Winter light stretched long and silent across the training grounds as morning bled slowly into day. The sky hung low, heavy with snow not yet fallen, and the wind whispered like an animal waiting to strike. Within this muted world, two figures stood upon tempered earth—one standing still, hands clasped behind his back, and the other on one knee, struggling to breathe.
Landon's chest rose and fell at a punishing rhythm. Frost formed against his sweat-soaked collar, and his gloved fingers curled painfully against the frostbitten ground. His aura trembled around him—unsteady, volatile—as though resisting the pressure being forced upon it.
Kel von Rosenfeld watched without expression.
"Again."
His tone bore no warmth, no impatience—only an expectation. Like the dawn expecting the horizon to surrender to light.
Landon obeyed.
He pushed up, body shaking. His breath escaped in white mist. Aura pulsed through his channels, each surge fighting against the physical limit that had once defined him.
They had trained like this for hours.
Not in the way knights trained—through repetition or swordplay—but through quiet brutality. Kel's instruction was precise. His observations, surgical.
"Too slow."
"Your left side absorbs more than your right."
"Your aura sphere is uneven by thirty percent."
"Begin again."
Landon bled from the lip. He hadn't noticed biting it. He took three long breaths, stabilized his core, then resumed.
Aura surged—
This time steadier.
Kel watched the cycle unfold.
Subtle.
Refined.
As Landon's aura capacity strained, Kel raised a hand.
A pressure dropped.
Not visible. Not audible.
But Landon felt it.
The air thickened. A presence, ancient and vast—Seiren—tightened around the field, projecting a compressed domain that forced Landon's aura inward.
A test.
A crucible.
Landon's knees weakened. His vision blurred.
But his hands did not drop.
Kel stepped forward, expression unchanged.
"You hold," he said softly, "but you do not expand. Let the pressure in. You're still trying to resist. Instead—allow it, then refine."
Landon clenched his teeth.
And then—
He let go.
Aura flooded him like an unseen tide—pain seared across his channels, but instead of resisting, he redirected. Refined. Compressed.
And suddenly—
Silence.
The air calmed.
The domain dispersed.
Kel exhaled softly.
Landon remained standing.
He blinked.
Then realized—
His aura sphere was intact.
No, expanded.
Grown.
Not broken.
He stared at his hands, stunned.
Kel spoke quietly.
"Good."
Not praise.
Acknowledgment.
Landon bowed deeply, right fist over heart.
"…I will not forget this moment."
Kel regarded him.
"You shouldn't."
He stepped closer and placed two fingers against Landon's sternum—right above the aura core.
"Your foundation strengthens," Kel murmured. "But remember. Power gained for your sake alone is shallow. Build for more."
Landon lifted his gaze.
Kel's eyes were calm.
Darker.
"Landon," he began softly, "you have walked beside me since the beginning of this path. You endured silently. Without complaint. You carried weight without asking for recognition."
Landon held his breath.
"So now," Kel continued, "I will give you something I have not given anyone before."
Kel's voice lowered to a whisper carried only to him.
"A piece of my future."
He stepped back, raising his right hand.
A faint echo of energy formed at his fingertips—unrefined, yet potent. Seiren's presence lingered at the edges, observing, silent.
Kel extended his palm.
"Landon. Go to the South."
Landon froze.
Kel continued.
"Form your own household. Build influence. Political or martial—either. Strength is not only wielded by blade."
He spoke without hesitation.
"I want the South under your control."
The words hung in the cold air.
Not a request.
A declaration.
Landon blinked, stunned.
"…Under… my control?"
Kel nodded.
"I will not always act in shadows," he said finally. "One day, I will step into light. When that moment comes, I will need those who already stand where my voice does not reach."
Wind stirred the long edge of his coat.
Landon shot upright.
"Why me?"
Kel met his eyes.
"Because," he said simply, "you do not crave power. And those who do not crave it… become its best stewards."
Landon's jaw tightened.
Not from doubt.
From conviction.
He dropped to one knee, fist pressed to earth.
"I…"
He inhaled deeply.
"I swear."
His voice trembled, then steadied.
"I swear upon my name—as Landon Sevrae—that I will carve a place in the South with strength and with reason. And I will answer when you call, no matter when or where that may be."
Kel observed him quietly.
"…Do not kneel," he said.
Landon looked up.
"I do not need loyalty born of oath."
Kel's gaze deepened.
"I need loyalty born of will."
Landon held his eyes for a breath—
Then, slowly,
Stood.
Not as subordinate.
But as someone walking forward of their own accord.
"It will be done," he said.
Kel's lips curved faintly.
"Then begin today."
He turned away, his voice trailing like a blade sliding into a sheath.
"For now… grow strong enough that when I overturn the sky…"
He looked back one last time.
"…you will already be standing beneath it."
Landon watched him go.
Snow began falling.
Quiet.
Steady.
Not like winter—
But like a curtain lifting.
He raised his hand, watching aura flicker around his fingers—
Sharper.
Brighter.
"Understood," he whispered into the cold air.
And somewhere distant, beyond the horizon of frost, the South felt the beginning of a new wind.