The dawn broke gently over Lonestar Manor, its golden light spilling across the grounds and casting long shadows that danced with the early morning breeze. Silas stood at the edge of the manor, looking out toward the forest clearing where today’s test was to take place. He had barely slept the previous night, his thoughts consumed by the anticipation of facing his father in combat—a chance to see his father’s strength firsthand.

Beside him stood Rowan and Layla, their expressions equally tense but tinged with curiosity. Trickster slithered lazily along the grass while Goldie perched on Rowan’s shoulder, glancing around curiously. Kael stood silently nearby, his presence a reminder of the seriousness of the occasion.

Sullivan emerged from the manor, his steps measured, his aura commanding. He carried the legendary Starfire Blade, its surface glimmering faintly with the morning light. Silas instinctively placed a hand on the hilt of his own sword, Ebonheart, its cold weight a comfort against his growing nerves.

“I’ve left Kaede and Lian Chen behind to look after the manor,” Sullivan said, his voice calm but authoritative. “They’re too familiar with my fighting style, but you—” his eyes swept across Silas, Rowan, Layla, and even Kael “—will see what it means to face an elite Soulweaver.”

He smiled and led them outside Amberheart into a forest to the West of the city.

As they approached the clearing, the forest seemed to hold its breath. Silas's heartbeat pounded in his ears, and each step felt heavier. He glanced at Rowan and Layla, catching the tension etched in their expressions. Trickster's soft slithering through the grass was the only sound that cut through the stillness. His father's back was straight, unmoving, like a mountain waiting for a storm to break against it.

Sullivan nodded and exclaimed, “This should do it.”

Silas’s breath caught in his throat as Sullivan unsheathed the Starfire Blade, the soft hum of its release reverberating through the air. A King Spirit also materialised into the air next to him. Without another word, Sullivan strode into the clearing, and Silas followed, his heart pounding in his chest.

Once they stood a few paces apart, Sullivan’s gaze met Silas’s, sharp and unwavering. “Don’t hold back, Silas,” he said, the edges of his lips curling into a smile. “I want to see your full potential. Show me what you’ve learned.”

Silas nodded, his grip tightening on Ebonheart. He took a deep breath, centring himself and calling out his Minor Spirit. He knew his father was strong, but today, he would learn exactly how strong he was.

“Ready?” Sullivan asked.

Silas steeled himself and nodded. “Ready.”

In an instant, Sullivan’s aura flared as he activated a Spirit Infusion—only in his legs. His form blurred, and before Silas could react, Sullivan was upon him, his speed nothing short of terrifying.

Sullivan’s voice echoed as he struck with Starfire, “A good Soulweaver doesn’t waste power. A Spirit Infusion limited to one area increases efficiency. In this case—speed.”

Silas barely managed to parry the attack, his sword arm trembling from the sheer force behind his father’s strike. Gritting his teeth, Silas summoned Breeze, the wind spirit materialising beside him. “Cast wind edges,” he commanded, using his wind runes to guide the sharp, crescent-shaped gusts toward his father.

But Sullivan was already moving, his eyes gleaming with a sharp clarity. “Soul Vision allows me to predict your moves,” he explained as he dodged the wind edges effortlessly, his footwork smooth and precise. “Against someone like you, a Soulweaver needs to neutralise your Elemental magic quickly before you gain the upper hand.”

Silas cursed under his breath. Of course, his father would know how to counter his strengths. He had to change tactics, but Sullivan gave him no time to react.

Sullivan's form blurred. One second, he was across the clearing; the next, his blade was an inch from Silas's throat. Silas parried just in time, his arm shaking from the force. Too fast. He barely had time to react before another strike came down, heavy and deliberate.

‘Damn it, he's too fast.’ No matter how hard Silas tried to read Sullivan’s movements, he always seemed one step ahead. Was this the gap between them? Was this what it meant to be an elite Soulweaver?

“Breeze, lift me up,” Silas ordered after being pushed back once again. Feeling the wind spirit’s power surge beneath him as he floated off the ground. “Spark, I need you.”

