The wagon trundled along the dirt road, its wooden wheels creaking under the weight of cargo and passengers. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the towering stone walls ahead. Heat shimmered off the road, and the scent of dry earth mixed with the faint aroma of iron from the fortress beyond.

  Lucian adjusted his seat on the bench, eyes scanning the battlements. Watchmen patrolled the high walls, their armor gleaming under the afternoon light. The occasional clang of metal echoed from within, a reminder that this was no ordinary settlement but a stronghold of warriors.

  As they neared the gate, a pair of guards stepped forward, spears crossed to block their path.

  “Halt! State your business!” one of them called, his voice firm but measured. His companion gave the wagon a once-over, his hand resting near the hilt of his sword.

  Darius exhaled and swung himself down from the bench, landing with practiced ease. His dark cloak settled around him as he strode forward, meeting the guards' gazes with a calm yet unwavering look.

  “It’s me,” he said simply.

  Recognition flashed in their eyes. Their rigid stance softened into hurried deference.

  “Sir Darius!” one of them blurted. “Forgive us, we didn’t expect—”

  “Open the gate,” Darius said, his tone steady, leaving no room for argument.

  “Yes, at once!”

  One of the guards turned and barked orders to the men above. Moments later, the heavy iron gates groaned as they were pulled open, revealing the fortress beyond.

  Lucian took in the exchange with silent interest. No questioning, no hesitation—just immediate obedience. Darius held weight here, though he had never spoken of it.

  He stored the thought away for later as the wagon rolled forward beneath the archway.

  The heavy iron gates groaned as they swung open, revealing the expanse of the fortress beyond. Darius led the way, stepping forward with an air of familiarity, while Lucian followed closely behind. Garrin, ever the cautious traveler, guided the wagon through, his gaze flickering around as if measuring the worth of the place.

  Lucian’s first impression was of motion and discipline. The fortress was alive with warriors, each engaged in their own form of preparation. Along the battlements, sentries watched the horizon, their eyes sharp and focused. In the open training grounds, men and women dueled fiercely, the clash of steel ringing through the air. Others honed their skills in quieter ways—some sharpening weapons, some tending to their armor, and others speaking in hushed tones, exchanging information like seasoned professionals.

  What struck Lucian the most was not just their skill, but the ascen that radiated from them. It was strong—stronger than his. He could feel it pulsing in the air, thick and undeniable. Every warrior here carried an aura of power beyond his own. It was like stepping into a den of seasoned predators while he remained an untested cub. His fingers unconsciously curled into a fist as he forced himself to steady his breath.

  Darius glanced at him, perhaps noticing his reaction, but said nothing. Instead, he simply gestured for Lucian to keep moving. There would be time for questions later.

  The fortress gates shut behind them with a resounding thud, sealing them within this bastion of warriors.

  As they stepped further into the fortress, a woman clad in worn yet well-maintained armor strode toward them. Her auburn hair was tied back messily, and the hilt of a longsword rested against her hip. A confident smirk played on her lips as she greeted Darius with unmistakable pride.

  "Didn't think you'd be back so soon, Darius," she said, crossing her arms. "And with a stray in tow?" Her sharp gaze flickered toward Lucian, studying him with scrutiny.

  Lucian, meanwhile, was deep in thought. The way the guards had hurried to open the gates, the respect in this woman’s voice—Darius held some kind of status here. But what exactly was his rank?

  Darius remained unreadable as he answered, "I need to take him to Kael."

  The mercenary's expression stiffened. She clearly didn’t like the idea, her stance shifting slightly, as if debating whether to argue. "That a good idea?" she asked, skepticism lacing her tone. "Bringing a kid like him straight to Kael?"

  Darius's gaze hardened. "Are you questioning my decision?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—a quiet authority that made the air between them grow heavy.

  The woman hesitated. A long pause stretched between them before she exhaled sharply through her nose. "...Fine. But don't expect me to take responsibility for this if it goes sideways." She turned on her heel, motioning for them to follow. "Come on. If you're set on it, best not to waste time."

  Lucian silently followed, his mind still turning over the pieces. Just who was Darius to these people?

