Age 11 — One Week After Millbrook
Master Dren sits alone in the training yard.
This isn't unusual—he often arrives before dawn to prepare the day's exercises. What is unusual is that when I arrive early for training, he's not preparing anything. He's just sitting on one of the practice benches, staring into the pre-dawn darkness, his scarred face lost in memory.
I almost turn back. This feels private, like I'm intruding on something that wasn't meant to be witnessed.
But then he speaks without looking at me.
"You blame yourself for the guard's death."
It's not a question.
I settle on the bench beside him, maintaining a respectful distance. "Kaela blames herself more."
"Kaela is a warrior. Warriors always assume responsibility for casualties under their command. It's how we're trained." He finally looks at me, and his eyes are tired. Not physically tired—something deeper. "You're different. You blame yourself because you think your curse should have been enough to protect everyone."
"Shouldn't it have been?"
"No." His answer is immediate and certain. "Power doesn't equal protection. Strength doesn't equal safety. You can be the most powerful person in the world and still watch people die. That's not weakness. That's reality."
I want to argue, but something about his tone stops me. This isn't theoretical wisdom. This is something he knows from experience.
"How do you live with it?" I ask quietly. "With knowing you couldn't save everyone?"
Master Dren is silent for a long moment. Then he stands and gestures for me to follow.
We walk through the training yard, past practice dummies and weapon racks, to a small memorial stone at the edge of the grounds. I've seen it before but never asked about it. The stone is simple, unmarked except for a single name carved in careful letters:
Elian Stormwind
He danced with shadows
"My best friend," Master Dren says. "Died thirty-seven years ago. I was seventeen. He was sixteen."
I wait. This is clearly a story Master Dren has been carrying for a very long time, and I'm not going to rush it.
"Elian had convergence marks," Master Dren continues. "Not as strong as yours. Not as visible. But he could touch ley lines the way you do. Could pull magic from them without formal training. And his gift came with a curse—not vampiric like yours, but still corruption. Still void-touched."
My breath catches. "There was another one like me?"
"There have always been others like you," Master Dren says. "Convergence-marked children appear maybe once every few generations. Usually they're killed by the curse before anyone realizes what they are. Sometimes they're killed by fear—villages that think they're monsters. Elian was one of the lucky ones. He lived to sixteen."
"What happened?"
Master Dren sits on the ground beside the memorial stone, and I sit beside him. It's strange seeing my teacher—my mentor—sitting on bare earth like a child. But it makes him seem more human somehow. More real.
"The cult found him," Master Dren says simply. "They'd been hunting convergence-marked for decades, maybe longer. Their philosophy was the same then as it is now—void corruption is the natural state of the world, and convergence-marked children are bridges to that state. They wanted to capture Elian. Turn him. Use him to create void corruption zones deliberately."
"Like what happened at Millbrook," I realize.
"Exactly like Millbrook. But we didn't know that then. We just knew the cult was hunting him, and we had to protect him." Master Dren's hands clench into fists. "I was his guard. His friend. His brother in everything but blood. I swore I'd protect him. I trained every day to be strong enough, fast enough, skilled enough to keep him safe."
"But you couldn't."
"No." The word is heavy with decades of grief. "The cult attacked our settlement. Multiple operatives, coordinated assault, void entities supporting them. We fought. Elian and I fought together—him with his convergence magic, me with my blade. We were winning. I thought we were winning."
He pauses, lost in memory.
"Then a void entity got through my defense. Just for a moment—I was distracted by another cultist, and the entity moved faster than I expected. It reached Elian before I could intercept."
"Did it kill him?"
"No. Worse. It started consuming him. Pulling him into the void. Elian was screaming, begging me to help, and I tried—gods, I tried. I cut the entity, wounded it, drove it back. But by the time I reached Elian..." Master Dren's voice cracks. "He was already more void than human. The corruption had spread through him too fast. And he looked at me with these eyes—these terrified, still-human eyes—and he said, 'Don't let me become a monster.'"
I can barely breathe. I know where this story is going.
"So I killed him," Master Dren says flatly. "My best friend. My brother. The person I'd sworn to protect. I put my blade through his heart because that's what he asked me to do. Because letting him be consumed completely would have been worse."
Tears are running down Master Dren's scarred face. He doesn't wipe them away.
"For years, I hated myself. I was supposed to protect him, and instead I killed him. I failed at the one thing that mattered." He looks at me directly. "Do you understand why I'm telling you this?"
"Because you see Elian when you look at me."
"No." Master Dren shakes his head. "Because I see the chance to do it right this time. To train someone with convergence marks before the cult finds them. To make sure they have the skills, the discipline, the support they need to survive what Elian couldn't. You're not Elian. You're stronger, smarter, more integrated with your curse than he ever was. But you're also what I've been waiting for. For thirty-seven years, I've been preparing for another convergence-marked child. Preparing to protect them properly this time."
"That's a lot of pressure," I say quietly.
"It is. And it's not fair to you. You didn't ask to be my redemption. You didn't ask to carry the weight of my failure." Master Dren wipes his face finally. "But you're here anyway. And I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure you survive what Elian didn't. Not because you owe me anything. But because he would have wanted me to."
We sit in silence for a long time. The sun rises over the training yard, casting long shadows. In the distance, I can hear the village waking—people starting their day, going about normal lives.
"The guard who died at Millbrook," I say finally. "You weren't responsible for his death. But you still feel like you failed him."
