lyanna left behind weighed heavier than any rebuke.

  Kael was the one who broke the tension, lifting his fork like a banner.

  “Well, I say,” he announced with contagious enthusiasm, “if I keep recovering like this, I might even beat you in a fight, brother.”

  Doran let out a deep laugh. Kaelor finally smiled. And little by little, the table began to breathe again.

  ***

  Not long after, the sun bathed the temple’s inner garden in golden light. Stone walls were covered in silver vines and soft-colored flowers. At the center, Alden and Kael faced each other in combat—this time not with wooden swords.

  Alden wielded his father’s short sword in his left hand and Eryndhal, the Sword of Dawn, in his right. His body moved with a new, almost unsettling fluidity. Each strike seemed driven by something awakening within him. Kael blocked, retreated, advanced again—but a shadow of confusion grew in his gaze. His friend moved too fast, too precisely, as though the steel obeyed a rhythm Kael could not hear.

  From a corner of the garden, the Wolf watched in silence, unmoving, her eyes fixed on Alden. Her calm stare seemed to perceive something far deeper than the clash of blades.

  A few steps away, Kaelor observed the exchange with crossed arms and a faint smile. He recognized elements of his own training: foot placement, disciplined turns, the correct tension in the shoulder. But there was something else—something that did not come from his teachings.

  “They’re not doing badly, are they?” Doran commented beside him, crossing his arms. “They’ll be great warriors.”

  Kaelor smiled faintly.

  “I only hope they become more than that.”

  Doran clicked his tongue.

  “I’m glad I met them, my friend… but perhaps it’s time I returned to my simple life. Prophecies were never my calling.”

  “You could come with us,” Kaelor replied without taking his eyes off the fight. “One more won’t get in the way—and you’d be useful.”

  Doran gave a short laugh.

  “On a crusade of magical swords? You know I prefer taverns to temples.”

  Kaelor glanced at him sideways.

  “I also know you have honor and loyalty. Not everyone can say that.”

  The half-dwarf frowned, clearly not expecting the seriousness of the remark.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Kaelor gestured toward the two young men.

  “And I’ll need help looking after those two.”

  Doran sighed, resigned.

  “I suppose someone has to record this story,” he said with a crooked smile. “Seems like a fine beginning for my legend.”

  In the garden, Alden felt something burning inside him. His breathing quickened; each movement grew stronger, surer. Kael stepped back, startled.

  An instant later, both of Alden’s blades struck Kael’s guard at once. Kael’s sword flew from his hand, spinning over the flowers before landing in the grass.

  Kael staggered back, clutching his shoulder.

  “Are you alright?” Alden asked, still breathing hard.

  “Yes… yes. I’m probably not fully recovered yet,” Kael replied with a smile he tried to maintain, though his eyes drifted—almost against his will—toward the glow of Eryndhal.

  Kaelor stepped forward at once.

  “That’s enough for today. We leave at dawn.”

  Doran nodded.

  “Youth is strong—but not indestructible.”

  Kael retrieved his sword from the ground. As he turned toward the interior of the temple, his expression remained calm; yet there was a brief tightening of his jaw, fleeting, nearly invisible. It wasn’t anger.

  It was doubt—newborn, unfamiliar, and heavy.

  He had lost.

  That was rare for him. And though he told himself he was still weak, the certainty followed him in silence as he crossed the threshold of the corridor.

  ***

  In a side gallery, Lyanna watched sunlight filter through a skylight, sliding across the floor like threads of gold. Her expression was dark.

  “Does what he said still trouble you?” Selenya asked as she approached.

  Lyanna took a moment before answering.

  “He doesn’t understand the primordial fire… or what it means to us. I feel like he sees none of what burns around him.”

  Selenya remained silent for a few seconds.

  “The sword slept for centuries in the Fountain of All Paths. No one outside an oracle awakened its light—until now.” She lowered her voice slightly.

  “His bond with the fire is real, even if he doesn’t yet understand it. That is why he will need someone to guide him.”

  Lyanna looked at her, unsettled.

  “Are you suggesting I should go with him? I… I’m not the best among the Order.”

  Selenya regarded her with the calm authority that demanded respect.

  “The fire chose you, Lyanna. I knew it the day I found you. Your eyes—”

  The skylight’s glow fell across her face, making the green of her pupils shimmer.

