Three years had passed since the attack on Greenwood. The Village of Millbrook remained peaceful, far from the demon threats lurking beyond the forest. For most residents, life went on as usual. Farmers went to their fields in the morning, merchants opened their shops, children played in the village square with joyful laughter. But for Kael, every day was a battle against himself.
That morning, the sun had not yet fully risen when Kael was already standing in Aunt Helena's backyard. The air was still cold, freezing the autumn morning. A thin mist blanketed the ground, creating a quiet and mystical atmosphere. His hands gripped a worn wooden stick, its surface smooth from the touch of thousands of practice sessions. He had counted every swing, every movement, every drop of sweat he had poured out over these three years.
His once small and thin body was beginning to show changes. His shoulders were slightly broader, his arms fuller. Though still an eight-year-old boy, muscle definition was starting to form, the result of relentless training over three years. His once soft hands were now full of calluses, his palms hardened like the bark of an old tree.
"One thousand one. One thousand two. One thousand three." He counted every swing of his stick with a quiet but firm voice. Sweat began to run down his forehead even though the air was still cold. His training clothes, torn in several places, were soaked in sweat. The blisters on his hands had become rough, drying out and forming hard skin that no longer felt pain.
"Kael?" Mara's voice came from the back door. The mother stood with a shawl over her shoulders, her eyes looking at her son with a mix of pride and worry. "It's dawn. Come inside and have breakfast first."
Kael didn't stop immediately. He finished his count to one thousand fifty before lowering his stick. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. "Alright, Mother. Five more minutes."
Mara sighed and shook her head slowly. She no longer tried to persuade Kael to stop training. Over these three years, she had witnessed her son's transformation. From a quiet child trapped in trauma to a focused and determined youth. That resolve was the same as his father's. The same resilience. And also the same stubbornness of heart.
Five years after Dorian's death, Kael was ten years old. His body grew taller, his shoulders broader. His once innocent face began to show lines of sternness. He no longer played with children his age. While they chased balls in the square or played hide-and-seek, Kael spent his time in the village library, reading books on Aether and combat techniques.
The Millbrook village library wasn't large, but it had a sufficient collection for basic needs. Books on the history of Teranthos, the geography of the kingdoms, and most importantly to Kael, books on Aether and combat abilities. The librarian, an old man named Master Marcus, knew Kael well. The boy came every day, sat in the same corner, and read with an almost frightening concentration.
"Light Aether," Kael whispered, reading the title of an old book whose pages had fallen out and been taped back together. He sat in a quiet corner of the library, far from the crowd of visitors. "Originates from Solar Aether, the power of the sun. Grants abilities of healing, protection, and purification. Effective against Dark Aether."
He carefully flipped through the pages with intense concentration, his fingers moving gently so as not to damage the fragile paper. All this time, he had never understood what was happening to him. The golden flashes that sometimes appeared on his hands. The heat that flowed from his chest when his anger peaked. The strange, recurring dreams of darkness and light. All of those were signs of the Light Aether within him.
"Awakening," he read again in a barely audible voice. "The first stage in mastering Aether. Marked by the ability to feel the flow of Aether within the body. Mild physical enhancement. Detection of Aether presence in the surroundings. This stage can last for years without proper guidance."
Kael closed the book and took a deep breath. So he had already entered the Awakening stage. But without a teacher, without proper training, his progress was very slow. He had tried various ways to control the light, but most had failed. What he needed was someone who could teach him, someone who understood Aether more deeply.
"There's no other way," he muttered as he put the book into his bag. "I have to enlist as a soldier. There is training there. There are teachers there. There I can learn to control this power."
That night, seven years after Dorian's death, Kael sat at the dining table with Mara and Aunt Helena. The fire in the hearth burned warmly, illuminating their faces with flickering light. The sound of rain outside accompanied the silence of their dinner, creating a cozy yet slightly somber atmosphere. The aroma of vegetable soup filled the room, a simple dish that warmed the body on a cold night.
"Mother," Kael broke the silence with a calm but firm voice. "In six years, I will be eighteen."
Mara lifted her head from her plate, looking at her son with a raised eyebrow. She could already guess where this conversation was heading. "Yes. Why?"
"I am going to enlist as a soldier."
The spoon in Mara's hand fell onto her plate with a loud clatter. Helena stared at her nephew with widened eyes. Silence descended upon the dining table, broken only by the sound of the increasingly heavy rain outside.
"Kael, are you serious?" Helena carefully put down her spoon. "You are still small. Even in six years, you will still be very young for war."
