Seven days passed.
Almost without realizing it.
Time flowed like water rushing through cracks in the stone, leaving traces that changed everything.
On the first day, Kael was only able to lie staring at the clinic ceiling, counting the cracks on its surface. His body was like an empty shell left by its soul; every breath brought a throb of pain to the center of his chest where his Aether channels began. The healers forbade him from moving too much, and he obeyed not because of the order, but because his body simply refused to work.
On the third day, he was able to sit upright and eat his porridge without assistance. The trembling in his right hand had diminished to a faint twitch when he held the spoon. Aldric was right about his recovery. His body regenerated much faster than a normal human's. There was something comforting in this fading pain, a certainty that reminded him of his first days in Valdoria, that he could survive. Erik came every afternoon bringing news about how the entire recruit training program had been temporarily suspended, about patrols being doubled in every corner of Valdoria, and about palace mages working day and night to repair the defensive seals.
On the fifth day, Kael was walking the clinic corridors. His steps were still cautious, like someone learning to trust his legs again. Aldric accompanied him unasked, walking beside him with the vigilance of a guard ready to catch him if he fell. They didn't speak much. Aldric wasn't the type to fill silence with words, and Kael appreciated that.
Every night, when the clinic had grown quiet and the moonlight crept in through the narrow window, Kael felt the warmth he now recognized. Sometimes he woke up, sometimes he didn't. But every morning, he found his wounds healing faster than they should, and a faint trace of fine Light Aether always lingered in the air, like the scent of flowers blooming in a late spring.
He never talked about it. Some things didn't need words.
On the seventh day, the healer declared his Aether channels had closed stably. The swelling had subsided, although the tissues were still fragile and would need months to fully recover. He was permitted to leave the clinic.
Kael stood before a cracked mirror in the corner of the clinic room, staring at his reflection for the first time in a week. The face staring back at him looked more gaunt than he remembered. His cheekbones were more prominent, dark circles adorned his lower eyes, and a fresh scar crossed from his left shoulder halfway down his upper arm, a memento from the claws of the wooden wolf possessed by Dark Aether. He touched the scar. The skin there still radiated heat, as if the shadow of darkness that caused it hadn't entirely faded.
He put on the clean uniform Erik had left on the table: a linen shirt, cloth trousers, and a dark brown leather vest which was the standard attire for recruits. His steel sword leaned against the wall; someone had sharpened its blade while he was sick. Kael lifted it. The weight of the sword felt different now, not because the sword had changed, but because the hand holding it had learned something that could not be forgotten.
That morning, the sky of Valdoria was a pale gray, covered by thin clouds that let the sunlight pierce through in evenly scattered silver rays. The air bit the skin with a coolness that signaled the changing of the seasons.
Kael walked across the main courtyard of the training complex, which was usually bustling with instructors' shouts and the clanging of training swords. Today, the courtyard was quiet. Traces of training were still visible, such as shredded straw dummies, faded rune circles etched into the dirt, and leaning obstacle posts. It all felt like remnants of life abandoned suddenly.
Erik was already waiting for him near the south gate, leaning against a wooden post with his sword neatly tied at his waist.
"You're right on time," Erik said, his smile more strained than usual. "Lord Varen has gathered with all the officers in the South Hall. Division placement announcements."
"Placement?" Kael frowned. "The final trial wasn't even finished."
"Canceled, remember? After the incident in the Simulation Forest, Lord Varen decided to skip the trial and immediately place all recruits based on their evaluations during training." Erik gulped. "The situation at the border is worsening, Kael. I heard the last logistics convoy from the southwest was attacked. Not ordinary bandits; they found traces of Dark Aether in the ruins of the wagons."
Kael didn't answer. His feet kept moving toward the South Hall, but his mind wandered to the map of Teranthos in Lord Varen's room and the red dots marking enemy movements, starting from Thornwood, Ironhold, and now the logistics route. The enemy lines were closing in on the heart of Valdoria.
The South Hall was a rectangular stone building with a low arched ceiling and walls made of dark gray stone blocks, a rigid monument of defense. As Kael and Erik stepped inside, silence blanketed the large room. Hundreds of recruits stood in neat rows, looking straight ahead in their best uniforms. The air felt tense, burdened by anticipation. They were lined up in loose formations facing the stone stage at the end of the hall.
Kael and Erik joined the ranks. Kael felt stares directed at him from all directions, a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and reluctant respect. The story of the events in the Simulation Forest must have spread, likely exaggerated into an urban legend in the barracks. He straightened his body even though the muscles along his ribs still throbbed in protest.
On the stage, Lord Varen stood behind an old wooden podium whose surface was carved with Valdoria's crowned lion emblem. Beside him, Sergeant Brok stood tall with a face as hard as stone. Aldric took a position in the corner of the hall, his arms folded, his eyes watching with an unextinguishable vigilance.
Lord Varen raised his hand. The whispers died instantly.