  As they started walking, Darius spoke up again.

  "Where's Kael?" His tone was direct, expectant.

  The female mercenary glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression still carrying traces of reluctance. "At the training yard, same as always," she answered. "You know how he is—either drilling the recruits or testing himself against the best."

  Lucian listened intently, absorbing every bit of information. So Orin Kael was not just some high-ranking figure but someone who kept himself sharp, always training. That alone told him much about the kind of man they were about to meet.

  The woman scoffed lightly. "If you're lucky, he's not in one of his moods. You remember how he gets."

  Darius smirked faintly, as if recalling something. "Yeah. I remember."

  Lucian glanced between them. Another hint at Darius’s history with this place, with these people. He had questions, but now wasn’t the time.

  "Come on," the mercenary said, leading them deeper into the fortress. "Let's get this over with."

  The female mercenary took the lead, guiding Darius and Lucian through the fortress toward the training yard. As they moved, every mercenary they passed greeted Darius with respect—a nod, a salute, or a brief step aside to make way.

  Lucian observed it all in silence, his curiosity deepening. He had assumed Darius was a capable fighter, but this level of recognition hinted at something more—authority. The way they looked at him wasn’t just respect; it was the kind reserved for someone who had earned his place through battle.

  The mercenary leading them stole a glance at Lucian. “The boy looks lost,” she muttered.

  Darius let out a small chuckle. “He’ll get used to it.”

  Lucian ignored them, his focus shifting to the warriors around him. He could feel their strength—each one possessed an ascen greater than his own. It was overwhelming, yet exhilarating. These were not mere sellswords. They were something more.

  The sound of steel striking steel echoed through the corridors, growing louder with each step. The training yard was close.

  The clang of steel echoed through the vast training yard, a symphony of warriors sharpening their skills. Lucian and Darius followed the mercenary woman through the open space, the air thick with the crackling tension of combat. Mercenaries sparred in pairs, the sound of their blades meeting ringing through the yard, while others practiced in small groups, honing their individual techniques.

  Lucian observed the warriors carefully—each one radiated power, their ascension unmistakable, though not all displayed it openly. Their focus was intense, their movements fluid and precise. He felt like an outsider in this sea of warriors, the weight of their strength heavy in the air around him. His own ascension felt like a flicker in comparison.

  As they walked, Darius led the way with an air of quiet authority, a subtle recognition from the other mercenaries marking his path. Lucian, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched—not just by the warriors around him, but by someone higher up.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  It didn’t take long for his instincts to prove right. At the far end of the yard, a man sat on a raised platform, his eyes scanning the fighters below. His posture was relaxed, but there was an undeniable presence about him. The moment Lucian entered the yard, the man’s gaze shifted, honing in on them as they made their way deeper into the space.

  The mercenary woman didn’t acknowledge the man’s gaze, though Lucian could feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere. She continued walking, but Lucian’s eyes were fixed on the figure on the platform, a quiet sense of recognition stirring within him.

  The man didn’t rise immediately, but as they passed beneath the platform, his gaze never wavered. He continued watching them, eyes narrowing slightly as Darius led them closer to the center of the yard. When they reached a small clearing, the man finally stood, his movement slow but deliberate. He didn’t speak, but there was no mistaking the fact that he was coming toward them.

  The mercenary woman didn’t flinch, but Lucian could feel her tense, as if bracing for something. Darius, for his part, didn’t change his pace, though the air between him and the approaching figure thickened with unspoken tension.

  When the man reached them, his eyes flicked over Lucian briefly before landing on Darius. There was a brief pause, as if the man was assessing something—or someone—unseen.

  “You’re early,” the man said, his voice low and controlled, with the weight of someone who didn’t waste words.

  Darius nodded once, his tone steady. “Had business to attend to.”

  The man’s gaze shifted, finally landing on Lucian. His amber eyes studied him, flicking over him with a sharpness that seemed to peel away every layer in an instant. He made no immediate move to speak to Lucian directly, his gaze lingering for only a moment before turning back to Darius.

  “And the boy?” The question wasn’t unkind, but there was a note of uncertainty beneath the surface.