"The minimum age to enlist is eighteen, Aunt. I will meet that requirement." Kael looked at his aunt with calm but determined eyes. "I have been thinking about this since... since Father died."
"Kael..." Mara took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her hand gripping the edge of her chair tightened. "I know you have a strong resolve. I know you want to honor your father. But war... war is not what you imagine. You will see death. You might experience death."
"I have already seen death, Mother." Kael's voice was flat, without excessive emotion. "I saw Father die in front of my eyes. I saw our house burn. I saw our neighbors slaughtered by demons. Do not tell me that I don't know what war is."
Silence returned to the table, heavier than before. Helena looked at her sister with deep concern. Mara looked down, staring at her plate with teary eyes. Her tears did not fall; she had cried too often over these years to have any tears left.
"I can't stop you, can I?" Mara finally whispered, her voice heavy but full of acceptance. "I've known since the beginning. I saw the same resolve in your eyes as in your father's. If that is the path you choose..." She took a long breath and raised her head, looking at Kael with wet but resilient eyes. "Then go. But promise me one thing."
"What is it, Mother?"
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"Promise me you won't die before telling me. Promise me you will return to me alive, no matter what happens."
Kael nodded with serious eyes. There was no hesitation in them. Only pure resolve forged over seven years. "I promise, Mother. I will return."
Two years later, Kael was fourteen years old. His body had grown tall, nearly matching his father's height. His muscles were clearly defined, not from weightlifting, but from endurance training and the movements he performed every day for nine years. His face grew more stern, with a strong jawline and eyes sharp as an eagle's.
In the backyard, he no longer used a wooden stick. Aunt Helena had given him a wooden training sword, a birthday gift she bought with her own savings. The sword was heavier than a stick, more akin to a real sword, and required different techniques to master.
"Dawn Blade Style," Kael spoke to himself as he swung the wooden sword with precision. "The sword style of Valdoria. Focuses on rapid and defensive strikes."
He had read about various fighting styles in the library. The Dawn Blade Style was a style developed in the Kingdom of Valdoria, suited for soldiers who relied on speed and defense. Kael chose that style because it matched his physique—not overly large, but agile enough to move quickly.
Footwork. Sword swings. Defensive stances. He repeated every movement hundreds of times, trying to perfect every detail. His body had memorized the basic movements, but he knew that memorization alone wasn't enough. In a real battle, the opponent wouldn't give him time to think.
"Kael!" Helena's voice called out from inside the house with a slightly panicked tone. "We have a guest!"
Kael lowered his sword and walked inside. In the living room, a man dressed in a military uniform sat in a chair with a rigid posture. His uniform bore the rank of Sergeant, with the Valdorian Royal crest on his chest. His face was hard, with a beard beginning to turn gray. His eyes were sharp, judging everyone who entered the room with decades of experience.
"This is Sergeant Brok," Helena said with a slightly anxious face. "He is from the military recruitment center. He wants to speak with you."
Kael looked at the sergeant with sharp but not hostile eyes. "What is it, Sergeant?"
Brok smiled, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. "I heard there is a young boy in this village who trains alone every day. Every morning, every night, rain or shine. I was curious. You want to be a soldier?"
"Yes. When I turn eighteen."
"Good. Good spirit." Brok nodded slowly. "But you know, training alone is not the same as military training. You may have a strong body, but without discipline and proper tactics, you won't last long on the battlefield."
"I learn from books," Kael said in a flat voice. "And I will keep training until my time comes."
Brok let out a short laugh, his voice rough like grinding stones. "Learn from books? You think books can teach you how to kill demons?" He stood up, approaching Kael with heavy, authoritative steps. "Listen to me, young man. I have been fighting for twenty years. I have seen hundreds of recruits like you. Full of spirit, full of hate, full of the desire for revenge. Know what happens to them?"
"What?"
"Most die in their first battle." Brok stared at Kael with sharp eyes, devoid of doubt or pity. "Because they are too confident. Too emotional. Too hasty. They think anger will make them strong, but it actually weakens them. Anger blinds judgment. And on the battlefield, bad judgment means death."
Kael remained silent. The sergeant's words pierced him like a sharp sword. It was true that he often felt anger. Anger over his father's death. Anger over his helplessness. And that anger sometimes blinded him, making him lose focus and awareness.
"What should I do?" Kael finally asked, his voice lower than before, showing a humility he rarely displayed.
