The fire crackled in the quiet of the night, flickering shadows stretching long across the forest floor. Auren sat cross-legged, absently running his fingers over the bloodstained cloth tied around his head. Rhett, lounging nearby, prodded the fire with a stick, sending a small flurry of embers into the night air. Corren sat opposite them, his face half-lit by the fire’s glow, his eyes lost in something neither of them could see.

It wasn’t unusual for Corren to fall into silence. But this time, something was different. The usual sharpness in his gaze had dulled, replaced with something distant, something haunted.

Auren noticed first. “Corren?”

No response.

Rhett smirked, tossing a twig at him. “You’re brooding more than usual, old man. That a new hobby?”

Corren blinked, the trance breaking. He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing his temples. “You two never learned when to keep quiet, did you?”

Auren and Rhett exchanged glances before Rhett shrugged. “Not really.”

A pause. Then Corren sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You want to know why I left you two behind that day, don’t you?”

Auren nodded. “You saw something on that mercenary. Something that made you leave.”

Corren’s jaw clenched. He stared into the fire for a long moment before he spoke. “A golden hawk.”

Silence stretched between them. The fire popped, and a breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

“The Red Hawks,” Corren continued, his voice quieter now, “were the ones who killed my wife. My son.”

Neither Auren nor Rhett dared to interrupt.

“They weren’t always that way. Once, they were just another mercenary company, swords-for-hire, no worse than the rest. But greed rots everything. One day, they took a contract they shouldn’t have. A noble wanted to erase a debt, and rather than pay it, he paid them to erase the ones he owed.”

His fingers curled into fists.

“My family had nothing to do with it. But we lived on that land. And the Silver Hawks… they didn’t leave witnesses.”

The weight of his words pressed against the night. Even Rhett, usually the first to make some flippant remark, stayed silent.

“I came home to a graveyard.” Corren’s voice was steady, but it was the kind of steadiness that took effort. “My wife, my boy… gone. Just like that. And I—” His breath hitched, just for a moment. “I became something else. I wasn’t a man anymore. Just a blade looking for a throat.”

Auren felt the hairs on his arms rise. This wasn’t the Corren they knew. This was something older, something raw.

“I hunted them. Every last one.” His eyes lifted to them, sharp, cold. “Tracked them across mountains, through cities. It took me years. But I made sure none of them walked away.”

Rhett let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Corren smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Damn indeed.” He leaned back, looking to the sky. “And when it was done, when the last of them had bled out at my feet… I felt nothing. No satisfaction. No peace. Just… emptiness.”

Auren swallowed, his throat dry. “So when you saw the golden hawk—”

“My first thought was to kill him,” Corren admitted. “ But then I saw you two.” He shook his head. “I left because I wasn’t sure what I would do if I stayed. I wasn’t sure if I was still that man. And I didn’t want to find out.”

The fire crackled between them, filling the silence. Corren’s expression had softened, but the weight of his story lingered, thick as the night air.

After a moment, Auren nodded. “Thank you for telling us.”

Corren snorted. “Didn’t do it for you, boy.”

Rhett stretched, cracking his knuckles. “Well, that was one hell of a bedtime story.” He smirked, but there was a strange respect in his eyes now. “Guess that explains why you fight like a demon.”

Corren rolled his eyes. “Get some sleep. We move at dawn.”

Auren watched as Corren leaned back against a tree, staring at the sky, lost in thoughts he’d never fully escape. And for the first time, Auren truly understood the man who had taken them under his wing.

The Next Day.

The morning air was crisp, the scent of damp earth mingling with pine. Auren steadied his breathing, fingers tightening around the worn wooden bow. The target—an old tree with a cluster of leaves marked by Corren—stood twenty paces away. He exhaled, loosing the arrow.

Thwack.

A little off-center.

“Again,” Corren instructed, leaning against a rock with his arms crossed.

Auren retrieved another arrow, but his focus wavered. His thoughts lingered on last night, on the weight of Corren’s past, on the unspoken emotions that still clung to the air.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Rhett sat a few feet away, idly running a knife over a piece of wood, his expression unreadable as usual. But Corren’s eyes lingered on him today, a gaze sharpened by something more than just training.

“Rhett.”

The boy paused, knife stilling mid-stroke.

“How much do you remember?” Corren asked.

Rhett’s grip on the blade tightened. “…Of what?”

Corren sighed. “You know what.”

Silence stretched between them. The wind whispered through the trees.

“Nothing before the orphanage,” Rhett finally muttered. “Just flashes. Pain. Lightning.” His fingers twitched. “That’s it.”

Auren lowered his bow. He had always known Rhett’s abilities weren’t normal—how his body seemed to hum with energy, how his reflexes were unnaturally sharp, his movements almost too fast for the eye. But they had never questioned it. Not until now.

Corren stepped closer, gaze steady. “Your body… it wasn’t meant to be like this.”

Rhett frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You weren’t born with this power,” Corren said. “It was forced onto you.”

Auren’s breath hitched. “What?”

Corren exhaled. “House Kaelor. They’re the weakest of the four great houses, but what they lack in strength, they make up for in desperation. They’ve spent years trying to manufacture power, breaking the natural order.” His voice darkened. “Experiments. Torture. Trying to create something greater than what nature allows.”

Auren glanced at Rhett, who was staring at the ground, jaw clenched.