"Every teacher feels that way when a student dies," Master Dren says. "Every mentor carries the weight of those they couldn't save. That weight doesn't go away. You just learn to carry it."
"Does it get easier?"
"No. But you get stronger." He looks at me. "You'll carry weight too, Ren. You already do. The question isn't whether you'll feel responsible when people die—you will. The question is whether you'll let that responsibility destroy you or whether you'll use it to make yourself better."
"Which did you choose?"
"Both," Master Dren admits. "For years, it destroyed me. I barely functioned. Couldn't sleep, couldn't train properly, couldn't focus on anything except the memory of putting a blade through my best friend's heart. Then Elder Stoneheart found me. Forced me to train again. Forced me to live. And eventually, I chose to use the pain to become better. To make sure that if another convergence-marked child appeared, I'd be ready."
He stands, offering me a hand up.
"Come on. Kaela and Lysara will be here soon. We have training to complete."
"Wait," I say. "Why are you telling me this now? Why after Millbrook?"
Master Dren looks at me with something that might be fear or might be hope.
"Because you're approaching the age Elian was when he died. Because the cult is escalating. Because I need you to understand that no matter what happens, no matter how strong you become, some people won't survive. And that's not a failure. That's just reality." He pauses. "And I need you to know that if you ever reach the point Elian did—if the curse ever starts consuming you beyond recovery—I will do what needs to be done. Not because I want to. But because that's what mercy looks like."
The words should terrify me. But instead, they're oddly comforting. Knowing that Master Dren would end my suffering rather than let me become a monster—that feels like protection, not threat.
"Thank you," I say. "For trusting me with this. For preparing for me. For everything."
Master Dren's scarred face softens slightly. "You're welcome. Now get into position. We're doing advanced footwork today, and I expect perfect execution."
Later — Sharing the Story
That evening, I tell Kaela and Lysara what Master Dren shared with me.
We're in our usual spot on the rooftop, watching stars emerge as twilight deepens. When I finish, both of them are quiet.
"I didn't know," Kaela says finally. "I knew Master Dren had lost someone important, but I didn't know the details."
"He's been carrying that for thirty-seven years," Lysara says quietly. "Thirty-seven years of preparing for another convergence-marked child. Thirty-seven years of training specifically to prevent history from repeating."
"That's why he pushes us so hard," Kaela realizes. "Not because he's cruel or demanding. Because he's terrified of failing again."
"And every time we go on a mission, every time we face void corruption, he's reliving Elian's death," I add. "He's watching us and seeing his best friend. Wondering if this will be the time he fails to protect us."
Lysara is calculating something in her head—I can see it in the way her eyes move. "If Elian died thirty-seven years ago, and convergence-marked children appear roughly once per generation, that means you're the first one in this region since Elian. The first one Master Dren has encountered in his entire adult life."
"No pressure," Kaela mutters.
"Actually, massive pressure," Lysara corrects. "Master Dren has built his entire adult identity around preparing for this moment. His investment in Ren's survival isn't just professional—it's existential. If Ren fails, Master Dren's entire life purpose becomes meaningless."
"That's not fair to him," I say. "My survival shouldn't be about validating Master Dren's choices."
"It's not about fair," Lysara says. "It's about truth. Master Dren needs you to survive because he needs to prove to himself that Elian's death wasn't inevitable. That with proper training and preparation, convergence-marked children can survive."
Kaela grabs my hand. "Then we make sure that's true. We make sure you survive. Not for Master Dren—though that matters too—but for you. Because you deserve to live regardless of what anyone else needs from you."
"We all deserve to live," I point out.
"Yes. But you're the one being positioned as either savior or destroyer. You're the one the prophecy is about. You're the one carrying the weight of everyone's expectations." Kaela squeezes my hand. "So we're going to make damn sure you survive long enough to prove you're neither savior nor destroyer. You're just Ren."
Lysara reaches over and takes my other hand. "For what it's worth, my research suggests that convergence-marked individuals have approximately sixty-three percent survival rate if they receive proper training and support. Master Dren's preparation increases that to approximately seventy-eight percent. Our involvement as support team increases it further to eighty-four percent."
"Those aren't great odds," I observe.
"No," Lysara agrees. "But they're better than Elian's odds were. And they improve with every mission we complete, every technique we learn, every stabilization protocol I develop. You're not guaranteed to survive. But you're more likely to survive than any convergence-marked child in recorded history."
It should be reassuring. Instead, it just reinforces how precarious everything is.
"Master Dren killed his best friend to prevent him from becoming a monster," I say quietly. "If I ever reach that point—"
"You won't," Kaela interrupts fiercely.
"But if I do—"
"Then we'll handle it," Lysara says, and her voice is cold with determination. "But we'll handle it by finding a solution that doesn't involve killing you. We'll research alternatives. We'll develop stabilization techniques. We'll find a way to pull you back from the edge." She pauses. "And if no solution exists, then yes—we'll do what mercy requires. But that's a last resort. Not an inevitability."
The three of us sit together under the emerging stars, holding hands, carrying the weight of Master Dren's story alongside our own growing burdens.
Below us, Master Dren walks through the training yard one final time before retiring for the night. He pauses at Elian's memorial stone, touching it briefly, then continues on.
Thirty-seven years of grief. Thirty-seven years of preparation. Thirty-seven years of waiting for a chance at redemption.
And now that chance is me.
No pressure at all.