Three days after Eralthar | Helvar's Cabin, Northern Pass Foothills
The sound of iron being hammered blended with the howling wind, echoing through the mountain's base. Each clang drove a deeper crack into Valerian's soul, sharpening it blow by blow.
He hadn't spoken in three days.
Nor had Helvar.
Words were unnecessary. Here, only the hammer spoke.
Valerian carried wood at dawn and watched Helvar's every movement at night. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands calloused.
But he still stood tall.
Because falling wasn't an option.
"Iron," Helvar said one morning, suddenly, "is like blood. It needs fire to harden. But heat it too much, it shatters. Cool it too fast, it cracks.
"Valerian nodded."
You are iron, boy. Not yet a blade. But you will be. Either war will forge you… or you forge yourself.
"Every morning, Valerian woke with icy water.
Then came training. No swords allowed.
The body must be forged first.
Helvar taught him how to kneel and lift stones with his left arm, swing a hammer with his right.
Build balance.
Build silence.
One night, Valerian stepped outside and found Helvar staring at the stars.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked, his voice rough with frost.Helvar was silent at first.Then exhaled slowly.
"Because when a man burns, and his tears stay hidden—but his rage is that quiet... I know what he'll become."
A week later, Helvar opened an old chest.
From within, he pulled a blade black as coal. Simple hilt. Perfect weight.
No crest. No insignia.
"This was forged under your father's order. Not for you. Never for you.
"Helvar paused."
But there's no kingdom now. So this sword… is yours.
Valerian took it without a word.
It fit his wrist.
Burned his palm.
But pain was a familiar companion now.
"What will you name it?" Helvar asked.
Valerian stared into the dull steel.
Then whispered:
"Oath."
From that night on, Valerian began to change.His stance shifted. His gaze deepened.
But more than anything… his silences changed.
He no longer stayed quiet because of pain.
Now, it was because of purpose.
Ten days after Eralthar | The Forest Surrounding Helvar's Cabin
The moon had yet to rise as Valerian moved through the forest.
In his hand: Oath.
On his back: the old leather armor Helvar had given him.
For the first time, he was alone.
That morning, Helvar had said:
"Send a man into the woods to learn what he is. Whatever returns… that's his truth."
Valerian was determined to return.
But not empty-handed.The forest was quiet.
But Valerian's ears had learned.
The snap of branches.
The tremor of a breath.
A distant whisper—enemy language.
He spotted the first one and dropped to the ground.
Three men in Vornath armor advanced from the west. Scouts, likely.Searching for refugees, for survivors.
Valerian did not blink.
He picked up a stone.
Waited.
When the soldiers passed, he threw it at a bush.
A bird shrieked and flew off. One soldier flinched and strayed.
That was the moment Valerian waited for.
He sprang.
Raised Oath for the first time toward a living target.
And..."Shhhhk!"A throat opened.Blood spilled into the black.
Before the man could fall, Valerian held his face. They locked eyes."We… thought you were all dead…" the man choked, fading.
Valerian said nothing.
Let him go.
Turned to the other two.
The second heard the sound, spun—too late.
Valerian struck hard and fast.
The man fell to his knees, gasping.
The third ran.
But running in this forest meant nothing.
Valerian knew this terrain.
He was born of these hills.
He cut the path, met him head-on, and dropped him cold.
No words.Only steel.
Valerian stood over the bodies.
Stared at his bloodied blade.
Breathed.And whispered:"This is only the beginning."
When he returned to Helvar that night, he was silent.
Helvar didn't ask.He tossed wood on the fire and offered a bowl of water.
"You've spilled your first blood. You'll sleep less now."
Valerian drank.Then leaned Oath against the hearth."Don't make me a warrior," he said."Make me an army."
Helvar narrowed his eyes.
Then chuckled.
"Iron can be forged.Stone can be carved.But a true warrior... is shaped by vengeance."