If the attack on Treece had planted fear in Liam, Eldermire watered it with ambition.
The capital pulsed with energy—magic
in the air, knights in shining armor, scholars debating in open courtyards. Everywhere he looked, he saw people stronger, faster, smarter than anyone he'd known in Treece.
And he wanted—needed—to reach them.
So he trained.
So did Evelyn.
So did Nexi.
But they weren't just growing stronger.
They were changing.
And fate was already watching.
Garren's Lessons Begin
Liam arrived at Garren's estate two
hours early every morning.
The first day, Garren smirked.
The second day, he nodded.
The third day, he tossed Liam a weighted training vest and said:
"Put this on. If you're early, you get
to suffer more."
The vest nearly crushed him.
"This is child abuse," Liam wheezed.
"This is training," Garren corrected. "If you can't walk in it, carry it. If you can't carry it, drag it. If you can't drag it—"
"I'm not allowed to die," Liam muttered.
"Exactly."
Footwork came first.
Then balance.
Then striking forms.
Then sparring, which was mostly Liam getting hit.
"You keep favoring your right leg," Garren scolded.
"Because that's where you keep hitting me!"
"And I'll keep hitting it until you stop favoring it."
Nexi sometimes watched from the shade,
arms crossed, pretending not to be impressed. When she did speak, it was
usually something like:
"You call that footwork?"
"Your guard is sloppy."
"You look like a duck."
To which Liam inevitably replied:
"You look like a mean duck!"
Nexi would punch him in the arm and walk away.
Evelyn watched exactly once.
After seeing Garren throw Liam to the
ground for the fifth time, she turned to him during a break and whispered:
"Blink twice if you need help."
"Eve," Liam groaned, "I'm training."
"From my angle, it looks like dying."
"It's controlled dying."
"Uh-huh."
Evelyn and Olyssia
If Garren was a storm, Olyssia was
winter.
The former academy professor arrived
at the estate each week dressed in robes of blue and silver—elegant, immaculate, absolutely terrifying. Her hair was a long braid of snow-white strands, and her eyes were sharp enough to slice bread.
Evelyn adored her.
"Fire is a living thing," Olyssia said
during their first lesson, as a tiny flame flickered above Evelyn's palm. "But
control is more important than power. Lose your discipline, and the flame will burn you first."
Evelyn nodded, mesmerized.
"Now," Olyssia said, "extinguish it."
Evelyn blinked. "But I just—It looks so cool!"
"Extinguish it."
The flame vanished instantly.
Olyssia's lips twitched. "Good. Again."
Their lessons stretched from basic
fire manipulation to structured spellcasting runes. Evelyn's affinity was obvious—her fire responded like it wanted to please her.
But she struggled with water magic.
Every attempt fizzled, sputtered, or simply refused to appear.
"That is normal," Olyssia assured her.
"Your affinity leans heavily toward flame. Water is antithetical to you. Do not
expect mastery."
"But can I still try someday?" Evelyn asked.
Olyssia paused.
"Yes," she said quietly. "But know that healing spells—true healing—belong to water casters. You may chase them, but they will not run toward you."
The words stuck in Evelyn's mind.
And they would matter, later.
More than Olyssia knew.
Yuna's Struggle
Even as the twins grew, Yuna struggled
silently.
She rarely slept through the night.
She flinched at sudden noises.
She smiled only for her children.
At times, she tried to hide her pain behind chores or conversation, but the twins knew.
Evelyn found her one night in the kitchen, standing alone in the dark, staring at Caelen's old dagger laid on the table.
"Mom?" Evelyn whispered.
Yuna quickly wiped her eyes and forced a smile. "Ah, little ember. Couldn't sleep?"
Evelyn stepped closer. "You're crying."
Yuna's breath trembled. "Just remembering," she whispered. "And wishing I could forget."
Evelyn hugged her tightly.
Liam watched from the hallway, small fists clenched.
He wanted to say something.
But all he could do was promise himself one thing:
He would never let anything take his family from him again.
Nexi's Return
"You again?" Nexi said flatly the next
time Liam ran into her at Garren's estate.
"I train here," Liam reminded her.
"So do I."
"Oh."
"…Oh?"
Liam blinked. "Wait—what do you mean,
'so do I'?"
Nexi rolled her eyes. "My parents want
me familiar with human battle forms. Something about strengthening ties between our peoples or whatever. It's annoying."
"It's… good to see you," Liam said shyly.
Nexi stared.
Then she sniffed and turned away, cheeks faintly pink.
"That wasn't a compliment," she muttered.
"I know."
"It sounded like one."
"It wasn't!"
Nexi stomped ahead. "Stop smiling!"
"I can't!"
"Ugh!"
From that day forward, Nexi trained at the estate three days each week.
She and Liam bickered constantly.
They competed over everything.
Who could run faster.
Who could jump higher.
Who could learn new techniques quicker.
And slowly, the bickering softened.
Garren noticed it first.
"These two," he muttered to one of his
knights, "are going to be trouble someday."
But he was smiling when he said it.
Seeds of the Future
One afternoon, after a particularly brutal training session, Garren called Liam and Nexi over to a shaded bench.
"Sit," he ordered.
They obeyed.
"You two have talent," Garren said bluntly. "Annoying personalities, but talent."
"Hey," Liam protested.
Nexi elbowed him.
"But…" Garren continued, "raw talent
is not enough. If you're serious about becoming more than village brats or noble figureheads, you'll need real training."
"Real training?" Liam echoed.
"Academy-level training."
Nexi's ears twitched. "The Eldermire Academy?"
Garren nodded. "They'll open enrollment soon. Especially with the new alliance between Kaereth and Vaerith."
Liam felt something spark in his chest.
Nexi sat straighter.
"You want to be warriors? Mages? Leaders?" Garren asked.
Liam nodded fiercely.
Nexi nodded with quiet determination.
"Then your road leads there," Garren
said. "To the Academy."
Evelyn would join them too, though she
didn't know it yet.
But fate did.
Fate always knows.
Garren leaned back, watching the two children before him—an elf and a human, fire and lightning.
"You three," he murmured, "might just shake the world someday."
He wasn't wrong.
But neither he nor the twins could imagine the shadow rising far across the sea.
In Ostren, beneath a sky of unnatural
dusk, the Hands of the Blighted Gods stood in a circle, listening to whispers
that crawled from the earth itself.
A single phrase echoed through the
corrupted chamber:
"The children of lightning and flame
have awakened.
Watch them."
The war for Vaelora had already begun.
The children simply didn't know it yet.