The harsh, sharp tones of the Rhazgord language left a wild, ear-splitting echo, like desert winds rasping the rocks. Every word was spoken with the rigidity and precision of orders on a battlefield. It was as if the speaker was trying to gain the upper hand even with his voice. The words tore from the lips like stabs of a knife: 'Mirren' (death), 'Agiar' (fire), 'Xwean' (blood). Sentences were not run-on, verbs piled on top of each other, every speech was quick and clear, like a command to survive on the battlefield.

  Adler language was the opposite; it was melodic and fluid, like the meandering flow of rivers. Words fused softly with each other, sounds danced in rhythmic harmony. Words like 'Serenissima' (peace) and 'Luminara' (light) had no equivalent in Rhazgord. Because for the Rhazgordian, peace was only a space between war, and light could be nothing but bloody swords shining in the hands of warriors. The language of Adler was the language of trade, diplomacy and gilded court speeches; the language of Rhazgord was the language of war, death and the instinct for survival.

  The people of Rhazgord had long since ceased to be a people who fought for themselves, but a people hired to fight in wars. Many of their armies were mercenaries when not at war, and rulers across the continent lined up to hire Rhazgord's famed warriors to protect their castles, cities and thrones. That is why the Adler language was a vital tool for the Rhazgord. Customers often spoke the language, and failure to understand an order on the battlefield could result in death. But despite all efforts, most warriors could not speak the language and could only understand it at best. But they, too, had not been exposed to the language for long enough to forget many of the words that would not be needed on the battlefield.

  For this reason, Rhazgord warriors were taught the Adler language, but their training did not stop there. A warrior had to be sharp not only with his sword, but also with his mind. They underwent a variety of training, depending on their age, ability and rank. At the most basic level, warriors memorized the laws of Rhazgord, learned the rules to be followed during battle, and practiced survival skills. A Rhazgord warrior had to know not only how to fight, but also how to hunt, track, build shelters and treat wounds.

  But these trainings were not compulsory. Some warriors refused to learn the Adler language, ignoring the law and preferring to speak only their sword. But such warriors usually could not become mercenaries and had to serve only in the army within the Rhazgord. Because the way to the world was not only through steel, but also through words.

  And at the heart of it all was the mastery of the Rhazgord language. Literacy in this language was taught not only to warriors, but to the whole population. Although the lessons were usually held in the camps, the people had the right to attend these lessons.

  In Rhazgord, the training for skilled warriors was much deeper. It was not enough just to be a strong warrior, young men with the potential to become a Sharazir had to learn how to lead armies. Those who knew that war was not won with swords alone had to grasp complex strategies, tactical maneuvers and military hierarchy.

  Those who studied cartography learned to see the battlefield as a chessboard, able to exploit even the smallest terrain advantages. Those interested in logistics learned how to manage supply lines, the most important factor in determining how long an army could fight. Those interested in medicine had to learn how to keep warriors alive as they walked the fine line between life and death.

  But there was no other educational institution in the Rhazgord lands other than the army. Education was entirely part of the military structure. Large tribes could entrust their young ones with high potential to private tutors, and those who wanted to become shamans could learn directly from shamans. But even these were not outside the military training. Craftsmanship, like everywhere else, was based on the master-apprentice relationship.

  So young Volmir suddenly found himself in a great unknown. He hadn't even gotten used to swinging a sword on the battlefield, yet he was trying to cope with the complex information that was suddenly pouring in. Dozens of Adler words poured into his ears and washed over him without his understanding. Before he even understood what was happening, he was suddenly surrounded by excited scholars.

  The scholars spoke as if they were competing with each other, one saying that he should learn philosophy, another shouting that alchemy was more important. Another argued that nothing was possible without mathematics, while another said that literature would truly elevate a warrior. Volmir's head began to spin.

  Corvus had only been gone a few minutes. The confusion had increased in his absence. Finally, one of them asked Volmir a question. He tried to understand the question in Adler language, but the words were clashing in his mind and meanings were slipping away. With difficulty he mumbled a few meaningless words, but this only caused the scholars around him to grimace.

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  At that moment, an air of disappointment filled the room. Wasn't this boy a prince? Wasn't he Corvus' brother? Was it possible that a young man who was supposed to be one of the future commanders of the Rhazgord army could be so uneducated?

