The next morning came slow, crawling through my aching limbs like cold honey. Every bruise from yesterday pulsed in quiet defiance, a testament to the war waged between father and son in the dirt of our courtyard.
I didn't care. I was used to pain. I welcomed it now.
The village stirred outside—wooden carts creaking, blacksmiths stoking their forges, the low bleating of livestock echoing across the hills. But none of it held my focus. Today was different.
Today, Father said he would show me something from his past. Not with words… but with blood, steel, and memory.
The clearing outside the village was already prepared.
Father stood at its center, surrounded by a circle of upright wooden dummies—each one carved roughly, smeared with ash and red dye. Burnt effigies. A battlefield from memory.
He wore a light chest wrap and leather guards along his forearms. The rest was raw muscle and aura.
"Igris," he said as I approached. His eyes were like iron today—distant, heavy.
"Today, I will show you why I never speak of the war."
I nodded.
He handed me a dulled training blade, weighted to simulate a real weapon.
"When I was your age, I wasn't stronger than you. I had no spirits. No guidance. No divine blood. Just fists, stubbornness… and rage."
He stepped into the circle, pointing his blade at the dummies. "These represent the Bandit King's lieutenants. Strong. Experienced. They fought dirty. Killed children. Burned villages."
My grip tightened.
"My men? Farmers. Woodcutters. Smiths. People who'd never seen war. The king of our continent refused to send soldiers. Said it wasn't his problem."
Father's aura began to rise—not flaring like fire, but settling into a cold, dense pressure. It rolled off him like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
"The nobles laughed when I requested aid. So I stopped asking. I trained them myself. Drilled them every dawn. We learned to fight together. To bleed together. And eventually… to kill together."
He moved. Not like a soldier—but like a beast.
One breath, one step—and the first dummy shattered beneath a crushing, downward arc. His blade slammed through it as if the wood were brittle clay.
Another turn, a spin—his elbow cracked the neck of a second, and his foot caught the base of a third, toppling it before he even looked its way.
Every movement was efficient. No flash, no wasted flourish.
Just violence and purpose.
Within seconds, every dummy lay in ruin.
He stood in the middle of the wreckage, breathing slowly. His aura settled again.
"Igris," he said, turning toward me, "that war taught me something. Power doesn't come from talent. It doesn't come from bloodline. It comes from conviction."
He walked to the edge of the clearing and picked up a charred banner—its emblem long faded.
"The men I led? They weren't strong… until they chose to be. Until they believed their lives had weight."
He tossed the banner to the ground and looked me dead in the eye.
"You have more talent than any of them. More power, even now, than I ever had then. But if you don't have conviction… you're just another sword waiting to rust."
I stood silent for a long time. The wind stirred the ashes at my feet.
"What happened to them?" I asked quietly. "Your men."
His eyes darkened.
"They all died."
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"All of them?"
He nodded. "They held a canyon pass while I led a strike on the Bandit King's fortress. They knew they wouldn't survive. But they did it anyway. Bought me the time i needed."
I looked at the ruined dummies, now more than just training targets.
"Did they believe in you?"
"They believed in the world they wanted to build. I was just the one fool crazy enough to lead them."
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"You want to be strong, Igris? You want to be feared? Fine. But never forget that power alone makes you a monster. Conviction is what makes you a man, and regret is what makes you improve".
"Without that war I would have never found the love of my life,so if there is one thing you learn from the musings of your old man ,it should be that without darkness there cannot be light ,so become strong, take my training and be better than I ever could be , make friends and allies you can rely on change the world for all I know ,but never forget that me and your mother will always be here for you if you need us"
That night, I sat beneath the old tree behind our house, sword in hand, gaze lost in the stars.
My spirits sat around me. Raven lounged against the trunk like a shadowy panther. Solara's light shimmered above, dancing between branches. Aelira whispered mental mantras. Nyssara quietly hummed in the grass, fingers weaving strange symbols.
I didn't speak. I just listened.
To the wind.
To my heart.
To the memory of a man who led broken people to victory—and carried their ghosts with him forever.
One day, I would carry my own.
But unlike Father, I would never let the world laugh at my strength. Never would I be seen as just another forgotten name. No king, god, or empire would ever deny my worth.
I would carve it into history myself.