The training yard still held the morning dew. Dark stone glistened in damp patches, and the cold air turned every breath visible for a second before it vanished.

  Renar rotated the practice sword in his hand, testing the weight. It was the same one as always. The same balance. The same worn grip where his fingers settled out of habit.

  But it didn’t feel the same.

  Darian moved first, as he always did. Firm step. Shoulders aligned. No wasted motion. He lowered his center of gravity and delivered a clean, measured downward strike.

  Renar lifted his blade to block… a second too late.

  Wood crashed against wood with a sharp impact that rattled through his wrists. It wasn’t dangerous, but it was sloppy. Darian stepped back immediately, surprised.

  Aeris didn’t let the opening go to waste. She slid along the side in a fluid motion, her blade sweeping toward her father’s ribs. Renar turned on instinct, barely avoiding it, the fabric of his tunic stirring in the wake of the strike.

  A brief silence followed.

  Darian lowered his sword first.

  “Dad…” he frowned. “Are you here, or somewhere else?”

  Renar blinked, as if Darian’s voice had pulled him back into his own body.

  “I’m here,” he said, adjusting his grip. “Again.”

  Aeris didn’t attack. She was watching him. Her eyes were too sharp for her age.

  “You don’t seem like yourself,” she said gently, not accusing—just stating a fact.

  Renar gave a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I didn’t sleep much. That’s all.”

  Darian didn’t look convinced, but he returned to guard. They attacked again, this time alternating. Renar blocked, redirected, responded… but his usual precision had small cracks in it. Microseconds of delay. Angles corrected mid-movement instead of anticipated.

  Mistakes only a well-trained eye would notice.

  And his children had those eyes.

  From the house window, Maelis watched in silence. A cloth rested forgotten in her hands. Her gaze moved from Renar to the children and back again.

  It wasn’t exhaustion.

  She knew him too well.

  Training ended earlier than usual. Renar let fall his sword and gave the signal to stop.

  “That’s enough for today.”

  Darian raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s it?”

  “I said enough.”

  Not harsh. But final.

  The siblings exchanged a brief glance. Aeris tilted her head thoughtfully. Darian rolled his shoulders, trying to hide his discomfort.

  “I’m going to shower,” he muttered.

  “Me too,” Aeris said, but before going inside, she cast one last look at her father. Not reproachful. Analytical.

  Maelis stepped outside with calm, quiet steps. She didn’t speak at first. She stood beside him, looking at the same horizon where Valthera’s towers cut against the pale morning light.

  “It’s not exhaustion,” she said at last.

  Renar let out a short, bitter laugh.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “To me, yes.”

  A short silence.

  “It’s that boy,” she added softly.

  Renar didn’t answer.

  He stayed alone in the yard, sword still in hand. The cold didn’t feel the same anymore; now it weighed on his shoulders.

  The wind stirred his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment.

  He needed to speak with Alaric.

  He needed to see the boy with his own eyes.

  Renar crossed the central courtyard of the military complex with hard, fast steps. His cloak struck against his legs. He greeted no one. The guards moved aside without asking questions.

  He reached the door to Alaric’s private chamber. He didn’t knock. He pushed it open.

  Alaric stood by the table, studying a map marked with red points to the north and east. He looked up without surprise, as if he’d been expecting him.

  “Renar.”

  Renar shut the door behind him. The sound echoed against the stone walls.

  “I want a meeting with the boy. Lucan.”

  Alaric set the parchment down and crossed his arms.

  “No.”

  Renar stepped forward.

  “No?”

  “It’s not the right time,” Alaric said calmly but firmly. “He’s not ready.”

  Renar let out a dry, humorless laugh.

  “Not ready for what? For us to look him in the eye and ask who the hell he is? Or for me to see with my own eyes whether he’s a threat?”

  Alaric didn’t flinch.

  “For us not to break him too soon.”

  Renar moved closer, his voice dropping, sharpening.

  “Don’t give me that. He’s been broken since birth. We already threw one away. Look where that got us.”

  Alaric’s jaw tightened. For the first time, something flickered in his eyes: old, heavy guilt.

  “I won’t repeat that mistake,” he said quietly. “Not with him.”

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  Renar stared at him.

  “So what? You protect him? Hide him? Treat him like some redemption you’re trying to raise?”

  Alaric drew in a slow breath.

  “I want to give him the chance I didn’t give the other.”

  Renar stepped closer. They were nearly face to face.

  “And what about me? I’m the commander of this city. I need to know what’s inside these walls. If that boy is a risk, I want to know now—not when it’s too late.”

  Alaric held his gaze.

  “He’s not a risk. He’s a person. And if you push too hard too soon, you’ll shove him to the same place we pushed the other.”

