Marcus sat at the table, staring into the depths of his soup, his hands gripping the bowl as if it were the only anchor tethering him to reality.

Faith approached, her steps soft, carrying another steaming bowl. She placed it in front of him and waited, her gaze unwavering as he reluctantly sipped the broth.

“Where were you, Marcus?” she asked softly, her voice tender but probing. “This past month… What did the kingdom want from you?”

Marcus’s shoulders tensed, his spoon clinking against the bowl as he set it down. He didn’t answer immediately, and Faith took a seat beside him, her hands folded neatly on her lap.

“It’s still classified,” Marcus finally muttered, his tone heavy.

Faith inhaled deeply, steadying herself. “Marcus, I understand the kingdom’s need for secrecy, but… I was alone. For an entire month, without a word, without knowing if you were safe.” She leaned closer, her hand brushing his forearm. “You owe me the truth.”

Her words, though gentle, carried the weight of her solitude. Marcus closed his eyes, rubbing a hand across his beard. He let out a long sigh, then spoke, his voice low.

“The barrier,” he began, “the one that separates the living from the dead—it’s weakening.”

His words hung in the air like a thundercloud. “The king called all warriors to discuss it in secret.Some monsters from the world of the dead had already escaped and most of the mages’ magic had no effect on them. So we warriors had to fight them the old fashion way. The King didn’t want to risk panic, but it is believed the barrier could collapse… soon.”

Faith’s breath hitched, her hand covering her mouth. Her voice trembled when she spoke. “The barrier... that’s something only whispered about in mage circles.”

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Marcus said grimly. “And if it fails, the undead monsters —they’ll pour out like a flood.”

Faith stared at him, her heart racing. “Marcus… I’ve encountered an undead creature before. Just one. My magic had no effect on it , and I’m an intermediate level. Their magic—it’s old, ancient. It devours modern spells like they’re nothing. Even the weakest of them are almost impossible to kill.”

“I know,” Marcus said, his voice hollow. “The king is rallying forces, trying to prepare for the apocalypse. But how do you prepare for something like this?”

Faith’s hands trembled as she reached for his. “Why keep this a secret? The people should know—”

“No.” Marcus gripped her hands tightly. “The king doesn’t want chaos. If word gets out, there’ll be riots, despair… We have to trust the king’s judgment. You must keep this between us.”

Faith nodded slowly, “I’ll keep it secret.” She squeezed his hands, grounding them both. “Promise me you won’t leave me like that again.”

Marcus looked at her, “I promise. Now… tell me about Raul.”

Faith smiled faintly, understanding his need to escape the grim reality they faced. “Well,” she began, her voice lightening, “I started training him, just like you asked. And Marcus…” Her eyes sparkled, her pride evident. “Our son is a prodigy.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “A prodigy, huh? What did he do?”

“He cast Chiming Winds,” Faith said, her voice dropping as if to emphasize the gravity. “And not just cast it—he mastered it in a way I’ve never seen. Not even I could manage it like that.”

Marcus leaned back, the tension in his shoulders easing as a look of astonishment crossed his face. “Chiming Winds? Even a warrior like me knows that’s no beginner’s spell. How did he even—?”

“That’s not all,” Faith interjected, her tone laced with both pride and disbelief. “The kingdom started a mage training program. Raul managed to get in. And the elf assigned to our village, Reshia, was so impressed by him that she’s here personally to visit us.”

Marcus blinked , “ Yes , the king did mention such a program when we were in the meeting.”

Faith nodded toward the window. “She’s the one standing outside with Raul.”

Before Marcus could respond, the door creaked open. Raul stepped in ,followed closely by an elegant elf. Reshia’s piercing emerald eyes scanned the room before she offered a polite nod.

Marcus stood, his towering figure casting a long shadow. His gaze flicked between his son and the elf, his pride evident in the way his chest puffed slightly. “Raul,” he said, his voice warm, “you’ve made me proud.”

Reshia stepped forward, her voice smooth and melodic. “Your son is remarkable, Mr. Bervet. ”