A fiery figure materialised next to him, the flame spirit’s presence igniting the air around them. Silas conjured several fireballs, weaving them through the air with fire runes to guide their trajectory toward his father. Fire and wind, dancing in deadly harmony.

Sullivan’s expression remained calm as he jumped between the trees with lightning speed, his Spirit Infusion shifting to his arms mid-air. He propelled himself forward, closing the distance between him and Silas with unnerving speed. As they clashed in mid-air, Silas reinforced his arms with a Spirit Infusion of his own, using Breeze to boost the strength of his strike.

But the impact was far from what Silas expected. Sullivan’s power overwhelmed him, sending him flying backwards. He only managed to stabilise himself thanks to Breeze’s timely intervention.

“Spirit Infusions, like every other Soulweaver technique, vary in strength depending on the spirit,” Sullivan said, his tone more instructive than mocking. “If a King Spirit uses it, it’ll naturally be much stronger than your Minor Spirit.”

Before Silas could react, Sullivan cast an Emphatic Manipulation. Silas felt a wave of disorientation wash over him, his vision blurring as his balance faltered. He tried to shake it off, but his mind struggled to focus.

“Keep your wits about you!” Sullivan barked, his legs once again infused with spirit energy as he sped toward Silas, aiming to grab his head. Silas’s heart raced—he recognised the technique. Soul Drain.

But Breeze’s wind saved him again, pushing Sullivan back just in time.

Silas gathered himself, a fire now burning in his chest, both from frustration and determination. “Breeze, Spark—don’t hold back. Hit him with everything.”

He unleashed a barrage of wind edges and fireballs, sending them hurtling toward his father in rapid succession. Sullivan’s eyes gleamed, a grin spreading across his face. “Now we’re talking.”

But even under the onslaught of attacks, Sullivan danced through them, his speed and Soul Vision allowing him to dodge with ease. “Soul Vision lets me see it all—except attacks from behind. But that’s meaningless if you’re not controlling the battlefield and are attacking indiscriminately.”

Sullivan surged forward, casting a Soul Shackle. Silas froze, his body locking up under the power of the spell. “Keep moving!” Sullivan commanded, his voice sharp. “If you stop, you’ll become an easy target for Soul Bind or Soul Shackle.”

Silas struggled against the spell, his muscles straining as he broke free after what felt like an eternity. In desperation, he cast a Minor Soul Disruption, but the attack barely phased his father.

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Sullivan laughed, a sound both lighthearted and terrifying. “My spirit power is far beyond yours, Silas. You’ll need more than that to affect me.”

Their swords clashed again, the sound of metal ringing through the clearing. This time, Sullivan only used one hand to parry Silas’s strike while his other hand reached out and gently patted Silas’s head. Silas felt a wave of weakness wash over him as Soul Drain began to take effect.

But before it could do any real damage, Sullivan pulled back, sheathing his sword with a satisfied smile. “That’s enough for today.”

Silas staggered backwards, panting heavily, his body aching from the effort. As the effects of the Soul Drain faded, he glanced over at Rowan and Layla. They stood there, wide-eyed, clearly stunned by the ease with which Sullivan had handled him.

Rowan walked over, his expression a mix of awe and concern. "You good?" he asked, his voice low, but Silas could see the worry behind his friend’s eyes. Layla stayed quiet, her hand resting on Silas’s shoulder, a gesture of silent support.

Silas breathed heavily and replied while panting, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Rowan then broke the tension with a low whistle. “I thought you were strong, Silas. But… damn.”

Layla shook her head, her expression incredulous. “You didn’t stand a chance.”

Silas could only laugh weakly, rubbing his sore arms. “Yeah, well… now we know just how far we’ve got to go.”

Even Kael whistled at the display of Sullivan’s strength and understood that he stood no chance, even though he recently became a Tier three Soulweaver with the help of the strange stone that Sullivan had lent him for a while.

Sullivan nodded, his gaze softening as he approached Silas. “You’ve done well, Silas. But remember—there’s always more to learn. Always more efficient ways to hone your combat skills.”

Silas looked up at his father, determination burning in his chest. He had a long way to go, but this was only the beginning.