  Renar clenched his fists.

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a monster.”

  “You’re not,” Alaric said. “But fear makes us do monstrous things. It already did that to me. I don’t want it to do the same to you.”

  A heavy silence fell.

  Renar stepped back.

  “Then you’re not giving me a choice.”

  Alaric narrowed his eyes.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Renar was already turning toward the door.

  “I’m going to see him myself.”

  Alaric raised his voice for the first time.

  “Renar.”

  Renar stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “Don’t force him,” Alaric said, almost pleading. “Don’t do it.”

  Renar didn’t respond.

  He left and shut the door hard behind him.

  The echo rang through the corridor.

  And in his chest, frustration mixed with something he didn’t want to name: doubt.

  Renar followed Lucan’s path from the central district to a quieter yard tucked behind a low stone wall. The sun no longer hit directly; light filtered through the branches of an old, crooked tree growing against the wall.

  Lucan was training alone. Repetitive, precise, almost mechanical movements: high guard, pivot, downward cut, retreat. No rage. No display. Just repetition.

  Renar stood at the entrance for a long moment, watching. The boy hadn’t noticed him yet. Or maybe he had and simply didn’t react.

  Finally, Renar stepped forward, letting his boots crunch against the gravel.

  Lucan stopped instantly. His blade lowered to a resting guard. He turned his head slowly. His eyes locked onto Renar without surprise—only alertness.

  Renar raised a hand in a peaceful gesture, not moving closer.

  “Lucan… Veyr, right?”

  Lucan sized him up: the dark cloak, straight posture, sword at his side. Not just another guard.

  “Yes. That’s me.”

  Renar stepped closer.

  “Renar Virell, Commander of the Guard.”

  Lucan inclined his head slightly in recognition. He said nothing, just waited.

  Renar gestured toward Lucan’s training blade.

  “I saw you at the tournament. You fight well.”

  Lucan didn’t smile. Didn’t relax.

  “Thank you.”

  Silence. Wind rustled the leaves.

  Renar removed his cloak and folded it over the wall. He drew his own practice sword.

  “I’m curious to train with you. A little. Nothing formal.”

  Lucan studied him.

  “Why?”

  Renar shrugged, almost casual.

  “Sometimes you learn more fighting someone new than the same people every day.”

  Lucan hesitated. Looked at his blade, then at Renar. He saw no open hostility. Just curiosity—and something else he couldn’t name.

  “Alright,” he said at last. “But I won’t hold back.”

  Renar smiled faintly.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  They began without further words.

  Renar attacked first—a controlled downward strike, testing. Lucan avoided it with a minimal turn of the body; the blade passed near his shoulder. He didn’t counterattack. Just stepped back, keeping distance.

  Renar pressed. Second lateral strike. Lucan blocked with his forearm guard; the impact vibrated through both of them. Renar felt the strength behind it. Not brute force. Precision.

  Lucan answered at last: a quick horizontal cut toward the side. Renar stopped it high but had to step back.

  They exchanged several more blows. No spectacle. No showing off. Just testing and response. Renar attacked with measured force; Lucan evaded, blocked, countered when he saw an opening. He wasn’t trying to win. He was trying not to lose.

  After a few minutes, Renar lowered his weapon. He was breathing harder than expected—not from exhaustion, but from surprise.

  Lucan lowered his blade as well, sweat along his brow.

  Renar met his eyes.

  “You fight well. Very well.”

  Lucan wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re not like most boys your age.”

  Lucan watched him carefully.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  Renar took a second to answer.

  “That depends.”

  He seemed about to say more, but didn’t.

  “Keep training,” he said instead. “And keep your eyes open.”

  Then he turned and left without looking back.

  Lucan remained alone in the yard. He touched the mark beneath his clothes. Still warm, as if it had felt Renar’s presence.

  He didn’t know why, but it felt like he’d just been evaluated—and had passed.

  Hours later, the Corvain house smelled of warm bread and toasted herbs. It wasn’t a mansion, nor did it pretend to be. It was a lived-in home. Worn wood, mismatched chairs, marks on the table that spoke of years of meals, arguments, and laughter.

  Lucan sat where Selene told him, at her right. Across from him was Elira. Kael lounged in his usual place, tilted back in his chair as if gravity were optional.

  “If the soup’s bad today, blame Selene,” Kael said. “I only taste-tested it… five times.”

  “Seven,” Selene corrected without looking at him.

  “Quality control!”

  Lucan let out a small laugh. Not forced. Natural. It still surprised him when that happened.

  “Did you train today?” Elira asked, serving a bit more soup into Lucan’s bowl before he could say it was enough.

  “Yes,” he said. “Like always.”

  Kael raised a brow.