  Volmir could feel the silent judgment in their eyes. But they, too, were ignoring Volmir's age and the culture in which he had grown up. He was still very young. He hadn't even completed his Adler language education at the camp. He had learned to read and write in Rhazgord only months ago. If it had not been for the special lessons he had received from the Tiamats, he would not have been able to speak a single word of Adler.

  The scholars' resolve was not broken. Volmir's lack of knowledge of the Adler language was a deficiency, but it could be remedied.They quickly devised a plan and decided to train the young man as soon as possible. A month is normally not enough time to learn a language, but the men in this room were no ordinary teachers. They were all masters in their field and knew exactly how quickly a young mind could acquire knowledge.

  Volmir's training began at that moment. Before he even knew what was happening to him, word after word was being memorized and sentences were being formed. Some of them patiently taught him new words, while others suggested supplementing his education with games. After a brief discussion, everyone agreed on one point: Volmir would speak only Adler for the rest of his time here. Not a single word would be spoken to him in Rhazgord, his whole day would be in Adler language, so that he would be fully immersed in the language.

  Meanwhile, Corvus wandered the streets of Bahoz. Baral and Rasur were still asleep and with no one else he knew in the city, he had no choice but to wander alone. He spent most of his time around the construction sites, asking questions of the workers and chatting with those who were resting. He was interested in everything that was being done, trying to learn even the smallest details about the rebuilding of the city.

  Corvus' interest did not go unnoticed by the people. He was not just a passer-by, but someone who questioned the labor behind every stone, every beam, every plastered wall. The builders, warriors and merchants who were proud to work alongside him were seeing for themselves what kind of leader this young man would be for his people.

  He had long conversations with the Rhazgordians who came up to him as he traveled , watching the young warriors in training and giving them advice. But he soon realized that the more people he talked to, the more came. Like an avalanche, the crowd around him was growing by the minute.

  Recent events in Bahoz had made him the most popular man in the city. People still talked about the way he had prevented Rasur's fighters and the people from clashing. But it wasn't just about that. Corvus acted like a man of the people, not just a leader. He was unpretentious, sitting and talking with the warriors and workers, listening to their troubles, not refusing a drink from them.

  Some brave young men, moved by the enthusiasm, challenged Corvus. They raised their swords and wanted to fight against him.These challenges usually ended with a single blow from Corvus, the challenged warrior accepting defeat and bowing his head in respect. But each fight ended not with animosity, but with the bonds of friendship.

  Soon, the surrounding area became a fairground. People brought drinks and food, sang and laughed. Corvus did not refuse these drinks, and joined in the fun. He wanted to change the country and to do that he had decided to change himself. This was the greatest sign of the kind of leader he would be for his people. He knew how to command respect among his people as well as on the battlefield .

  As the sun slowly disappeared over the horizon, an excited whispered report began to spread through the streets of Bahoz.The scouts had spotted an approaching army. But this news did not cause fear or anxiety. On the contrary, it brought an excited smile to the faces of the townspeople. For it was not an enemy army, but the greatest power of the Rhazgord. The army under the command of Sanguinar Sakhaar Tiamat was finally returning home, having completed its long-standing mission.

  That was one of the reasons Corvus had come to Bahoz. Although he wanted to observe the changes in the city, to start Volmir's new educational journey, his real goal was clear. He wanted to meet his father before anyone else, tell him about the latest events and get his support for his grand plans.

  As soon as he received the news, he jumped on his horse and set off. As he galloped off, his blood boiled with the fire of youth. It was not longing that made him want to meet his father so quickly. He had plans for the future, plans that would shape the future, to tell him as he bowed his head before the most powerful man in Rhazgord . His impatience drove him to drive faster than ever.

  At last, fluttering banners appeared on the horizon. The army of Rhazgord was approaching in clouds of dust. The blood-red banners glittered in the last rays of the sun as they filtered through the armor.

  And finally, he saw the man riding calmly on his horse. Sanguinar Sakhaar Tiamat. The figure leading his army was neither large nor intimidating in muscle mass. Like Corvus, he carried an indestructible will in a body hard as steel but flexible.

  But the most distinctive thing about Sakhaar , even from a distance, was not his size, but his eyes. That frightening redness radiated dominance over his surroundings now as it had on the battlefields.

  And those eyes were now locked on Corvus.

  End of Season One