"Recruits," his voice echoed in the stone hall without him needing to shout. Cold, firm, and carrying a weight that could not be ignored. "You came to Valdoria to become soldiers. Some of you came with dreams of honor and glory. Some came because you had nowhere else to go." His gaze swept over the ranks. "There is no more time for dreams. War is already at our gates."
The ensuing silence became like a wet blanket pressing down on the shoulders of everyone in the room.
"Thornwood fell three months ago," Lord Varen continued, his fingers tapping the podium in a measured rhythm. "And last week, we confirmed the fall of Ironhold. The western border posts are beginning to be eroded. The time for learning in a simulated environment is over. Valdoria calls you now." He allowed a long pause, a pause that made the tension in the room harden into resolve. "The placement assignments have been decided. Four days ago, a logistics convoy from the west was attacked."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"Therefore, starting today, you are no longer recruits. You are soldiers of Valdoria."
Sergeant Brok stepped forward, unrolling a long parchment scroll. With his booming voice, he called out names in a graduation ritual expedited by the urgency of war. Each name was followed by a regiment and battalion. There were no cheers, no applause. Only the word "Ready" spoken firmly, before the recruit stepped back into line.
One by one, the ranks thinned. Kael waited for his name to be called, but Brok continued down the list until the parchment was almost finished without mentioning his name.
Finally, Brok rolled up the parchment and stepped back. Lord Varen took over again.
"Kael."
His name was called alone, separate from the entire list. The hall suddenly fell dead silent.
"Step forward."
Kael stepped out of the line. Every pair of eyes in the hall followed his movements. His stride was steady even though his body still harbored remnants of pain.
Lord Varen looked directly at him. "Based on evaluations of combat capacity, Aether ability, and..." He paused, as if weighing his words. "...certain strategic considerations, your placement does not follow the standard path. Starting today, you are assigned directly under the command of Captain Aldric Ironforge, Valdoria Special Operations Unit. You will be part of a tactical unit operating outside regular formations."
"Seriously?" muttered a recruit in the third row, his voice accidentally escaping his throat in surprise. "A farmer's boy?"
Whispers immediately erupted throughout the remaining ranks of recruits behind him. Kael didn't turn around. He looked at Lord Varen with a flat expression that hid the waves of emotion underneath.
"I understand," he said.
From the corner of the hall, Aldric gave a small nod, a minimal gesture that could only be caught by those paying attention.
After the ceremony ended, the recruits, now officially soldiers, dispersed in small groups, speaking in low, tense voices. Kael walked out of the hall with Erik. The cold afternoon wind swept across their faces, carrying a faint smell of sulfur from the palace blacksmith's workshop.
"Special Operations Unit," Erik said, shaking his head. "Of course. The farmer's boy from Greenwood goes straight into an elite unit. Your story makes absolutely no sense, you know?"
Kael rubbed the shoulder Erik had patted. "We're still in the same city, Erik."
"For now," Erik replied, his smile half fading. "The Third Battalion leaves tomorrow morning for the northwest border post. That's closest to the ruins of Thornwood." He gulped. "The front lines, Kael. No longer training with wooden dummies."
Kael looked at his friend. Erik was still smiling, but behind that smile was the same shadow of fear he had felt last night, fear of what awaited them out there, on the battlefield where dark magic and iron clashed with human blood. Erik wasn't a born warrior. He was a fisherman's son from Stormgard who dreamed of adventure, and now that adventure had come in a form he never imagined.
"Erik." Kael spoke in a low voice, his eyes locked on his friend. "Don't die."
Erik fell silent for a moment, then let out a free laugh, a broken and honest laugh. "That's the worst motivation I've ever heard, Kael. But, yeah, it's best we don't die. You too, wonder boy. Don't die."
Kael shook his hand. Their grip was strong, holding more meaning than words could express.
Twilight crept down over Valdoria, dipping the sky in gradients of orange and purple that faded into dark blue. Kael walked alone along the stone path leading to the palace inner garden. The small area was surrounded by high walls and filled with wild rose bushes and shady elm trees. He didn't know why his feet brought him here. Or maybe he knew, but didn't want to admit it.
He stood by the edge of a small fountain whose water had stopped flowing since the war forced the palace to conserve resources. The stones of the pool were mossy, and between the cracks, wild chamomile flowers grew in small clusters.
The sound of footsteps on the gravel made him turn.
Elara stood at the end of the path, wearing a simple dark blue dress that almost blended with the twilight. Her golden hair was loosely tied, a few strands breaking free and swaying in the evening breeze that had begun to blow. No guards, no ladies-in-waiting. Just her alone.
For a moment, they just stood there, separated by a distance of a few steps that felt like an ocean.
"You've been released from the clinic," Elara finally said. Her voice was soft, like a breath of wind carrying the warmth of a passing summer.
"This morning," Kael answered. His tongue felt stiff. He always knew what to say in front of an enemy, but in front of this girl, words refused to assemble properly.
Elara stepped closer. The twilight caught her face, and Kael could see the shadows of worry hidden beneath her calmness in the form of subtle circles under her eyes indicating sleepless nights.