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, casting its warm light over the clearing, Silas, Rowan, and Layla knew that their journey was far from over. And with each challenge they faced, they would only grow stronger.

☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

As the group headed back to Amberheart, the tension in the air was palpable. Silas walked a little ahead of the others, lost in thought after the sparring session with his father. The weight of the day’s events pressed down on his shoulders, but the physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the unease brewing inside him. Layla and Rowan exchanged glances, both unsettled by the sheer gap in strength they’d witnessed between Silas and Sullivan.

Once they arrived back, Sullivan called Silas aside. His calm yet authoritative voice made it clear this conversation was not one to be overheard. Rowan, Layla, and the others were instructed to give them space, leaving the father and son alone in Sullivan’s study.

Silas stepped in, unsure of what to expect. His body still ached from the sparring session, but his mind was more troubled than ever. Closing the door behind him, he faced his father.

“Are you satisfied with my performance?” Silas asked, his tone measured, though a flicker of frustration lingered behind his words.

Sullivan gave a small, almost wistful smile. “You’ve grown, Silas. Your progress is remarkable, especially in such a short amount of time. But,” he paused, “you still have a long way to go.”

Though the words stung slightly, Silas felt a surge of pride at the rare praise. “I’ll get there,” he said confidently.

“I know you will,” Sullivan replied. Then his expression shifted, growing more serious. “Now, as promised, it’s time I told you about the mark.”

Silas’s breath caught. The mark. The thing that had hovered over his life like a dark cloud. Finally, answers. Yet his father’s words came with a caution. “You will have questions after this, Silas. But I will only answer what I can.”

A tense silence fell over the room. Silas swallowed hard, nodding in agreement. “I’m ready.”

Sullivan began slowly as if choosing his words with great care. “To talk about your mark, we first need to talk about your mother.”

Silas’s heart skipped a beat. “My mother?” His voice was a mix of confusion and curiosity. His mother had always been a distant figure in his life, known only by her name and the name alone.

Sullivan nodded his head. “I told you that her name was Aeliana Kutac, from Theron. In truth, that was a lie. Her real name... was Salvia Lonestar."

Silas’s heart raced. That name. Why hadn’t he heard it before? What else had been hidden from him?

The air in the room thickened. Silas felt like the ground had been pulled from beneath him. Barely able to process the revelation, he finally took a deep breath to calm down and said, “Lonestar? “Her family name was Lonestar? Then what about your family name? Did you marry into her family?”

Sullivan raised a finger and said, “As I told you, we’ll be focusing on your mother, not me.”

His gaze hardened slightly, though his tone remained calm. “Your mother’s true surname was known only to a few close to her, that’s why we can use it without any consequences. Her name however, was renowned throughout Solarisynth. You must be cautious with this knowledge, Silas. Her name is a taboo in Solarisynth.”

Silas stared at him, dumbfounded. His thoughts swirled with questions. “Why is it a taboo?” he asked, his voice lower now.

“Because... of many things that happened during that time. Your mother was no ordinary woman,” Sullivan continued, his eyes darkening. “She bore the same mark as you. It’s called a ‘Lonestar Mark,’ a symbol of an extraordinary bloodline. She wore the mark with pride and it must be recorded in the annals of history of every vassal family and the Raet empire.”

The weight of his father’s words pressed on Silas’s chest. ‘The same mark as mine…’ A cold realisation crept over him. Would he have a similar fate as her mother? “What happened to her?” His voice cracked, betraying the emotion welling inside him.

Sullivan’s face fell. For a moment, he looked older, wearier than ever. “She was killed... while protecting you,” he finally said, his tone filled with regret and sadness. “You were an infant then, and she was weakened from childbirth. An attack—intentional or otherwise—was launched against her. She... she shielded you and died with you in her arms.”

The room felt colder now, Silas’s heart racing with grief and fury. “Who did it?” he asked, his voice trembling with a barely controlled rage and sadness.

Sullivan didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and sombre. “That... is something you will have to discover on your own. If fate guides you to the answer, you must act. But for now, it’s best that you don’t know.”

