The day was bright and warm, the early summer breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers that bloomed around Highfield Manor. Leon stood in the training yard, his usual spot for morning drills, though today felt different. He turned fifteen today, a quiet milestone that he hadn’t expected to feel so significant. As he looked around, his gaze lingered for a moment on the gardens, where he knew his mother’s allotment lay. It had been a few months since Lord Roderic had given it to her, and in that time, Leon had noticed something—his mother looked much happier these days.
She spent her mornings working the soil, tending to the plants with a peace in her expression that he hadn’t seen in years. The garden had brought a kind of contentment to her life, and seeing her so at ease made Leon feel lighter, as if a quiet part of him had finally relaxed. She wasn’t just a mother worrying for her son anymore—she was someone who had found her own joy again.
Leon smiled to himself, feeling the warmth of the thought settle in his chest as he turned his attention back to the training yard. Today felt important for another reason, too.
Loren approached him, carrying a wrapped bundle in his arms, his expression unreadable as always. The grizzled captain of the guard stopped a few paces away, letting the quiet hang between them before he finally spoke.
“Leon,” Loren began, his voice rough but steady, “you’ve come a long way since that first day we started training. Four years, and I’ve put you through the paces more times than I can count.”
Leon chuckled softly, remembering the gruelling sessions. “It’s been... challenging, to say the least.”
Loren gave a rare smile, just a small twitch at the corner of his lips. “Good. You needed it.” He then extended the bundle toward Leon, his gaze steady. “You’ve earned this.”
Leon took the package, feeling the weight of it before unwrapping the cloth. Inside was a finely crafted sword, the steel gleaming in the morning light. The hilt was simple yet elegant, with a dark leather grip that fit perfectly in his hand. The crossguard was inlaid with a delicate engraving of a tree—the symbol of Highfield, its branches reaching outward, representing the land and its people. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, a weapon that carried the weight of tradition and responsibility.
For a moment, Leon just held the sword, the heft of the blade making him acutely aware of its potential. He ran his thumb over the hilt, tracing the outline of the tree carved into the metal. The weight of it wasn’t just physical—it was a reminder that this sword could hurt someone, end a life if necessary. That thought made him handle it with a deep respect, gripping it firmly, but cautiously.
“For you,” Loren said, his voice a little softer now. “You’ve proven yourself with the practice blades. This is for real combat. You’ll need it soon enough.”
Leon glanced up at Loren, who stood tall and solid as ever, but now, for the first time, Leon realised he was nearly Loren’s height. Four years of relentless training had honed his body. His once lanky frame had filled out with lean muscle, his arms strong from constant practice, his stance grounded from hours of sparring. He had grown into his own, no longer the uncertain boy who had first arrived at Highfield, but someone who could hold his own in a fight.
But more than just his build, Leon was aware of something else—something that had become more pronounced over time. Being an Evoker seemed to make him stronger, faster than regular men and women. It was a subtle but significant edge. He had noticed it more recently—how his movements were sharper, how his reflexes were quicker. And now, with a real sword in hand, the weight of that power felt even more real.
“Thank you,” Leon said quietly, his fingers brushing over the hilt’s intricate engraving. The sword felt right in his hands, as though it had been made for him.
Loren nodded. “You’ve earned it,” he repeated. His gaze hardened slightly. “But don’t get too comfortable. There’s still plenty to learn.”
He drew his own sword, the metallic ring of steel filling the yard. “How about we see how well you handle it in a proper spar?”
Leon grinned, stepping back and raising his new sword into a ready stance. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
The training yard fell quiet as the two faced each other, the atmosphere growing tense as the duel began. Loren struck first, his movements quick and precise, testing Leon’s reflexes. Leon parried, the clash of their blades sending vibrations up his arm, but he held firm, the strength behind his movements giving him an advantage Loren could no longer ignore.
But as the spar continued, something about Loren’s movements began to change. His strikes were sharper, his footwork more fluid, and there was a rhythm to his attacks that Leon hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t just the usual drills or sparring routines. Loren was tapping into a skill set far deeper than what he’d shown during their lessons.
Leon’s brow furrowed as he blocked another strike, realising this wasn’t the Loren he’d grown accustomed to facing. This was different—Loren wasn’t holding back in the way he usually did. He was drawing on something far more refined.
Loren pressed the attack, his strikes swift and relentless. Leon gritted his teeth, struggling to keep pace, feeling as though Loren was reading him, predicting his every move. The older man’s expertise was on full display, and for the first time, Leon saw just how much skill Loren had kept hidden.
“You’ve been holding back on me,” Leon muttered between breaths as he deflected another blow, the weight of the duel dawning on him.
Loren’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with pride. “I had to. You weren’t ready for this before.”
Another strike, quicker than the last, and Leon realised that Loren had been teaching him with restraint, slowly revealing the depths of his ability. Now, as their blades clashed, Leon understood—there was still so much more to learn.
