Chapter 4: Lessons in Silence
The silence within the Prince's chamber felt heavy, almost suffocating. Eldrin stared at the tall, black-haired figure before him—Cain, the guard who had saved his life. The air still carried the chill of last night's terror.
Cain—or rather, Caelan Valtherion—stood straight-backed, chin slightly raised, the posture of a soldier awaiting orders. Yet beneath that rigid exterior, his mind was a storm of calculations.
A private summons to the Prince's chamber. Immediately after an assassination attempt. What did it mean? A test? A reward? Or… a veiled interrogation?
Eldrin swallowed, his throat dry. He had rehearsed this line at least ten times in his head, but the words still felt alien and heavy on his tongue. This was a gamble—born not of courage, but of raw desperation.
Just say it. You need this to survive. There's no other choice.
"I…" Eldrin began, his voice raspier than he intended. He cleared his throat. "I saw what you did in the corridor."
Caelan remained silent, his dark eyes unblinking.
"I want you… to teach me," Eldrin forced the words out. "Teach me how to fight like you. Teach me… the power you wield."
The request lingered in the air. For Eldrin, it was an admission of weakness—humiliating. For Caelan, it was an impossibility.
Teach him? Prince Vaelmont? The very same who had ordered the destruction of a bridge to cripple enemy supplies with a single, ruthless stroke of strategy? Asking a mere guard to instruct him—from the basics?
A cold shiver ran down Caelan's spine. This was not a request. This was a test. A test far deeper, far more dangerous than he had anticipated.
He's testing my loyalty. Or my discretion. Or perhaps… he's pretending to be a novice to see how much I reveal. A game within a game. Brilliant…
On the surface, Caelan inclined his head in perfect deference.
"As you command, Your Highness."
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The private training hall in the castle's west wing had long been abandoned. A thin layer of dust covered the wooden floorboards, and the weapon racks held only dull, rusting practice blades. Another reflection of the real Prince Eldrin—a youth who had avoided violence in all its forms.
Caelan stood in the center of the room, while Eldrin faced him with a mixture of nervousness and fragile hope.
"Before we even touch a sword, Your Highness," Caelan began, his voice echoing in the empty chamber, "you must understand the source of all strength. Not the sorcery mages prattle about. I speak of Aether."
"Aether?"
"Internal life energy," Caelan explained, concise and practical. "Every living being possesses it. Generated and stored in the Aether Core, then circulated throughout the body via Flow Channels. With training, one can enhance strength, speed, and endurance."
Eldrin frowned. This was nothing like the systems he knew.
"So… no external 'mana pool'? Everything comes from within?" he asked, the words slipping out with the logic of a gamer.
Caelan paused.
He asked about a mana pool… Is this another layer of the test? Is he probing whether I am merely a soldier—or someone with deeper understanding?
"Yes, Your Highness," Caelan replied evenly. "The art of drawing upon external Mana is something far more advanced. For a warrior, the foundation lies in internal Aether."
Eldrin nodded slowly, processing. "And… the Inner Gates? I've heard the term before."
"The Inner Gates are stages of Aether mastery," Caelan explained. "The First Gate is Awareness—the moment you can sense your Aether Core. The Second Gate is Circulation—the ability to consciously guide that Aether through your body."
"How do you 'open' these Gates?" Eldrin pressed. "Do you need a special item? Or is it just… grinding?"
Again, Caelan hesitated.
Grinding? An odd term… to grind something into dust? A metaphor for endless, grueling repetition? Or some coded reference to a ritual? He uses ambiguous words deliberately—forcing me to interpret, to expose the depth of my own knowledge. This test… is far more intricate than I imagined.
"There is no item, Your Highness," Caelan said at last, his eyes sharpening. "Only focus. Discipline. And will."
He decided to "play along." If the Prince wished to feign ignorance, then he would answer as though he were teaching a true novice.
"Sit, Your Highness. Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing. Search for the center of yourself. A warmth, a pulse—however faint. That is where it begins."
Eldrin sat cross-legged on the cold floor, feeling ridiculous. Meditation. Of course. It always started with meditation.
He followed Cain's instructions, closing his eyes and steadying his breath. For the first few minutes, all he felt was boredom. His thoughts wandered—unfinished projects, fleeting memories of Earth, even the taste of his sister's cooking.
Focus. If you fail, you die.
He tried again. His nose itched. His back ached. The silence was deafening. He wanted to quit. This was pointless. There was nothing inside him. Just emptiness.
Perfect. At the most crucial moment of my life, when I'm trying to awaken hidden power to survive, my nose decides to itch. Amazing.
And then—at the peak of his frustration, when he finally let go—he felt it.
Faint.
A strange warmth low in his abdomen. Not physical, more like an echo of warmth. A pulse, soft and fragile, like the heartbeat of a tiny bird. It flickered for only a moment… then vanished.
Eldrin opened his eyes, startled and confused. What was that?
From across the room, Caelan observed. He saw Eldrin's posture—relaxed, effortless. Not the stiff pose of a beginner, but the natural ease of a master. He saw his expression—focused, calm. Not struggling, but deeply concentrated. And he caught the subtle flicker of surprise in Eldrin's eyes when he opened them.
That was the final nail in the coffin of Caelan's doubts.
Impossible… Cold dread crept down his spine. I gave him the simplest instructions—something even the most gifted recruits require weeks to achieve. Yet he… on his first attempt… he found his Aether Core.
No. He didn't "find" it. He already knew. That flicker wasn't surprise at discovery—it was shock at how well he could suppress his power. Power so immense he could smother it until even he almost believed it wasn't there. Perfect control. Terrifying talent.
Caelan stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"An excellent session, Your Highness," he said, his tone carrying a new depth of respect. "You… have far exceeded my expectations."
He turned and left, leaving Eldrin bewildered, sitting on the floor—utterly unaware of what kind of praise he had just received.
As Caelan walked down the quiet corridor, his thoughts raced.
He is not hiding his strength. He is rebuilding his foundation from the very first Gate. For what purpose? Why would someone of his caliber stoop to start over?
A thin, cold smile curved his lips.
This puzzle… grows more dangerous. And far more intriguing.