The fallen oak lay split in two, its massive trunk sprawled across the ground like a defeated giant. Sid, still panting from the effort, felt a mix of triumph and disbelief wash over him. Lord Thorne Blackwood stepped closer, his expression a blend of curiosity and admiration.
“How did you cut that tree down with a sword?” Thorne asked, his voice low and probing, eyes fixed intently on Sid.
Sid took a deep breath, still catching his breath. “I just... I saw the pattern in my mind, and I felt something shift inside me,” he admitted, honesty spilling from his lips. “I just knew where to strike, and I swung with everything I had.”
Thorne regarded him for a long moment, his sharp gaze piercing into Sid's soul. “Interesting. You may possess an instinct that few swordsmen have. That kind of insight is an asset in swordsmanship.” He paused, a hint of approval creeping into his tone. “We will refine that instinct. With proper training, you could become a formidable fighter.”
Sid’s heart soared at the prospect. For the first time, he felt a flicker of hope for his future. “Thank you, my lord.”
While inside of Kingdom Valoria.
In a dimly lit chamber adorned with tapestries of battles long past, King Alaric of Valoria sat across from Felucca Valenwood, his trusted advisor. The king’s brow was furrowed, and his demeanor was tense, reflecting the gravity of their discussion.
“Thorne Blackwood,” the king began, his voice laced with disdain. “He’s returned, and I still can’t shake the feeling of betrayal. The man abandoned his kingdom to chase his own desires. He’s nothing but a traitor now.”
Felucca nodded, his face grim. “He turned his back on us, King Alaric. His arrogance led him to believe he could do better on his own. Now, he flaunts his newfound power like a badge of honor.”
“Power?” Alaric scoffed. “What he’s wielding now is nothing but a toy compared to what we have at our disposal. The Valorian army will crush him if he dares to challenge us.”
“His skill with a blade is unmatched,” Felucca reminded him, his voice steady but filled with urgency. “Underestimating him could prove fatal. We need to be cautious; he is no longer the same man we once knew.”
Alaric waved his hand dismissively, but a flicker of doubt crossed his face. “We’ll deal with him when the time comes. For now, we have more pressing concerns.”
---
With the conversation over, Felucca rose and made his way through the castle’s stone corridors, a sense of dread coiling in his gut. The corridors felt colder, more foreboding with every step he took. He reached an open training yard where the clang of steel echoed, and the scent of sweat and determination filled the air.
There, in the midst of a training session, was a young girl, her movements sharp and precise as she swung a sword. The sun glinted off the blade, casting a bright reflection that seemed to illuminate her fierce concentration. Felucca paused, watching intently, admiration stirring in his heart.
“Elara!” he called out, his voice breaking through her focus. The girl turned, a spark of surprise lighting her features before she quickly masked it with determination.
“Father!” she replied, setting her stance to greet him.
Felucca approached, pride swelling in his chest as he observed his daughter train with the same fierce spirit he had once known. “You fight like a warrior, my daughter,” he said, the warmth in his voice contrasting with the chill he had felt moments before.
Elara lowered her sword, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “I can’t let you catch up to me, can I? If I’m going to protect this kingdom, I have to be better than anyone.”
Felucca studied her, his heart swelling with a mix of admiration and concern. “Your ambition is commendable, but remember that power comes with responsibility. You must be prepared for the dangers that lie ahead.”
Felucca couldn’t help but smile at her tenacity, but a nagging worry lingered in his mind. The world was shifting, and soon enough, they would have to confront the past—both his and Thorne’s—and the future of Valoria would hang in the balance.
As he watched Elara train, the air crackling with tension, Felucca knew that soon, the threads of fate would intertwine, leading them all to an inevitable clash.
~
The morning sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the barren path as Sid and Thorne Blackwood embarked on their journey. Sid’s heart thumped in his chest with a mix of anticipation and unease, the weight of his sword—Thorne’s spare—heavy at his side. Beside him, Lord Blackwood walked with a quiet confidence, his dark cloak fluttering in the crisp wind, his sharp eyes ever watchful.
“We head to Drakovia,” Thorne said, his voice steady, yet there was something ominous in its tone. “It’s a place where strength is the only currency that matters.”
Sid glanced up at him, curious. “I’ve heard of it, my lord, but only stories. Volcanic mountains, fierce warriors... Is it truly as dangerous as they say?”
Thorne gave a short nod, his expression grim. “It is. Drakovia stands as the bulwark against the northern invaders, a kingdom where the weak do not survive. Only the strongest, the most cunning, rise to any form of power. It’s not a place for the faint of heart, Sid. But that’s where your real training begins.”