Silas’s anger flared. “Fate? We’re talking about mother’s killer here! And you’re telling me to wait for fate?”

Sullivan remained calm, but the pain in his eyes was evident. “It’s not that simple, Silas. There are different forces at play here… forces I wish I could shield you from. When the time comes, you will know.”

Each vague answer deepened Silas’s disillusionment. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to shout. He took a deep breath and asked, “Which continent does the Lonestar family hail from?”

His mind churned with the thought of seeking out the answers himself. There was no way he could leave it all to fate.

Sullivan shook his head, his expression serious. “The Lonestar family does not belong to Solarisynth,” he said quietly. “Your mother came from outside the realm. She used considerable resources from the outside world to enter.”

Silas blinked, trying to process this. “Huh...? What do you mean?”

Sullivan leaned back in his chair, folding his hands. “Solarisynth is not like the other realms. It’s surrounded by a barrier that makes entry nearly impossible. That’s why we see almost no outsiders here on the continent. The world beyond is... vast, and only a select few can breach the borders.” His gaze grew distant, as if he were recalling memories long buried. “Your mother was one of those few.”

The weight of this revelation hit Silas hard. His heart pounded with a mix of confusion and the simmering bloodlust that had grown with every piece of this painful puzzle. His mother’s past, the barrier, the mark—none of it made sense, but it only fueled his desire to know more.

After a long pause, Silas finally spoke, his voice cold. “Fine then, keep your secrets, Father. But know this—I won’t sit still like you. It seems I’m not as patient or uncaring as you are.”

With that, he turned his back on his father, the bitterness and frustration boiling inside him as he made his way toward the door, his mind already spinning with plans of his own. But before he could leave, Sullivan called out to him.

“Wait.” Silas stopped but didn’t turn around. He heard Sullivan approach and felt something being pressed into his hand. An amulet and a shimmering purple crystal.

Silas looked down at the amulet. Nine orbs were embedded in it, but only one was glowing—the rest were dull and lifeless. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice still tinged with frustration.

Sullivan’s voice softened. “That amulet... it’s important. You may need it in the future, though I hope you never will. As for the crystal,” he paused, “it’s a memory crystal. Inside it are my memories regarding the amulet. If the time comes when the amulet activates, you’ll know what to do. Or,” he added, “if your spiritual power ever surpasses mine, you’ll be able to access those memories yourself.”

With a gentle touch, Sullivan pressed the crystal against Silas’s forehead. It dissolved instantly, leaving no trace, though Silas felt nothing.

“Never lose that amulet,” Sullivan warned. “It’s of utmost importance.”

Silas stared at the amulet in his hand, its single glowing orb mocking him with its silence. His frustration, carefully contained, finally surged to the surface. “More secrets,” he muttered through clenched teeth, shaking his head. “Just once, can’t you give me a straight answer? I didn’t even know my mother’s real name until now! What are you protecting me from? I’ve nearly died twice already, Father. Where were you then?”

Sullivan’s eyes softened, a deep, unspoken sorrow clouding them. “I’m doing what I can,” he said quietly, his voice strained with the weight of untold truths. “I wish I could do more.”

Silas’s fists tightened around the amulet. His voice grew cold, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Are you? Then tell me—what’s your plan? What are you hiding from me?”

Sullivan didn’t answer. His gaze drifted toward the window, where the city sprawled beneath the darkening sky. His silence only stoked the fire in Silas’s chest, the unspoken tension between them stretching unbearably thin.

Silas let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “If you can’t even trust your own son, then who can you trust?”

He shot his father a final, burning glance—an expression filled with anger, disappointment, and a hurt so deep it threatened to drown him. Without another word, he stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding echo.

Sullivan remained motionless, staring at the door as it shook on its hinges. Slowly, he sank into his chair, a heavy sigh slipping from his lips. Alone in the quiet room, the weight of his decisions, the years of burden, settled heavily on his shoulders.

“Oh, how I long for release,” he whispered to the empty space. His voice cracked, carrying a sorrow no one would ever hear. “These secrets… this guilt... it’s more than I can bear.”