Queen Luminara stood frozen as Veldora, the Storm-Crested Dragon, vanished back into the rift at the boy's command. She was short of words, her mind racing to comprehend how a five-year-old could command a beast of legend. When Silus noticed her, he didn't look afraid; he looked curious.
"Your Highness," Luminara said, recovering her royal poise. "A Prince of your power should not just be summoning monsters—he should know how to defend himself when magic isn't enough."
She offered to become his personal tutor, specializing in the twin arts of the scythe and the sword. King Alaric, eager to see his son strong enough to withstand the shadows of the Demon Lord, gave his immediate blessing.
The next morning, Luminara led Silus to the Royal Training Ring. She handed him a heavy practice sword made of Ironwood. "Swing it," she commanded. "One hundred times. Up and down. If your form breaks once, we start over."
To her surprise, Silus didn't complain. He moved with a focus that was eerie for a child. When the hundredth swing was complete, Luminara drew her own practice weapon. "Now," she whispered, "try to hit me."
The air shifted. Silus moved—not like a child, but like a golden blur. His speed was so immense that even Luminara's elven eyes struggled to track him. He appeared at her side in a heartbeat, his wooden sword whistling through the air. Luminara barely parried the blow, but she noticed something: while his speed was god-like, his strike lacked the physical weight to match it. His small, five-year-old body couldn't yet handle the sheer velocity he generated.
Luminara used a gentle burst of Wind Magic to push him back. Silus flipped through the air, landing perfectly on his feet, but his legs trembled and he eventually slipped into the dirt, gasping for air.
"Speed is a gift, Silus, but stamina is a choice," Luminara said, her voice stern. "If you cannot last in a fight, your speed is just a fast way to die."
For the next trial, she led him to the Caverns of Trial, where a thin wooden beam was suspended over a pit of bubbling, molten lava. "Cross it a hundred times," she ordered. "Focus your mana into your feet. If you slip, the heat will teach you what words cannot."
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Silus was a shell of a boy. His clothes were singed, his hands were blistered, and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion. He crawled into his bed that night, falling into a deep sleep before the servants could even offer him dinner.
King Alaric watched from the doorway, his heart aching. "Luminara," he whispered, "is this not too much? He is only a child."
Luminara looked at the King, her expression unreadable. "He is more than a child, Alaric. He is a target. The potential inside him is a mountain—if we do not help him climb it now, it will crush him later." She then softened her gaze. "However... tomorrow is his birthday. I will grant him a morning of peace before we begin the true hell of his training."
The King nodded slowly, looking at his sleeping son. The Prince was growing, but so was the storm on the horizon.