The gravity of Thorne’s words weighed heavy on Sid’s shoulders. He had never left his homeland before, and the thought of stepping into a realm as unforgiving as Drakovia both excited and terrified him. His father’s teachings echoed in his mind, Strength is not just about the sword, but the will to survive.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The road stretched long before them, the rugged terrain growing harsher with each passing day. Jagged mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks disappearing into swirling clouds of ash and smoke. The air grew thick and heavy as they neared the border of Drakovia, the faint tremors of the slumbering volcanoes beneath their feet serving as a constant reminder of the land’s volatile nature.
---
Drakovia.
Sid’s breath caught in his throat as they approached the towering gates of the fortified city. Carved into the volcanic rock, the city seemed to rise from the mountains themselves, its walls high and impenetrable, guarded by men with eyes hardened by battle. The people moved with purpose, every step deliberate, their gazes fierce and unyielding.
“Stay close,” Thorne murmured, guiding Sid through the gates. “These people respect only strength, and they will test you.”
As they entered, Sid’s senses were assaulted by the sounds of training—swords clashing, grunts of exertion, the bark of orders from battle-worn soldiers. Drakovia was a kingdom forged in war, its people bred for combat. Thorne led him deeper into the heart of the city, where they would make their home for the next year.
“This will be your home for now,” Thorne said, his gaze sweeping over the training grounds. “For the next year, I will teach you everything I know. Swordsmanship, survival, discipline—you will learn it all.”
Sid nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “How about after a year of training?”
Thorne’s gaze darkened, but he did not meet Sid’s eyes. “After a year, we will go our separate ways.”
The words hung in the air like an unspoken truth, but Sid didn’t question it. He didn’t know what awaited him after that year, but for now, all that mattered was the training ahead.
--
The early morning sun cast a golden glow across the training grounds, illuminating the dew-kissed grass. Sid Montcroix stood at the edge of the clearing, his breath steady as he gripped the hilt of his sword. The weapon felt alive in his hands, a connection between his instincts and the world around him. It was a quiet moment, but one that held the promise of challenge and growth.
Thorne Blackwood approached, his tall frame silhouetted against the rising sun. He wore a simple training tunic, the fabric worn but sturdy, hinting at countless hours spent honing his skills. As he neared, a smile broke across his face, warm and inviting. “You ready to see what you’re truly capable of, Sid?”
Sid nodded, a mixture of excitement and trepidation coursing through him. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Today isn’t just about swinging swords. It’s about understanding the bond between a warrior and his weapon.” Thorne unsheathed his sword, a blade that glimmered with a faint blue hue, almost as if it had absorbed the essence of the sky. “Let’s start with some basics. I want you to focus on your instincts.”
As they squared off, Sid felt a thrill of anticipation. Thorne's presence radiated confidence, a sense of calm that made Sid feel secure. “What do you mean by ‘focus on my instincts’?”
Thorne circled him slowly, observing. “You possess a unique ability—an instinct that guides you in battle. Most warriors have their own awakening abilities, often connected to their swords or their inner selves. This is the foundation of what makes a fighter truly formidable.”
Sid frowned slightly, trying to wrap his head around the concept. “But how do I tap into that?”
“By trusting yourself,” Thorne replied, his voice steady. “Feel the connection. Let your sword guide you, and in turn, you will grow.”
With a nod of understanding, Sid took a deep breath, centering himself. As he began to move, he could feel the familiar pull of his instincts. The world around him blurred as he focused solely on Thorne’s movements. Every shift of his mentor’s stance seemed to resonate within him, a silent conversation of skill and intent.
Thorne launched forward, his blade slicing through the air with precision. “Now, Sid! Defend!”
Instinct kicked in, and Sid reacted, parrying Thorne’s strike with a fluid motion. The impact reverberated through his body, sending a thrill up his spine. “I did it!” he exclaimed, a spark of exhilaration igniting within him.
“Not bad,” Thorne replied, his tone reflecting pride. “But remember, it’s not just about reflexes. It’s about understanding the rhythm of battle.” He stepped back, allowing Sid a moment to regain his composure.
“What do you mean by rhythm?” Sid asked, curiosity lacing his voice.
Thorne took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Every fighter has their own cadence. You must learn to listen—to the world, to your sword, and to yourself. Only then will you uncover your true potential.”
With a determined nod, Sid resumed his stance, a newfound focus in his eyes. “Let’s do it again.”
