The plates were mostly empty by the time the conversation shifted.
Tyke leaned back in his chair, stomach full, eyes half-lidded in contentment. Lyla sat across from him, resting her forearms on the table, armor loosened just enough to look comfortable instead of battle-ready. Laxyie sat quietly, fingers wrapped around his cup, watching the candle flame flicker.
For a while, there was only the sound of the tavern—laughter, clinking mugs, a bard tuning strings somewhere near the door.
Then Laxyie spoke.
"You said your class is Warrior," he said. "What does that actually mean?"
Lyla looked up.
"Most people think they know," she replied. "They don't."
Tyke straightened a little. "Is it like… knights in stories?"
She smiled faintly. "Some of them are. Some aren't."
She tapped two fingers against the table. "We're called Valor-Bound."
Laxyie's eyes narrowed slightly. "Bound to what?"
"Will," Lyla answered. "Intent. The part of you that refuses to break."
She leaned back, gaze drifting toward the window, where lantern light reflected off the water. "Warriors don't borrow power. We don't draw from magic veins, gods, elements, or artifacts. Everything we do comes from the body, sharpened by training—and the soul, hardened by experience."
Tyke blinked. "So… no spells?"
"No spells," Lyla said. "No chants. No circles."
Laxyie asked quietly, "Then what was that back in the cave?"
Her jaw tightened slightly. "That was Valor Manifest."
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"It's when raw intent becomes real," she continued. "When your resolve is so absolute that your body and weapon obey without hesitation. No energy flows in. No force flows out. You are the force."
Tyke frowned. "That sounds… dangerous."
"It is," Lyla said simply.
She reached for her sword, resting it across her knees. The runes along its edge were dormant now, dull in the candlelight.
"Every Valor-Bound warrior chooses a discipline," she said. "Some focus on one. The best survive long enough to touch others."
Laxyie leaned forward slightly. "Disciplines?"
"Iron Resolve," Lyla said. "That's the defensive path."
Tyke tilted his head. "Like shields?"
"Like becoming one," Lyla replied.
She tapped her chest once. "Iron Resolve lets us take magic, elements, raw force—fire, lightning, ice—and absorb it into ourselves. Not negate it. Not dispel it. Endure it."
Laxyie's eyes sharpened. "And then?"
"And then we release it," she said. "As shockwaves. As counterblows. The more damage we take, the harder we hit back."
Tyke's mouth opened slightly. "You get stronger by getting hurt?"
"Yes."
"That's insane."
"That's why most who try it die young."
She continued before either of them could speak again.
"Then there's Tempest Blade," she said, lifting her sword slightly. "Pure weapon mastery. Speed beyond what the body should allow. Striking dozens of times in a breath. Cutting through stone. Through spells."
Laxyie asked, "Through magic?"
"If the will behind the strike is stronger than the spell," Lyla answered.
Silence followed that.
Tyke swallowed. "What about the shouting thing you did?"
Lyla huffed softly. "War Cry."
She looked at them both now. "It's not noise. It's command. When a warrior's presence overwhelms the battlefield."
She clenched her fist slightly. "Allies feel it—strength surges, fear fades, limbs move faster. Enemies feel the opposite. Doubt. Panic. Some freeze. Some run."
Laxyie nodded slowly. "A battlefield ruler."
"Exactly."
Tyke raised a hand. "What about growing big?"
Lyla blinked, then laughed quietly. "You noticed that one too?"
"That goblin boss looked like it was fighting a mountain," Tyke said. "And you looked like you were about to become one."
"That's Titan Stance," she said. "Temporary. Dangerous. Strength and mass surge beyond human limits. Every step shakes the ground."
"And the cost?" Laxyie asked.
Lyla met his gaze. "Bones crack. Muscles tear. If you stay in it too long, you don't come back the same."
Tyke shifted in his seat. "Is there… a weapon one?"
"Yes," Lyla said. Her hand rested on her sword now, not casually.
"Soul Forge."
The word carried weight.
"It's when a warrior binds their will permanently to a weapon," she explained. "Not enchantment. Not magic."
"Then what?" Laxyie asked.
"A pact," Lyla replied. "Victory feeds it. Blood tempers it. Defeats shape it. The weapon grows alongside the warrior."
Tyke whispered, "A legendary arm…"
"Yes," Lyla said. "But if the warrior breaks, the weapon does too."
She leaned back again.
"There are stages," she continued. "Progression."
Laxyie's fingers tightened around his cup. "Tell me."
"Squire," she said. "Enhanced physique. Discipline. Pain tolerance."
Tyke nodded. "That's like training."
"Knight," Lyla went on. "First Valor Manifest. One discipline fully awakened."
Laxyie murmured, "Like your War Cry."
"Yes."
"Champion," she continued. "Multiple disciplines. Aura projection. Presence alone changes the battlefield."
Tyke's eyes widened. "And after that?"
"Warlord," Lyla said. "Armies break before them."
The tavern noise felt distant now.
"And the last?" Laxyie asked.
Her voice lowered. "Living Legend."
She looked between them. "The kind of warrior people argue about whether they ever existed. One person who can decide wars alone."
Tyke exhaled slowly. "That's… terrifying."
Lyla nodded. "So are we."
Laxyie was quiet for a long moment.
"Strengths?" he finally asked.
"We resist magic better than anyone," Lyla said. "We don't need terrain. Don't need preparation. We scale with experience. The longer we live, the worse we become."
"And weaknesses?" Tyke asked softly.
Lyla's eyes hardened.
"No subtlety. No range. And if we push too far…" She tapped her temple. "Valor Burn. Lifespan shortens. Sanity cracks. Berserkers lose themselves."
Laxyie said quietly, "And assassins?"
She looked at him.
"…Are our natural predators."
Silence settled over the table.
Laxyie leaned back, eyes thoughtful, heavy.
"So even this," he said slowly, "isn't enough."
Lyla didn't deny it.
Tyke looked between them, then down at his hands.
"…You're all scary," he muttered.
Lyla smiled faintly. "You'll fit right in."
Outside, Selam's lights shimmered on the water.
Inside, three paths continued to entwine—strength, perception, and something still unnamed.
What lies ahead only be known.