Loren’s strikes grew more deliberate, calculated, as he realised brute force wouldn’t work against Leon anymore. The younger man was faster, stronger—qualities that Loren couldn’t match through physical prowess alone. He had to outthink him, use Leon’s inexperience against him.
“Good,” Loren grunted between strikes. “But watch your footwork.”
Leon shifted his stance, adjusting quickly, but Loren exploited the momentary hesitation, feinting an attack to the side before switching to an upward strike. Leon blocked it, but only just in time.
The older man pressed his advantage, keeping Leon on the defensive. While Leon’s raw strength allowed him to parry the heavier blows, Loren’s years of experience gave him an edge in reading the fight. He knew when Leon’s guard would drop, where the Evoker’s inexperience left small gaps in his defences.
“You’re strong,” Loren said, his voice steady as they circled each other, “but strength isn’t everything.”
Leon tightened his grip on the sword, his mind racing. Loren wasn’t just teaching him to fight—he was forcing Leon to think, to anticipate. Their blades clashed again, and this time Leon pushed back with more force, his strength evident in every strike.
Loren staggered for a moment, surprised by the intensity, but he recovered quickly, sidestepping a powerful swing that would have knocked him off balance had he tried to block it head-on.
Leon followed through with a swift, calculated strike, aiming low. But Loren, anticipating the move, deflected it with a quick flick of his wrist and stepped inside Leon’s guard, landing a light tap on Leon’s shoulder with the flat of his blade.
“Point to me,” Loren said with a smirk, stepping back to give Leon space.
Leon straightened, breathing hard but feeling the weight of the lesson. He hadn’t expected to keep up so well, but now he understood—Loren was using his experience, his ability to read the fight, rather than relying on raw power.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“Not bad,” Loren continued, his tone approving. “But you need to work on using your speed more effectively. You’re faster than me, and stronger too, but that means nothing if you don’t control it.”
Leon nodded, adjusting his stance, his sword still gripped firmly in his hand. They clashed again, and this time Leon held his ground more confidently, his movements sharper, more precise.
After several more exchanges, Loren called a halt, lowering his sword. “That’s enough for today. You’ve made good progress, Leon.”
Leon lowered his blade, his chest heaving from the exertion, but there was a quiet satisfaction in his eyes. He had held his own against Loren, and though he knew there was still more to learn, today felt like a turning point.
Loren sheathed his sword and clapped Leon on the shoulder. “Tonight, after training, we’ll celebrate properly. A few of the lads and lasses from the guard and I are taking you out for a drink. Just don’t tell your mother,” he added with a wink.
Leon laughed, feeling a mix of pride and anticipation. “I won’t.”
----------------------------------------
The guards on duty that day stood a few paces away, eyes wide as they watched Leon and Loren spar. They had seen the two train together countless times over the past four years, but today was different. This wasn’t just another practice session—this was the first duel after Loren had given Leon his new sword, marking his fifteenth birthday.
"Look at him," one of the younger guards muttered, watching Leon. "He’s keeping up with the captain."
Another guard, arms crossed, shook his head in disbelief. "It’s Captain Loren. The man’s got years of experience, and the kid’s standing toe-to-toe with him. And with a new sword, no less."
Leon, focused entirely on Loren, was unaware of the growing interest from the guards. To him, this was just another sparring match, but the weight of the new sword in his hand made every strike feel more significant. The sweat on his brow and the tension in his muscles were familiar, but today, everything carried more weight—this was his first duel with a real weapon.
But to the guards, seeing Leon move with such speed and power against Captain Loren was something else entirely.
"Yeah, but the kid’s an Evoker. Makes sense he’s strong, but still... to keep up with Steel—"
The sentence was cut short by the sudden, sharp whistle of a pebble flying through the air. It struck the fence with a loud crack, sending splinters flying. The guards froze mid-sentence, their eyes darting toward Loren, whose glare was enough to silence them completely. He didn’t have to say anything—the warning was clear.
Leon, oblivious to the guards’ chatter, stepped back, adjusting his stance, his new sword feeling natural in his hand. His strikes were fast, his strength undeniable, but Loren’s experience kept him just ahead. Leon had no idea that holding his own against Loren, especially with a new sword, was an impressive feat. He was used to training with him, after all.
One of the older guards leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "He doesn’t even know, does he? Just thinks it’s normal."
Another guard grumbled, a hint of jealousy creeping into his tone. "Evokers, man... they’ve got it easy with those reflexes, that strength. We’d never be able to keep up with that, no matter how much we train."
Leon landed a particularly heavy strike against Loren’s guard, and for the first time, Loren staggered back a step. The guards exchanged looks—none of them could believe what they were seeing. But Leon, still focused on the fight, didn’t even register the amazement in the air. This was just another sparring match for him, his new sword already feeling like an extension of himself.
The guards muttered among themselves, quieter now, but their eyes stayed locked on Leon. He was stronger, faster—things that came naturally to an Evoker. But what truly amazed them was that he didn’t seem to realise just how extraordinary it was to be sparring like this against Captain Loren.