  Darius remained calm, his voice neutral. “He’s with me.”

  The man didn’t respond immediately, but Lucian could feel the weight of the moment stretching between them. There was something in the way the man studied him that felt almost clinical, as if Lucian were an object of observation rather than a person.

  The man finally broke the silence. “I didn’t think you’d be bringing anyone with you, Darius. Especially not someone so…” His gaze flickered to Lucian again, though his words seemed to trail off, as if unsure how to finish the thought.

  Lucian, standing in silence, tried to steady his breath. The man’s presence was commanding, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure what to make of the man—though the tension in the air made it clear that he was someone important here.

  The mercenary woman, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, cleared her throat. “Commander Orin Kael,” she said firmly, her tone carrying a mix of respect and authority. “He’s here to see you. Not to waste your time.”

  At the mention of the name, Lucian’s heart skipped a beat, though he didn’t show it. Commander Orin Kael. This was the man they had come to find.

  Kael looked down at her, a slight smile curving his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I see,” he said, before turning his attention back to Lucian. His gaze was still calculating, but this time, there was a flicker of something deeper—a flicker of curiosity.

  Darius took a step forward, his voice low but firm. “Commander Kael, if we could speak privately. There’s something Lucian needs to tell you.”

  Kael’s eyes narrowed slightly at the request, his gaze flicking between Darius and Lucian. He seemed to weigh the request for a long moment, considering its significance. Finally, he nodded once, a subtle movement, as if he had made a decision.

  “Very well,” Kael said, his voice calm but edged with authority. “Follow me.”

  He gestured toward a small building at the edge of the training yard, its stone walls weathered by time but sturdy. Lucian followed, Darius at his side, while the mercenary woman moved back, taking her position with the rest of the warriors in the yard.

  As they approached the building, Kael led them into a private room, sparsely furnished with only a few chairs and a table. The walls were lined with maps, weapons, and other tactical gear. It was clear that this was a place for planning, not conversation.

  Kael closed the door behind them with a soft thud, his eyes immediately narrowing as he turned to face them. He crossed his arms over his chest, studying Lucian with that same sharp intensity that seemed to cut through the air.

  “Well, then. What is it you have to say?” Kael’s voice was steady, though the curiosity in his eyes remained.

  Lucian swallowed, his pulse quickening. This was it. The moment he had been dreading—and yet, hoping for.

  “I—” Lucian hesitated, trying to steady himself. His words felt heavy in his throat, but he knew he had to speak. “I came here because of Father Aldric. He... he’s dead. Killed by the Hollow Reaper. The 12th Scion.”

  The moment Lucian finished speaking, the room seemed to freeze. Kael stood there, silent for a long moment, before an unexpected sound broke the stillness: laughter. It wasn’t a chuckle, nor a smirk—this was a full, booming laugh, almost as if Kael had heard the most absurd thing in his life.

  Lucian, confused and unsettled, stood there, stunned. Was this some sort of joke? Why was Kael laughing?

  Kael wiped his eyes, the laughter still lingering in the air as he caught his breath. He looked at Lucian with an expression that was a mixture of disbelief and mockery.

  “And why,” Kael said between breaths, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “should I trust a random boy who shows up out of nowhere, claiming that this is true? You expect me to believe this nonsense?”

  The weight of Kael’s words hit Lucian hard, but before he could react, the air in the room shifted. Kael’s calm demeanor disappeared in an instant, replaced by something far more dangerous. The pressure in the room grew so heavy that Lucian’s knees buckled under the weight. His heart raced as he struggled to stay on his feet, but his body betrayed him, and he sank to his knees, feeling as if the very air was crushing him.

  Kael’s eyes gleamed with a cold, unsettling power.

  “Are you mocking me, boy?” he hissed. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of years of experience. “Give me one reason why I should not end you right here, right now.”

  Lucian’s chest tightened as Kael’s aura pressed down on him like a mountain. Darius, who had been standing in the corner, moved to step forward, but before he could say a word, Kael raised a hand, halting him instantly. The pressure didn’t ease, and Lucian could barely breathe, let alone think. Every inch of his body felt like it was being pulled in different directions.

