Beneath the watchful glow of a pale moon, Azurefall rested after Intricate Storm called for a crusade the night before. The glow of candles showing signs life filled just a few towers and rooftops of the town itself, while the soundless multilayered streets, littered with leaves tore only by the fickle sloshing sounds of the waves on the shore, and the calm stirring of the leaves in the trees provided company.
The old quarter featured a grand, elegant structure made of thick dark wood and stone. The walls featured shelves containing old, dim, dusty scrolls and weapons — a testament to the weight of tradition and responsibility. On this night, the only sound heard was a candle, with its slight crackling.
Ilya sat with her parents - tense but stiff, illuminated in the golden rays of the sun that caught her silver hair. Ilya's father rested behind a large and smooth oak desk, with Ilya's mother sharing the same space as he tapped a sealed letter in front of them. The parents' eyes mirrored those of Ilya - cold, indifferent, curious, and determined.
"Another message from the elders," said her father at last, sharply but flatly. "They are becoming impatient." The ceremony must be performed soon. The timing is critical."
"The timing is wrong," Ilya said quietly, but her voice did not tremble. "There are things happening here — things I need to understand first. At the academy. With my team. I need more time."
Her father's gaze hardened. "Time?" he repeated, the word like a judgment. "Time is not a gift the Blade gives. Your purpose was set long before you were born. The elders expect obedience, not hesitation."
Her mother's voice was sharper, almost cutting. "You were chosen to uphold our legacy. You cannot ignore your destiny because of temporary attachments. School friends are not a reason to neglect your calling."
Ilya clenched her fists at her sides. Her calm exterior cracked slightly, and her breathing became erratic for a brief while. She examined them one by one.
"No," she answered, her voice barely audible but with a steely undertone. "I'm not prepared."
Neither of the parents moved. The candle blew up. The silence was oppressive.
Ilya spun on her heels and left the study without waiting for a response. Between her rage, guilt, and neutrality, her footsteps reverberated off the long hall's wall; to either of her parents, it was a door that clicked softly shut.
Her mother clinched her teeth and muttered, "She's slipping."
Her father kept his eyes glued to the candle flame and said, "Maybe....she is waking up."
The days after passed in a blur of practice, strategy sessions, and fatigue. The raid on the Isle of Whispers was a week away, and the instructors made sure no one forgot that.
The training spaces echoed with the sounds of weapons colliding and shouts of orders. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat, earth, and mana. The students were forced to break through all limits - physically, mentally, and emotionally.
"Again!" Rayan barked, his voice echoing across the yard. "Dain, tighten your guard! You swing like you're chopping trees! Kairen — you're waiting too long! Don't think, commit! Feints only work if you're willing to strike after!"
Kairen's sword clashed against Dain's as Lia stood at the center of their formation, her hands glowing faintly with healing light. They were practicing team defense, learning to move as one body.
Dain grunted, frustration written all over his face. "I can't slow down that much!" He swung again, too wide, leaving a gap in the line. "It just feels wrong!"
Kairen caught his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Don't slow down," he said between breaths. "Just change your angle. Start the swing lower — they'll expect an upward cut. You can bring it around faster and close the gap."
He showed him, the motion quick and smooth. Dain watched, blinked, then tried it himself. The wood struck with a solid crack, tighter and cleaner than before.
His eyes widened. "Hey… it works!"
Kairen gave a tired grin. "Told you."
From the edge of the field, Rayan nodded slightly — the closest thing he ever gave to approval.
The week crawled forward like that — long hours of drills and barely enough time to eat or sleep.
But whenever Kairen had a moment alone, he tried something else. He'd stand in the shadows behind the training hall, close his eyes, and try to summon that impossible energy again — the one that had saved him in the arena.
He could recall the sensation: the ferocious heat, the fierce light, the voice that said, stand, my son. He remembered how his heart had felt like it was going to burst.
Now, he reached for it, and it was just silence. The mark stayed cold.
He pushed harder, until his arms shook and sweat dropped into his eyes. Nothing. It was as if that door — opened briefly that day — was stuck closed now.
"Dude, stop trying to just make lightning happen," Dain said one afternoon, clapping him on the back. "It will show up when it is ready. In the meantime, your regular sword arm is scary enough!"
Kairen managed a small laugh. "Maybe. But it'd be nice to know I wasn't just lucky that day."
While Dain joked and Lia focused on perfecting her healing spells, Ilya grew quieter.
She fought well — maybe too well — her movements sharp and calculated. But during the sections between drills, she would become quiet again, her gaze unfocused. There were occasions when she would simply stare into the distance, appearing to listen to something the other two could not.
Kairen did notice.
One day, when Dain was gulping water and Lia was gently wrapping a bandage around her scraped palm, Kairen ambled over and plopped down beside Ilya under the tree.
"You seem... concerned," he noted quietly. "Although I suspect it is not simply about the raid."