"Thank you," Kael said. Simple. Without explanation.
Elara stopped. Her blue-gray eyes, like the sky before dawn, widened slightly. She understood. Kael knew that she understood.
"You knew," Elara whispered, softly but every word carried clear weight.
"Since the first night."
Elara looked down. A small smile appeared on her lips, not a broad smile but one holding a million meanings that couldn't be spoken with words in this world.
"Your channels were nearly burned out entirely. The palace healers missed the damage in the finer pathways." She lifted her face, looking directly at Kael. "I couldn't just sit idly by knowing that."
"It was dangerous for you," Kael said. "If someone saw the royal princess sneaking into a soldier's clinic every night—"
"Then let them see." There was a firmness in Elara's voice that reminded Kael of the way Aldric spoke; not because she wasn't afraid, but because she had decided there were things more important than fear. "I am a healer, Kael. That is what I do."
Silence fell between them, but it wasn't an awkward silence. It was a full silence, filled with words that didn't need to be spoken because both already understood them.
The night wind blew, carrying the scent of chamomile from the clusters of wild flowers at the edge of the pool.
"You leave tomorrow," Elara said. It wasn't a question.
"It hasn't been decided when," Kael answered. "But soon."
Elara nodded. Her hand reached out, and from the pocket of her dress, she pulled out something—a small crystal in the shape of a teardrop. The crystal was pale blue, glowing with an inner light completely unlike Light Aether. Its light was colder, but strangely felt very comforting.
"A Healing Crystal," she said. "It's only good for one use, and the effect isn't as strong as direct healing. But on the battlefield, when there are no healers..." Her voice thinned. "...this could save your life."
Kael looked at the crystal. He had heard rumors of their price from merchants in Millbrook. A single pure healing crystal was worth more than a village's wheat harvest for a year. Its weight practically vanished in his grasp, but the warmth flowing from it pierced his skin and touched his Aether channels with a gentleness he recognized very well.
"I will return it," Kael said.
Elara looked at him. In her eyes, Kael saw something brighter and more terrifying than Light Aether, a certainty, a bond unbroken by distance, unextinguished by darkness, and unbreakable by the coming war.
"Make sure you come back to do so," Elara whispered.
Then she turned and walked away, her blue dress blending into the deepening twilight. Kael stood in his place, gripping the crystal, feeling his heartbeat gradually return to a normal rhythm.
He put the crystal in his vest pocket, right over his heart.
That night, Kael did not return to the clinic. He walked to the old barracks which was now almost empty, took his place on his dusty bed, and sat on its edge, staring at his steel sword leaning against the wall.
Outside, the sounds of night patrols, marching more tightly than usual, filled the air. Torches along the walls swayed in the wind. The full moon hung in a cloudless sky, bathing the city in cold silver light.
Kael took out the broken piece of his father's sword, the talisman he had kept all this time, and placed it in his palm next to Elara's gift. The piece of metal was faded and worthless to anyone else, but Kael knew Elara understood its value. Two small objects. One belonging to the past, one belonging to the present. Both were different reasons to keep living, yet pointed toward the same goal.
True strength is protecting the ones you love.
He closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, images flashed—from Greenwood burning, Dorian's blood-soaked face, Aunt Helena's smile, Erik's laughter, Aldric's heavy sword, and now, the soft light of the healing crystal in his grasp. Amidst all that darkness, there was light. The warmth of Elara's hands healing his wounds. Erik's firm pat on his shoulder. Aldric's look that said more than words. The simple philosophy of his father that still lived within his chest.
He opened his eyes.
Outside the barracks window, Valdoria stretched out under the moonlight, revealing high walls, watchtowers, and tent camps hastily erected to accommodate extra soldiers. This was no longer just the city where he trained; this was humanity's last bastion in the north. Somewhere beyond that line, his first war was waiting.
Kael stood up, fastened his scabbard to his waist, and stepped to the doorway of the barracks. The night air greeted him with a sharp cold, but he didn't shiver.
He looked up at the sky. Stars were scattered in the cloudless darkness, distant and unreachable, yet still shining.
The first chapter of his life had ended. The training, the pain, the nightmares, and the memories had all brought him to this point. Tomorrow, or the day after, or whenever the order came, he would step through the gates of Valdoria and enter a world that would not give him a second chance.
But tonight, under the same sky that had canopied Greenwood thirteen years ago, Kael stood as someone who had found his reason to fight.
Not for a prophecy. Not for the palace. Not for a title he had never asked for.
But for the people who gave his life meaning—those who lived, those who had fallen, and those waiting for his return.
A shrill trumpet blast sounded from the north, shattering the silence of the night.
Kael stared at the dark horizon above the fort. A faint point of red light now glowed, splitting the horizon. It was not a sunrise, but a fire marking the front lines of the battle.
Their time was up. The war wasn't waiting for tomorrow.
— End of Volume 1. To be continued in Chapter 16 —