[First Era – Year 5 of the Divinity War; Lenar, training camp]

  After so long beneath the dim burnt yellow sun of The Faint, it was strange, almost unsettling to stand in the light of a sun so bright. This was a true star, unlike the dim counterfeit Throm’tor had made for his world, his was a counterfeit that unlike a true star was slowly burning out. True stars reveal greater truth, under it’s light his knowledge and self-assurance would surely grow faster. This light was a tremendous cultivation resource. It hung low over the training grounds, its golden light shimmering off the rows of soldiers practicing their formations. The distant hum of bowstrings and the clash of practice blades filled the air.

  Elithir walked with purposeful strides, his tall, commanding presence making the surrounding soldiers instinctively straighten their postures. Beside him, Moraithe followed, his youthful face a mix of determination and curiosity.

  Elithir's gaze swept over the grounds, taking in the precision of the drills. “You've seen battle before, Moraithe,” he began, his voice rich with authority, “but it is different among the ranks of an army. I want you to see how things are done. Get a taste of pitched battle.”

  Moraithe nodded thoughtfully, watching a group of soldiers break into an intense sparring match. The thuds of entangled weapons striking bright shields reverberated through the air. “It will be a good opportunity to see how my training has progressed.”

  There was pride in Elithir's expression, but also a cool, calculating edge. “Precisely. But I don't intend to leave you here for long. This is just a taste.”

  Moraithe smirked. “What will it be next, training in a volcano?”

  Elithir chuckled, the sound deep, almost regal. “I have something quite a bit more cerebral in mind.”

  Moraithe raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really?”

  The Infinite's eyes gleamed with something akin to a quiet excitement. “I've been considering a new sort of unit—espionage. But it will be a unique force, an elite unit with one particular advantage. I want you to each craft yourselves a second body.”

  Moraithe stopped walking, blinking as he processed the words. “A second body?” He looked his father over, searching for any sign that he was joking. But Elithir's expression remained as still and commanding as ever.

  “Yes,” Elithir replied, his tone leaving no room for uncertainty.

  Moraithe's mind raced as he processed the implications. “And just how do you expect me to control two bodies?” His voice had a faint edge of disbelief.

  Elithir slowed his pace, allowing Moraithe to catch up. “Not at the same time, of course, but while you are sleeping in one body you control the other. You alternate. Imagine the advantages.”

  Moraithe paused, looking out over the vast training grounds, his thoughts drifting. “Two appearances could be useful for espionage, I suppose.”

  Elithir gave a small nod, his tone low but filled with conviction. “Not only that, but it opens possibilities for communication, being in two places at once. And if you are caught or killed in one body, the other will remain untouched. You won't be lost, nor will anything you've uncovered.”

  The idea took root in Moraithe's mind, growing steadily as he mulled over the potential. “It's … clever. I'll admit, the thought of having a backup is appealing.” He glanced toward the horizon as if envisioning the possibilities. “Have you asked Saffrael and Norgoth? It would be nice if we could work together on this.”

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  Elithir's lips curled into a rare smile. “An excellent suggestion. I've come up with a name for it—those who live two lives—Drackmoor.”

  Moraithe's eyes glinted with a mix of excitement and challenge, a mystic grin coming to his lips. “Drackmoor … I'll look forward to it.” He turned his gaze back to the soldiers training, then exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. “But, I suppose I'll have to focus on this for now.”

  Elithir's smile widened slightly. “Yes. For now, let us see how well you fare with the army. And remember, the battlefield is only the beginning of what you will face. The real test is yet to come.”

  As they walked back toward the center of the training grounds, the hum of bowstrings and the clang of metal filled the air, but in Moraithe's mind, something else was stirring—a new path, a new challenge, and a new destiny in the making.

  They stopped before a solid-looking man in a red cloak. “This will be your commander.” Elithir turned toward the man. “Welthorne, here is your new recruit. Use him well.”

  Elithir began to turn away. But Moraithe stopped him. “By the way, how much gratitude do you recommend for battle?”

  “Oh, you know you have enough.”

  Moraithe chuckled. “I mean for them.”

  “Two thousand is the traditional recommendation.” Elithir's brow furrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just want to understand my brothers in arms.”

  Elithir clapped him on the shoulder. “Very good. Consider what you want your new body to look like while I am gone.”

  Moraithe nodded, and with a wink, Elithir vanished.

  He stood at the edge of the camp, heart pounding in his chest. Then he followed the commander to join his unit.

  He'd thought little of it, until now, standing before his comrades. They were preparing for their next campaign, and the weight of their potential struggle hung heavy in the air.

  He had one advantage, one way he could win this war. Gratitude was the answer. If he could shield them, make them invulnerable, the Severed would have to abandon their plans. But something in him whispered he should do this slowly, carefully.

  Moraithe stepped forward. His fellow soldiers, tired and worn, exchanged glances. They didn't know what to expect from him—a fresh recruit from who knew where.

  After a few exercises, they were released. And Moraithe began to mingle with his brothers in arms. He introduced himself and learned their names. Then, to each he extended his hand, a shimmer of silver light flowed from his chest, pooling in the air, a soft glow illuminating each face. He gave them a gift of gratitude. There in his hand, it felt like warmth, like a comforting embrace, but more—infinitely more. “To protect you in battle,” was all he said.

  The soldiers' eyes widened as the sensation surged into their very bones, like a second skin of protection. He could have given them more, so much more, but for now, he wanted to see how this panned out.

  One by one, he approached each soldier offering them a tiny fraction of his infinite wealth. Their gratitude toward him radiated in waves, mingling with his own, replenishing the endless well he held inside. They walked away, lighter, more certain, their heads raised high, almost glowing with the ethereal power of his gift.

  He didn't stop at his own unit. As the days passed, he slowly worked his way through the army. How could he let anyone fall if he could so easily protect them?

  At first, everything seemed perfect. The army was prepared, their protection strong. But as the days wore on, Moraithe began to notice the murmurs—soft at first, growing louder.

  “Did you hear? Gratitude's being handed out like it's nothing. Prices are rising in the market. Bring as many casks as you can manage.”

  “I saw a merchant this morning—he nearly doubled the cost of armor! Said there was too much gratitude going around.”

  Moraithe's heart sank. He had never intended for his gift to be used like this, as money, squandered on drink and gambling, breaking their economy. He'd only wanted to protect them.

  He wandered to the market, where voices were growing more heated. Merchants haggled, their eyes glinting with sharp calculation. The prices of food, armor, and supplies had skyrocketed. He overheard one grizzled vendor laughing as he struck a deal, “The more gratitude there is, the more we can charge.”

  Soldiers were growing angry as the merchant's greed grew.

  Moraithe stood frozen, the weight of his mistake settling on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. His gift, once pure, had been tainted by greed. His heart burned with shame.

  Moraithe cursed at himself. “I can't let gratitude become a weapon.”

  And so, he walked away, knowing that he had much to learn—about generosity, about his responsibility, and the proper use of power.