  Then, as the world around him seemed to darken, a single phrase bubbled to the surface of his mind. It was faint, distant, but it pierced through the haze of fear and pressure. The words that Solbrand had once spoken to him came to his mind, clear and sharp:

  "Even the smallest ember can set the world ablaze."

  Lucian, despite the overwhelming pressure, managed to speak. His voice was shaky, barely more than a whisper, but the words were enough to shatter the tension in the room.

  Kael’s expression faltered. The instant Lucian spoke those words, the pressure in the room lifted—vanishing as quickly as it had arrived. Kael’s gaze snapped to Lucian, his eyes wide with shock, his face betraying confusion.

  “You…” Kael’s voice trailed off, and for the first time, Lucian saw a crack in the commander’s stoic exterior. He stepped back, eyes narrowed, trying to process what had just happened. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he looked at Lucian as if seeing him for the first time.

  Kael’s voice returned, quieter this time, but still filled with disbelief. “How… how do you know that?”

  Lucian, still struggling to catch his breath, didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten the strength to speak, but the phrase had broken through the terror, bringing clarity.

  Kael’s gaze flickered toward Darius, and without saying another word, he turned to the door. “Darius,” he called, his voice steady once again, “Wait outside. Make sure no one gets close.”

  Darius didn’t question it, though Lucian saw a flicker of concern in his eyes. He nodded silently, giving Lucian one last glance before stepping out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Kael’s eyes returned to Lucian, and he finally took a seat at the table, his body leaning forward as if he could barely take in what had just happened. His brow furrowed in confusion, disbelief, and something deeper—something raw.

  “I…” Kael’s voice cracked for the first time. “I didn’t… I didn’t think this day would come. Not like this.” His fingers ran through his hair, his hand trembling.

  Lucian remained kneeling, unsure of what to do or say. It was like the weight of the world had shifted in that moment—the tension had broken, and yet now there was a kind of grief in Kael’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Lucian,” Kael finally said, his voice soft. Tears began to well in his eyes, though he blinked them away quickly. “I never wanted you to carry this burden.”

  Lucian couldn’t speak for a moment. Seeing this commander—this legendary warrior—reduced to tears was something he never could’ve anticipated.

  “What happened?” Kael asked, his voice quieter now, full of a sorrow that mirrored his confusion. “Tell me everything. What happened to Father Aldric?”

  Lucian took a deep breath, the words still heavy in his chest. This was the man who had been a friend to Father Aldric—someone who was supposed to know about his death. But now, Kael seemed just as lost as Lucian had been.

  “I…” Lucian began, his voice faltering. He could feel the truth rising in his chest like a flood. “Father Aldric raised me. He found me when I was just a baby, and he trained me… until I was thirteen. But then... then the 12th Scion came. He attacked the church we were living in. Father Aldric fought him—he tried to protect me, but… he died. He died in battle.”

  The words were hard to speak, but once they were out, Lucian found himself able to continue. He told Kael everything—about the Hollow Reaper, about the fight, about how Aldric had fallen in the face of that abyssal power. He told him about the strange power within him, something the 12th Scion seemed to want. And he told him about how he had been sent to find Kael, to ask for his help.

  “The Scion is looking for me,” Lucian finished, his voice raw. “I don’t know why, but there’s something inside me… and I don’t know what to do.”

  Kael listened intently, his face solemn, though his eyes never left Lucian’s as the boy spoke. When Lucian finished, there was a long silence between them—one that felt like it stretched across time itself.

  Finally, Kael nodded, his expression unreadable.

  “We’ll figure this out,” he said, his voice heavy with conviction. “But first, we need to make sure no one else knows about this. You’re right, Lucian. The 12th Scion is searching for you. And that means we need to be ready.”

  Lucian looked up at Kael, feeling for the first time that he wasn’t alone. “What should I do?” he asked quietly.

  Kael’s eyes softened just slightly, the weight of the world still pressing on his shoulders, but determination settling into his bones.

  “I will make you powerful enough to protect yourself from everything that will come for you, Lucian,” Kael said, his voice filled with an unwavering resolve. “The road ahead will be dangerous, but you won’t be walking it alone. You have my word.”