Aren woke up before the sun fully rose.
It was not the crowing of roosters nor the call of the servants that pulled him from sleep, but a habit formed over the years. His body moved on its own, leaving the bed with the same discipline he had learned through daily training.
The room was no longer that of a child.
His wooden sword had disappeared long ago, replaced by a real blade resting against the wall. Its edge had not yet tasted real combat, but it was the only witness to the efforts of young Valenfort.
Beside it rested a simple pack, prepared the night before with only what was necessary: clothes, a small amount of money, and a letter sealed with the emblem of the principality, authorizing his transfer to the trials of the knightly order.
Aren spent a few seconds staring at that seal.
The symbol of the local prince was known even in neighboring territories. Its mark of authority allowed no argument.
'There is no turning back now.'
He dressed in silence and carefully adjusted his sword belt. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he barely recognized his reflection. The child who trained in the courtyard was gone. In his place stood a tall young man with steady shoulders and a serious gaze, small scars on his hands, and an expression that no longer sought approval.
When he stepped into the hallway, the mansion was already awake.
There was no music, no lively conversation. Only restrained footsteps and discreet glances. Everyone knew what that day meant.
The first person he encountered was his older brother.
He stood near the entrance, reviewing some documents with a furrowed brow. When he looked up and saw Aren, he set the papers aside.
"So… today is the day," he said.
Aren nodded.
"The trials begin tomorrow morning. If I don't leave now, I won't arrive in time."
His brother studied him closely, as if trying to memorize every detail.
"Father believes you will succeed," he added. "So do I."
Aren hesitated for a moment.
"You will stay," he said. "Sometimes I think it's unfair that only I get to be free."
His brother smiled tiredly.
"Someone has to keep this standing," he replied. "And someone has to leave to see what lies beyond."
There were no reproaches, no envy. Only a quiet acceptance of different paths.
"Just don't forget who you are," he said at last. "Or where you come from."
Aren inclined his head in respect.
His father's study was open.
Albert Valenfort, Baron of those lands, stood by the window, watching the fields surrounding the mansion. He was dressed simply, without the adornments of a formal audience. When Aren entered, he did not turn immediately.
"The carriage will arrive soon," he said. "I won't keep you long."
Aren remained silent.
"I have seen many young men leave with a sword in their hands," his father continued. "Some return. Others do not. And almost all believe they know why they are leaving."
At last, he turned to face him.
"Tell me, Aren," he asked calmly. "Do you still remember the girl?"
The air seemed to grow heavier.
Aren did not answer at once.
'How could I not?'
"Yes," he finally said. "I remember her."
His father studied him carefully, without harshness.
"Is she your reason?"
Aren tightened his fingers slightly.
"Not only her," he replied. "But I cannot say she isn't."
Lord Valenfort nodded slowly.
"I imagined as much," he murmured, resigned. "Ever since the day she left."
Aren looked up, surprised.
"You knew?"
"I knew something had changed in you," his father corrected. "I did not ask because it was not my place. But you must understand something, my son."
He stepped closer.
"If you leave driven by a memory, it can sustain you… or destroy you."
Aren held his gaze.
"I don't want to forget Lylia," he said. "Or what I promised."
"Promises weigh more than you think," his father replied. "Especially when they are made as a child."
The study door opened unexpectedly.
"So it's true?" Aren's mother said, entering with a firm step. "Do you truly intend to allow this?"
Her gaze moved from her husband to Aren, stopping on the sword.
"Mother…" Aren began.
"No," she interrupted. "I want to hear the truth."
She approached him, assessing him as if she might still find the child slipping through her fingers.
"Tell me," she said. "Are you going to the trials for honor… or because you are still chasing that common girl?"
Silence filled the room.
"She is not just a commoner," Aren replied, his voice controlled.
"She was," she shot back. "And she still is to me. A common girl who spent a few months under this roof and then left."
Aren felt a knot tighten in his chest.
"You don't understand…"
"I understand far too well," she cut in. "I know you are willing to risk your life for someone who does not belong to our world. Someone you don't even know still remembers you."
"That doesn't matter," Aren said.
"It does matter!" she exclaimed. "Because if your motivation is her, then you are not leaving for justice but for obsession."
Lord Valenfort raised a hand.
"Enough."
Aren's mother pressed her lips together but fell silent.
"Our son has already made his decision," he said. "We cannot bind him to this house out of fear."
She looked at him coldly.
"And when you lose him, what will you say then?"
There was no answer.
Aren stepped forward.
"Mother," he said. "I don't know if she still thinks of me, nor if I will ever see her again. But I know that if I don't leave now… I will never forgive myself."
She looked away.
The sound of approaching wheels broke the moment.
"It's time," his father said.
Aren adjusted his sword belt and took his pack. He paused for a moment at the threshold, looking at the mansion one last time.
He did not look back.
As he walked toward the main road, a thought crossed his mind, silent and persistent.
'I don't know what you have become, Lylia…'
The carriage awaited him.
'…but I am still walking toward you.'
And so, leaving behind his home and the certainties of childhood, Aren Valenfort took the first true step toward the oath that would define his life.