“Lightning attunement isn’t rare,” Corren continued. “But yours isn’t natural. It’s stronger, unstable. I’ve seen the signs before. And those scars...” his gaze flickered to Rhett’s arms, where faint, lightning-shaped burns still marked his skin “..those weren’t made by accident.”

Rhett’s fists clenched. “You’re saying… they did this to me.. to make me some abomination ?”

Corren nodded. “It’s likely.”

Auren felt the weight of the truth settle over them. He had always envied Rhett’s strength, his speed, his near-invincible reflexes. But now…

Rhett slowly stood, the knife still in his grip. His face was unreadable, but Auren could see it—the storm gathering behind his eyes.

Corren placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re more than what they did to you.”

Rhett didn’t respond. He simply turned away, his fingers sparking with faint traces of electricity.

Auren watched him for a long moment before turning to Corren. “What does this mean for him?”

Corren’s expression was grim. “It means he has a choice. To be their experiment… or to be something else.”

Auren swallowed. “And the other houses? They just let this happen?”

Corren scoffed. “They pretend not to see it. House Kaelor's experiments are open secrets—everyone knows what they do, but no one speaks of it. The stronger houses look down on them, thinking their experiments are failures, just the desperate attempt to power of a weak house.” His jaw tightened. “And sometimes, Kaelor ensures their silence. Bribes, favors… or well-placed disappearances.”

Auren shuddered at the thought. How many had been lost to their twisted experiments? And how many had suffered like Rhett—like the ones who didn’t survive?

Corren’s gaze darkened. “Veltharion’s rulers tolerate it because they think some breakthroughs might serve them. A controlled monster is still a weapon.”

Rhett let out a hollow laugh. “Guess I slipped through the cracks.”

Corren sighed. “You’re more than that.”

The words lingered. The morning felt colder than before.

“Get some rest,” Corren finally said, stepping away. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,You kids still have a long way to go.”

The day passed,stars filled the sky.

The grassland stretched endlessly, a sea of silver under the pale glow of the stars.

Auren lay on his back, staring up at the sky. The cool night air carried the distant hum of insects, a rare moment of peace after everything they had learned.

Beside him, Rhett was still, his usual silence blending with the quiet of the night.

Corren sat nearby, sharpening his knife, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone the only sound between them for a long while.

"Try again," Corren said without looking up.

Auren groaned. "What’s the point? It’s not working."

Corren exhaled. "You give up too easily."

Rhett smirked, a rare expression on his face, but said nothing.

Corren leaned forward, his voice steady, instructive. "Summoning isn’t about force. It’s about calling something that already wants to be here. Spirits have lingering wishes, things left undone. Masters help fulfill them in exchange for their service. You can’t just demand—they have to answer."

Auren scowled. "Then maybe no spirit wants to answer me."

Corren studied him for a moment before reaching into his satchel, pulling out a small pouch of finely ground silver dust. "Let’s start from the beginning. Again."

With practiced ease, he traced a sigil into the grass with the dust, the intricate lines forming a spiral interwoven with runes that pulsed faintly under the starlight. The air around them grew colder.

"Kneel before it," Corren instructed.

Auren sighed but obeyed, settling onto his knees before the pattern.

"Now, place your hand over the center. Feel the energy—not yours, not mine, but the thread between worlds. Close your eyes and repeat after me."

Corren’s voice dropped to a near whisper, the words ancient and rhythmic:

O lost soul, bound by time and sorrow,

I call thee from the veil of shadow.

In whisper, in wind, in silent breath,

Answer me from beyond death.

Auren inhaled deeply, feeling something stir beneath his fingertips as he repeated the words. But even as the cold curled around him, nothing took form. The sigil remained lifeless.

Auren’s hand curled into a fist. "Still nothing."

Before Corren could respond, the air around Rhett crackled. A gust of wind swept through the clearing, and arcs of violet lightning flickered around him. The silver dust on his sigil burned with sudden brilliance. Then, with a resounding crack, the form of a massive eagle emerged from the spiraling glow of the summoning circle.

Its feathers were streaked with lightning, its eyes burning with ethereal energy. The air smelled of ozone, and the very earth trembled as the spirit spread its wings. A sharp cry echoed through the night, a sound like the roar of a storm.

Auren watched, slack-jawed. Rhett, unfazed as ever, simply lifted a hand. The eagle lowered its head, allowing him to rest his palm against its beak. Lightning danced at his fingertips but did not harm him.

Corren nodded in approval. "A spirit that mirrors its summoner. An unique one at that."

Auren looked between them, frustration clawing at his chest. Why had Rhett succeeded so easily while he had failed over and over?

Corren didn’t scold him. He merely leaned back on his elbows, gazing at the sky. Then, after a long pause, he spoke, almost absentmindedly. "Not all spirits answer right away. Some wait for the right moment."

Auren frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Corren answered, his gaze distant, as if seeing something Auren could not. "You'll know when the time comes."

Corren sat up, brushing grass from his coat. "There’s a Trial. Not far from here. An old one, meant for Initiates. It’s dangerous, but if you’re looking for a way forward, it might be exactly what you need."

Auren hesitated. The frustration of failing gnawed at him, but so did the idea of proving himself another way. "What kind of Trial?"

Corren’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "One that will test more than just your strength."

Auren glanced at Rhett, who merely watched him with those unreadable eyes, waiting for his decision. The weight of the choice settled over him, heavy and uncertain.

Then, with a slow breath, Auren straightened his shoulders. "When do we start?"

Corren chuckled. "At dawn."

Above them, the wind howled through the grass, and somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.