  “‘Like always’ for him probably means he almost passed out three times and kept going.”

  Lucan shook his head.

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  A comfortable quiet settled as they ate. The warmth of the food, the voices, the clink of spoons… it all had a strange rhythm to him. It didn’t feel unfamiliar. It felt… close.

  “What was it like where you trained before?” Selene asked with genuine curiosity.

  Lucan thought for a moment.

  “Cold. A lot of wind. The mountains make everything sound louder… and lonelier.”

  Elira looked up.

  “Did you get used to it?”

  “Not completely,” he admitted. “But my master said that was good.”

  Kael pointed with his spoon.

  “Let me guess. ‘Pain makes you stronger,’ ‘discipline is everything,’ ‘feelings get in the way’…”

  Lucan shook his head.

  “No. He said…” He lowered his gaze slightly, remembering. “‘Fear lives in noise. If you learn to sit in silence, you can hear when it lies.’”

  Elira went still.

  She didn’t drop her spoon or make any dramatic gesture. She simply stopped.

  “My father used to say something similar,” she murmured. “‘Silence teaches you who you are when no one’s watching.’”

  Lucan felt something strange in his chest.

  He lifted his gaze. For a second, their eyes met. Something passed between them. No words. Just recognition neither fully understood.

  It was like trying to remember a dream that was fading, knowing it mattered even if you couldn’t see it clearly.

  “Sounds… like the same person,” he said without thinking.

  Elira smiled, but there was sadness in it.

  “Maybe wise men think alike.”

  “Did your father train people?” Lucan asked, almost without meaning to.

  Elira’s smile turned softer, sadder.

  “Yes. And he trained others too. He was good. Very good. But he left years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head.

  “No. You don’t have to feel anything. It just… makes me think. Sometimes I see things in you that remind me of him. The way you look at the fire. How you hold a spoon. Small things.”

  Selene cleared her throat.

  “Mom. Don’t interrogate him.”

  Elira laughed quietly.

  “You’re right. Eat in peace, Lucan.”

  Selene nudged him lightly.

  “Don’t mind her. My mom sees ghosts in everyone.”

  Lucan gave a faint smile.

  “I don’t mind.”

  And it was true.

  For the first time in a long time, sitting at a table with people talking about family, loss, memories… didn’t hurt.

  It felt warm.

  Eldric did not walk like an old man when no one was watching.

  He moved through the lower district alleys with measured steps, his worn cloak hiding more than it revealed. He was looking for patterns.

  And he was finding them.

  A symbol carved into the wood of an abandoned door. Not deep—but recent.

  Three lines crossed by a curved mark.

  He had seen it before.

  Not here.

  Farther north.

  Closer to things the kingdom swore had been buried.

  A hunched man, half his face covered by an old scar, watched him from the shadow of an arch.

  “Thought you didn’t get involved in this anymore, Eldric.”

  “Thought there weren’t enough fools left to repeat it,” Eldric replied without looking at him.

  The man spat to the side.

  “People are talking about unstable energy in the northern woods. Animals dead with no wounds. Folks hearing things when no one’s there.”

  Eldric’s jaw tightened.

  “Marks?”

  “Some say yes. Others say it’s stories to scare recruits.”

  “It’s not.”

  The informant studied him.

  “Sounds like someone you know.”

  Eldric closed his eyes for a second.

  They didn’t say goodbye. They didn’t need to.

  That same night, Lucan woke with a jolt, sitting upright in bed, air flooding into his lungs as if he’d been underwater.

  Cold sweat. Trembling hands. Beneath his clothes, the mark burned with a deep, dull heat.

  In his mind echoed the scream of a child who wasn’t him… but felt like him.

  A small, pale boy strapped to a white table. Adult voices: “He’s a risk.” “We have to contain him.”

  Lights that burned his eyes. Pain that wasn’t in one place, but everywhere at once.

  And then… a figure at the back of the room. Back turned. Scars crawling up the neck like dried roots.

  It turned its head slightly. He couldn’t see its face.

  But he felt its gaze.

  “You’re like me too.”

  At the same time, on the eastern wall, a guard stopped mid-patrol.

  The runes carved into the stone flickered once.

  Just once.

  Like a heartbeat.

  The guard frowned and looked toward the dark forest beyond the torches.

  “…Did you see that?” he muttered to his partner.

  “See what?”

  The first guard swallowed.

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  Between the trees, something moved without sound.

  It didn’t run.

  It didn’t walk.

  It slid between shadows as if it belonged more to darkness than the world itself.

  And somewhere beyond the reach of the wall lights, a rough voice, heavy with old hatred, whispered:

  “Alaric… I told you I’d come back.”

  End of Chapter 8