Chapter 002
Instinct. A sharp whistle. Belmond scrambled into a roll. His mother's sword buried itself in the sand with a dull thud, kicking up a plume of dust. Before he could straighten, she was already pressing the advantage. He blocked an overhead blow from his knees. She hopped back a pace and immediately lunged again, driving the point straight for his chest. A cold, golden light flickered in her eyes. He remembered then how rarely she blinked when she trained with him.
?In that split second, he gambled on a move that owed more to his father's theatrics than his mother's rigid discipline. He threw himself over his shoulder, tumbling across the grit. Mid-roll, he snatched a handful of golden sand and flung it at Aria. The cloud struck her face, scattering across her cheeks. He hoped to blind her, if only for a heartbeat, to steal a single breath. She recoiled, pawing at her eyes.
?"Cunning," she hissed coldly. "Hardly honourable, Bel."
?Aria wiped her face with her left hand.
?"But I admit, in a real fight, a trick like that might save your life. Clever, son."
?She lowered her guard, trying to tease the remaining grit from her lashes.
?Belmond seized the moment. Three, maybe four paces lay between them. He launched himself into the attack. After hours of training, his reserves were low, yet he poured everything that remained—heart and aura alike—into the swing. A hiss and a whistle. But before his weapon could find its mark, Aria's eyelids snapped shut. She relied now solely on experience and hearing. She swayed nimbly beneath her son's swing, her hand shooting out to clamp around his wrist in a vice-like grip. She spun him with violent momentum, turning the force of his own attack against him. His face slammed into the soft ground, filling his nose and mouth with dirt. He lay there, wordless, defeated once more.
?"Up. Quickly, Bel." She hurried him, though a note of maternal concern finally bled into her firm tone.
?She rubbed her face again. The scratch of grit against her cornea summoned a memory of that windy day on the Golden Coast of the Isle of Dor-Luminar. A sandstorm from the heart of the Solharath desert hung heavy in the sky, the fine grains forcing their way into eyes and clawing at throats. She had been adjusting the final straps of her gear before an expedition into the newly unearthed ruins.
?From the corner of her eye, she had spotted a man—the only one not seeking shelter from the encroaching gale. He looked entirely unprepared for what awaited him. She didn't recognise him from the ship, and his appearance was utterly alien to the locals, especially that long, blond hair. He was consumed by a book, oblivious to the world. As he passed her, he tripped over a coil of rope by the offloaded crates and crashed onto the white stone of the quay, scattering scrolls in all directions.
?She had walked over and helped him gather the parchments while others laughed. For the first time, she looked into the blue eyes of Ethan, sent to their group at the last minute by the Emperor's decree. When he saw her smile, his face softened instantly. He began to babble about research on the Great Conflagration, words tumbling out in an avalanche. He spoke fast, gesturing wildly, as if he had forgotten the scrolls still lying on the ground. That was when her fate began to intertwine with his.
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?She opened one squinting eye. Her son was hauling himself up, spitting out sand, but his fingers were still clamped around the hilt of his waster. The fall hadn't loosened his grip. The corner of her mouth twitched slightly. She moved toward him.
?Belmond barely managed to rise and turn. Instinctively, he raised his weapon. A terrifying whistle cut the air just above his head. A fair receipt for his treacherous attack with the sand. His arms shuddered under the force of the blow. She pressed harder, until his knees finally buckled. He summoned the last dregs of strength in his shoulders, shoved her blade aside, and shot forward. The wooden sword sheared the air in a low arc. The point grazed the grey fabric of her gambeson, just above the stomach.
?Aria sprang back, her boots carving deep furrows in the sand.
?"Excellent, Bel," she said with pride. "In a real battle, no one shouts: 'Guard yourself, I am attacking.' An enemy can strike from any side, at any moment. Your senses must be sharper than your opponent's steel."
?The corners of the boy's mouth lifted in a smile. He bowed his head, soaking in every word. Aria's sword lowered slowly, her severe features softening like wax near a flame.
?"You did well today. I see significant improvement. Your cuts are more precise, your footwork surer." She paused for a moment, tilting her head. "There were a few minor flaws in your guard, but that will come with time."
?Belmond's heart quickened at these rare words of praise. A broad grin lit up his sweat-streaked face. His mother approached confidently, fluidly, stopping three paces from him. They stood opposite one another in silence. They slid their wooden blades behind their belts almost in unison, then bowed their heads in a ceremonial salute.
?Mother stepped closer still, and in her eyes, he saw that particular glint that appeared only when she was truly pleased. Her hand rested gently on his head. Fingers combed through his dark hair, disturbing motes of dust. This simple gesture meant more to him than any commendation.
?"Done for today," she said in a carrying voice, dusting off her hands. "Come."
?He followed his mother, his feet leaving shallow impressions in the heated sand. They headed toward a sprawling tree, its crown burning scarlet in the afternoon sun.
?Belmond collapsed heavily between the gnarled roots. Aria walked on. Cool shade wrapped around his heated skin. He leaned his head against the rough bark and closed his eyes, listening to the rustle of leaves above, while in his mind, his father's calm voice replayed a story about these majestic trees.
?The Flame Oaks of Erythra—living monuments of the Empire. Their leaves, red as fresh blood, never yellowed nor fell, even in the harshest winter. Legend held that the first oaks sprouted by the Temple of Veldrana when an Archpriest transformed into living flame. In time, his lineage gave the world the founder of the Empire. The first Emperor, Valerius Myrddin, commanded they be planted in every conquered land, so the fire of Veldrana might take root even in the heart of hostile territories. Now, entire legions of these trees marked the borders of the Empire of the Scarlet Flame, from the capital to the furthest provinces. When the crimson blaze of the canopy ate the horizon, every traveller knew they trod upon Imperial soil.
?This old oak had grown on the Blackwood estate for five generations, and several similar flaming giants stood upon their lands, silent sentinels of the Empire's reach.
?A winch creaked, a chain rattled, and a moment later came the splash of water. Aria returned after a few minutes, carrying a full bucket. Inside bobbed two old tin cups, dented and battered from years of service.
?Cold, crystal-clear water washed down his throat, quenching a thirst he had only just realised was there. A few drops escaped the corner of his mouth and rolled down his chin. Mother drank beside him in long, steady gulps, and between them hung the comfortable silence shared by people who have no need for words.
?Aria set down her cup and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, something in her gaze had already shifted. Her movements regained that clinical precision—calm, measured, devoid of wasted gesture. The warmth that had radiated from her eyes moments ago gave way to something colder, more focused. Belmond knew what this meant. In a moment, her fingers would begin to examine his bruises with merciless exactitude, and her voice would lose the last notes of maternal softness.
?He did not understand this transformation. This ability to sever herself from one role and step instantly into another.
?"Prepare yourself."