----------------------------------------
The tavern buzzed with life as Leon and Loren stepped inside. The familiar scent of roasted meat and ale filled the air, and the sound of chatter and laughter washed over them. Leon had never been allowed inside a tavern before, and the experience felt surreal. He had seen the guards leave for drinks after patrols, heard their stories, but tonight, for the first time, he was part of it. The atmosphere was warm, lively, and for a moment, Leon felt like he had stepped into a different world.
They approached the back of the tavern, where a group of guards was already gathered around a table. Leon recognised all of them—he’d seen them on patrols, shared small conversations over the years, and exchanged nods as they passed by in the manor. But tonight, there was a different energy in the air, a sense of camaraderie he hadn’t quite experienced before.
Hart, one of the more senior guards with cropped hair and a no-nonsense attitude, grinned as they drew closer. "Well, well, look who finally decided to join us," she said, her voice carrying a playful edge. "First time in a tavern, eh? Happy birthday, Leon."
Leon smiled, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. "Thanks," he said, taking a seat. "Didn’t think it would be such a big deal."
Hart chuckled. "Fifteen’s a big year. But let’s be honest—we’re not just here for that." She leaned in slightly, her eyes gleaming. "Word of your spar with the captain has spread like wildfire."
Leon blinked, taken aback. "That?"
"Aye," one of the younger guards chimed in, smirking. "It’s not every day someone keeps up with Captain Loren himself."
Hart raised her tankard, eyes gleaming with amusement. "That’s Steelwind Loren to you!" she teased, grinning as she spoke the name aloud.
Before she could finish the sentence, a chunk of bread came flying across the table and smacked Hart squarely on the shoulder. She froze mid-laugh, eyes wide in shock. Loren, who had just sat down, shot her a warning glare, his expression a mixture of irritation and amusement. "I told you lot—don’t call me that," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if suppressing a grin.
The guards burst into laughter, clearly enjoying the playful violence from their captain. Gill, one of the younger guards, snickered. "It’s Captain Loren," he corrected himself, still grinning but lowering his voice to avoid another bread attack.
Leon, however, looked confused. "Steelwind?" he asked, glancing between the guards and Loren. "What’s that about?"
Loren’s glare darkened, and the guards quickly glanced at each other, as if collectively deciding to keep quiet on that particular topic. "Nothing important," Hart said with a wink, rubbing her shoulder. "Just old war stories."
Loren shot her a look that clearly said to leave it at that, and the conversation quickly shifted back to the topic at hand.
"You did good, though, lad," another guard, an older woman named Greer, added as she raised her tankard. "Not many can hold their own against Loren. You’ve got... something about you."
Hart chuckled, nodding. "Aye, we might grumble about Evokers having it easy, but no one’s going to say you haven’t earned it."
Leon tried to brush it off, though he couldn’t ignore the pride swelling in his chest. He didn’t feel like he’d done anything special. Loren had beaten him, after all, but the way they spoke, it felt like he’d done something remarkable.
Hart gave him a friendly nudge. "Training or not, you’ve got the kind of reflexes most of us could only dream of. Comes with the territory, eh?"
Leon shifted, feeling a bit awkward at the attention. "I’m still learning," he admitted, glancing at Loren for backup. "I wouldn’t have lasted half as long without all the training."
Loren gave him a nod, his expression serious but with a glint of approval in his eyes. "You’ve earned every bit of it," he said, then smirked. "But there’s still a lot more to learn."
The group laughed, and the tension in the air eased, the conversation turning to lighter topics. They began trading stories of patrols gone wrong, mishaps in the training yard, and small victories that no one outside their circle would ever know about. Leon found himself laughing along with them, feeling more at ease than he had expected.
As the evening wore on, Gill—still nursing a sore shoulder from a sparring match earlier in the week—leaned in with a grin. "You know, Leon, there were bets going around about when you’d manage to land a hit on the captain. Didn’t expect it to happen so soon."
Hart snorted, rolling her eyes. "More like bets on when the captain would finally stop holding back."
The group burst into laughter again, and Leon felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. He hadn’t realised just how much the guards had been paying attention to his progress. He hadn’t thought of it as anything remarkable—just the natural course of training. But hearing them talk about it now, it struck him how far he’d come.
The guards exchanged knowing looks, clearly enjoying the way Leon was still trying to wrap his head around the praise. Greer clinked her tankard against his. "Don’t worry, lad. We’ll break you in properly now."
Leon raised his tankard, smiling, though he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. "Thanks... I think?"
The table erupted in laughter once more.
As the night stretched on, Leon felt more and more at ease. The guards weren’t treating him like a noble, or an Evoker—they were treating him like one of their own. And for the first time in a long while, Leon felt truly part of something. He wasn’t just the boy training in the yard anymore. He was one of them, sharing in their stories, their laughter, their camaraderie.
And as the night wore on and the tavern’s warmth settled around him, Leon realised something. This—these moments with the people who had become his second family—was just as important as anything he’d learned with a sword. Here, in this tavern, he wasn’t the Evoker, or the boy with strange powers. He was just Leon.