Brok smiled, this time more genuinely and warmly. "In four years you will be of age. Use that time wisely. Don't just train your body, train your mind too. Learn strategy. Learn to control your emotions. And most importantly..." He patted Kael's shoulder hard. "Don't die before your time. You have potential, young man. It would be a shame to waste it."
Sixteen years. Kael stood at the edge of the village, looking toward the dark forest in the distance. Eleven years had passed since the incident, but he could still remember every detail clearly. The fire licking the sky. The screams slicing through the night air. And his father's face, smiling one last time, before his body was swallowed by darkness.
In those eleven years, he had transformed into a nearly unrecognizable man. His body was now tall and well-built, with broad shoulders and muscles sculpted by years of relentless training. His once innocent face now showed sternness, his jaw firm with sharp lines. A small scar on his right arm served as a souvenir from training too hard, a reminder that he was still a mortal human with limitations.
But the biggest change was within himself. The Light Aether that was once uncontrollable he could now feel more clearly. He still couldn't control it fully, but he could feel its flow like an underground river running through his body, waiting to be channeled wherever he desired.
"Focus," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes to increase his concentration. He raised his hand, focusing his attention on his palm. "Come out."
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, slowly, a golden light began to appear at his fingertips. Not as bright as in his dreams, but real and visible. The light pulsed softly, like a small heartbeat, before disappearing when his concentration was broken by the sound of a bird flying in the distance.
"Still weak," he muttered with suppressed disappointment. "Two more years. I must get stronger in two more years."
Thirteen years after Dorian's death, Kael was eighteen years old. That morning, he stood before the mirror in his room, calmly observing his reflection. A familiar face, yet also unfamiliar. Dark brown eyes, sharp as a sword. Black hair that was slightly wavy, not neat but not messy either. A body that had been trained for thirteen years with almost fanatical discipline.
On his study desk, his father's broken sword lay quietly. He picked it up carefully, feeling the rough, rusted surface. An invaluable treasure. The only physical remnant of Dorian. A talisman that had accompanied him through thousands of days and nights.
"Father," he whispered in a barely audible voice. "Today I will enlist. I will become a soldier. Just like I promised under that oak tree. Just like I promised every day for thirteen years."
He placed the broken sword in his pocket. A talisman. A reminder of his vow. A reminder of the day when he was a small, helpless child, promising to become stronger. Today, he would begin the journey to fulfill that promise.
In the dining room, Mara and Helena were already waiting with faces showing a mix of pride and sadness. They knew this day would come. They had prepared themselves for thirteen years. But still, it felt heavy. Letting go of someone you love to go to war is never easy, regardless of the reason.
"Eat your breakfast first," Mara said in a voice trying to sound cheerful, though her eyes were teary. "I cooked your favorite. Scrambled eggs with toast."
Kael sat down and ate quietly. He didn't say much because there was nothing left to say. Everything had been said over these thirteen years. Everything had been planned. Everything had been prepared. Every bite felt like a farewell ritual, even if no one said it out loud.
"Kael." Helena placed an envelope on the table with a slightly trembling hand. "This is a letter of recommendation from me. I know Captain Aldric who runs the recruitment center in Valdoria. My late husband used to serve with him. With this, you won't have to wait in line too long."
Kael looked up with genuine surprise. "Aunt..."
"Don't say anything." Helena smiled, though her eyes were teary. "You have worked hard for thirteen years. This is the least I can give. Go. Be a great soldier. But don't forget to return. You still have a home here, and you will always have a place to come back to."
Mara stood up, approached her son, and hugged him tightly. Her small body clung to Kael's back, which was now much larger and stronger. "I am proud of you," she whispered in Kael's ear, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "Your father would be proud too. I am sure he is watching you from afar, with the same smile as always."
Kael returned his mother's hug gently but firmly. "I will return, Mother. I promise. No demon can stop me from keeping that promise."
After breakfast, Kael picked up his small bag and walked outside. In front of the house, the morning sun shone brightly, illuminating the world with a golden light. A gentle breeze blew, carrying the scent of spring. The flowers in Aunt Helena's garden were beginning to bloom, their beautiful colors marking the start of a new season. A perfect day to begin a new chapter in his life.
He looked back one last time, seeing his mother and aunt standing at the door. Both waved with forced smiles, trying to wipe the sadness from their faces. Kael raised his hand in farewell. Then he turned and began to walk, leaving thirteen years of his life behind.
Toward the military recruitment center. Toward his new life. Toward the war that had been waiting for him for thirteen years.
His journey as a soldier began today.
— To be continued in Chapter 5 —