Her silver eyes blinked and she focused her gaze, as though she had been miles away in her thoughts. For a brief moment, her calm demeanor slipped into something almost raw, as though she had learned something uncertain.
"I was considering possible scenarios," she stated quickly, her tone drew back into the more rational-like fabric she usually carried herself.
Kairen tilted his head as if he did not believe her. "Ilya," he rested more gently, "you don't need to talk like a general with me."
She looked at Kairen, actually looked. Her gaze did not waver, and was almost searching. Something unuttered passed between them, quiet but heavy.
Finally, she relented, "Each of us has our own fights. Some of them... don't happen on the field."
He frowned, sensing something she said carried more meaning.
Then she added, voice barely above a whisper, "That power you used in the arena — it wasn't normal. I could feel it from across the field. It wasn't from this world."
Kairen blinked. "You… felt it?"
"Yes." She softened her tone, and for the first time, he heard an undercurrent of worry in it. "You should be careful. Anomalies are a dangerous thing."
The air between them held the words evoke a meaning neither was going to touch on.
Before Kairen could ask more, Ilya stood up quickly and brushed grass off of her uniform. The wall was back up around her again. "I think we need to get back to practice," she said, her voice flat again.
He saw her turn away, start walking, and wondered what all she had hidden from him- even flash of her eyes had looked so lonely.
It was a day before their raid, the sun was low in the sky, and the academy walls were bathed in gold from the sun's glow. They had just finished their last drills. The instructors let them go early and instructed them to go home and rest.
The four of them walked together across the courtyard and the silence was dismal and heavy among them.
Then finally, after a long pause, Dain spoke. "After this mission," he said, stretching his arms behind his head, "I'm going to eat a whole meatlover's pizza. With extra cheese. And no, I'm not sharing."
Lia let out a soft giggle. "I'm going to be sleeping for a week."
"Good plan," Kairen said. "We'll all need it."
Lia hesitated, then said quietly, "I was so scared when we first heard about this. But now… I feel better. Because I know you're all with me."
"Always," Kairen said.
Ilya looked at them. Her normal equanimity was exchanged for something softer. She smiled — not the insincere, formal smile she used in school, but a genuine one, weak and real.
It heated Kairen's chest in a way he hadn't anticipated.
They arrived at the main gate. The light was already gone quickly.
"Well," said Dain, rubbing the back of his neck inelegantly, "see you all tomorrow. Bright and early."
They nodded. None of them said goodbye. The word felt too heavy, too final.
When they separated, the still evening wind brought a strange whisper through the trees. Kairen stopped, looking back over the training fields. The air felt altered — heavy, charged — as if something very old and far away was beginning to stir.
He shook off the feeling and went home.
That night, he lay in bed unable to sleep.
Kairen sat in bed, staring at the ceiling, his brain a maelstrom of fear and excitement. Each time he closed his eyes, he caught glimpses — ruins enveloped in mist, dark shifting shadows, and the soft but unmistakable vibrations that were somehow deep down in his back.
He stood, took his wooden practice sword, and slipped outside into the backyard. The moonlit grass was silver. The air was quiet and cool.
He began working his forms — slow, deliberate movements he'd done a hundred times before. The rhythm eased him. Every swing and step moved his thoughts into place, like fitting pieces of a puzzle together.
The back door creaked open softly.
He turned and there was his mother standing there, two mugs in her hand. Warm kitchen light outlined her in the doorway.
"You couldn't sleep either, huh?" she whispered.
He shook his head. She stepped over, her robe scraping against the grass, and handed him one of the mugs. Hot chocolate.
He took a sip — sweet and hot. It steadied him.
They sat side by side on the wooden steps, the evening surrounding them full of gentle wind and quiet.
After a brief moment of silence, she said something. Her voice was soft, and weighed down with feeling. "Kairen," she said. "No matter what happens right now, tomorrow, or later on, I want you to think about this. I am proud of you. I am extremely proud of you, and the person you are."
Kairen looked down at the cup in his lap. The warmth was running through his fingers; he could feel his throat closing around his heart. "I'm scared, Mom," he said quietly.
She sighed and smiled sadly, pulling him close and wrapping him with her arm. "I know," she said quietly. "Everyone is scared before something really important. To be brave does not mean that you are not scared. To be brave means that you are scared, and you do what you know is right anyway."
He rested against her shoulder. For a moment, the world had become small again — just him and her, feeling the beat of her heart and the heat of her wrap around him.
She squeezed him gently. "Your father would say the same thing before every mission. He was always scared too. But he was not afraid to go anyway."
Kairen didn't respond, but the words sank deep within him — like a promise, like a memory that wasn't quite his own.
She smoothed his hair back. "Now come in. You need to rest."
He rose, smiling weakly. "Yeah. The demons can wait until morning."
As they entered the house walking back, the moon was overhead — quiet and observant — and far off on some island lost in fog, something ancient hummed fitfully awake.