  “—are the mark of the ancient blood that runs through your veins. The legacy of the fae of old.”

  Lyanna lowered her gaze, a knot forming in her chest.

  “You can’t ask that of me.”

  “I am not the one asking,” Selenya replied gently, yet firmly. “It is the purpose of the fire.”

  She paused.

  “One day, that boy will need someone to remind him who he is.”

  Lyanna remained still, breathing slowly, her expression that of someone who has just heard destiny speak her name.

  ***

  That night, Alden stood alone in one of the temple’s inner halls. The walls were covered with ancient frescoes depicting forgotten myths: men wreathed in fire, stone dragons, sunken kingdoms… and among them, a solitary figure—an ancient hero raising a sword strikingly similar to Eryndhal against the colossal shadow of a winged dragon. The dim lamplight made the colors tremble, as if the scene still breathed.

  Alden held Eryndhal with both hands, the blade resting upon the sacred floor. The Wolf lay beside him, muzzle between her paws, breathing calmly.

  Kaelor entered quietly.

  “You look troubled.”

  Alden nodded without lifting his gaze.

  “I heard the prophecy when I took the sword.”

  He drew a deep breath.

  “It says the bearer of the Mark carries Galathor’s blood… and that this blood can strengthen the shadows.”

  A pause, almost a whisper.

  “Is Galathor my father?”

  Kaelor met his eyes.

  “No.”

  He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

  “Your mother was his half-sister. A beautiful woman… with something inside her that shone. Something many felt but could not name.”

  Alden blinked, stunned.

  “Then… did he kill her?”

  Kaelor lowered his gaze.

  “Galathor was not always as he is now. Once, he loved his people. But the shadows corrupted him, and ambition devoured him from within. He lost all trace of who he had been.”

  The Wolf slowly raised her head at those words, as if sensing their weight. Her amber eyes met Alden’s, and for a moment he felt a quiet calm—a silent reminder of who he was.

  “So I carry his blood…” Alden murmured.

  Kaelor shook his head gently.

  “You carry part of it, yes. But you also carry your mother’s… and your father’s.”

  He stepped closer.

  “She was never corrupted. And your father was a brave man—a knight who faced Galathor without fear.”

  His voice grew firmer.

  “Your blood comes from two good people. Strong people. Willing to give their lives for others.”

  Alden clenched his fists.

  “And if I become like him? What if the fire consumes me too?”

  Kaelor placed his hands on Alden’s shoulders.

  “Your mother and father carried that same fire—and neither fell to it.”

  A faint smile touched his face.

  “You won’t face this alone. Kael and I will stand with you. Doran too. And others will join when the time comes.”

  Alden nodded slowly, releasing a breath that seemed to carry years within it.

  ***

  Far away, in the northern forests of Valdara, the moon rose above the treetops. Leaves trembled beneath the heavy steps of a colossal creature—an Agaroth. Its greenish skin was crisscrossed with ancient scars, and a faint vapor rose from its body, as though each breath burned from within. Under the moonlight, powerful muscles shifted beneath its hide.

  From the shadows, a group of elves followed with drawn bows. The first arrows struck its flank but barely slowed it. The monster roared and charged.

  Then, from the height of a tree, a figure leapt down with feline grace. An elf woman with braided blond hair and blue eyes landed before the beast, wielding two crescent-shaped curved blades. Her expression was calm—almost cold.

  The creature lunged, but she slid beneath its legs, severing its tendons with precise cuts. The Agaroth crashed to the ground. She used the momentum to climb onto its back and drive both blades into its neck. The roar died.

  The elves emerged from the trees.

  “Good work, Serah,” one said.

  She wiped her blades on the moss.

  “Thank you, Vaerion. That’s the third this week.”

  Another elf frowned.

  “It’s starting to look like they’re not wandering aimlessly.”

  Vaerion shook his head.

  “These beasts do not think.”

  “Then someone is guiding them,” the other replied grimly.

  Silence spread among them.

  Serah lifted her gaze toward the north, where mist swallowed the horizon.

  “Whatever it is,” she murmured, “we must be ready. Something is coming.”

  And in the frozen air of the forest, her warning seemed to merge with the whisper of the trees.

  Thank you for reading this chapter.I hope you enjoyed it and that you’ll continue on to the next one.

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