The two sparred for what felt like hours, their swords clashing with a metallic symphony. Sid began to feel a flow, a connection that transcended mere physicality. Each strike became an extension of his will, each block a testament to his growing understanding. Thorne moved like water, fluid and unpredictable, while Sid’s movements were a steady current, building in strength.
After a particularly intense exchange, they paused, both breathing heavily. Thorne wiped the sweat from his brow, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re improving, Sid. Your instincts are becoming sharper.”
“Thanks to your guidance,” Sid replied, feeling a warmth swell in his chest. “I can feel it—the connection. It’s like the sword is part of me.”
“Exactly.” Thorne sheathed his sword, stepping closer. “And this bond you’re forming is crucial. Many warriors wield great power, but few understand the deeper connection with their weapon. That’s where true strength lies.”
“Have you always felt this way?” Sid asked, a hint of admiration in his voice. “About your sword, I mean.”
Thorne’s expression turned contemplative. “It took time. When I was younger, I struggled to understand my own abilities. I felt lost in the chaos of battle, relying solely on brute strength. It was only when I learned to listen—to trust myself and my sword—that I began to grow.”
Sid absorbed this, a flicker of doubt creeping in. “What if I can’t reach that level? What if I’m not strong enough?”
Thorne placed a reassuring hand on Sid’s shoulder. “Strength isn’t just about power, Sid. It’s about perseverance, the willingness to learn and adapt. Every warrior faces challenges. It’s how you respond that defines you.”
Sid nodded, the weight of Thorne’s words sinking in. “So, I just need to keep training?”
“Exactly,” Thorne affirmed, stepping back and resuming his stance. “Let’s keep going. Remember, every clash of steel is a lesson learned.”
As they resumed their training, the bond between them deepened with every strike. Each movement became a shared experience, a silent acknowledgment of their growth as warriors. Sid felt a sense of belonging, a camaraderie that transcended words.
After hours of practice, the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds. Sid, exhausted yet exhilarated, turned to Thorne. “Thank you for today. I feel… different. Stronger.”
Thorne nodded, a proud smile on his face. “You should. You’ve taken the first steps toward becoming a true warrior.”
As they walked off the training grounds, side by side, Sid felt a shift within him. The bond he had formed with Thorne was not just one of mentor and student, but of equals, united by a shared purpose.
The days in Drakovia were grueling. Thorne pushed Sid beyond his limits, demanding precision and focus in every move. They trained atop the volcanic mountains, the heat of the earth beneath them a constant reminder of the land’s unpredictable fury. Thorne was relentless, his expectations high, but Sid met each challenge with determination.
The Drakovians watched from a distance, their eyes sharp, measuring Sid’s progress. They respected his perseverance, though few believed he would last long under Thorne’s tutelage. Sid, however, grew stronger with each passing day. His sword became an extension of his will, his instincts sharper, his body hardened by the unforgiving landscape.
But as the months passed, tension began to simmer beneath the surface. Sid noticed the way Thorne’s eyes would narrow when messages from the outside world reached him, the way his jaw would clench in silent frustration. There was something he wasn’t telling Sid, something that weighed on his mentor’s mind, though Thorne kept his thoughts to himself.
One evening, as the crimson sun dipped below the volcanic peaks, Sid finally gathered the courage to ask.
“My lord,” he began hesitantly. “Is everything alright? You seem... distracted.”
Thorne’s expression remained impassive, but his eyes flickered with something Sid couldn’t quite place. “There are matters beyond Drakovia that concern me, Sid. But they are not for you to worry about.”
Sid furrowed his brow, sensing the distance between them growing. “But what happens after this year? Where will you go?”
Thorne was silent for a long moment, the crackling of the campfire the only sound between them. Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with unspoken weight. “Our paths will diverge, Sid. I have unfinished business with the kingdom of Valoria, and it’s not something you can be involved in.”
Sid opened his mouth to protest, but Thorne raised a hand, silencing him. “Focus on your training. That is all you need to worry about. You have great potential, but there are battles you are not yet ready to face.”
The finality in Thorne’s tone left no room for argument, and Sid lowered his head in silent acceptance.
---
As the year drew to a close, Sid’s skills had grown beyond what he could have imagined. He had learned not just the art of the sword, but the art of survival, of reading his enemies, of harnessing the instincts that had first shown him the blue light.
But despite his growth, a sense of foreboding gnawed at him. The tension between Thorne and the kingdom of Valoria had not dissipated—it had only grown stronger. Sid could feel the storm on the horizon, even if Thorne refused to acknowledge it.
And then, one morning, as the sun rose over the volcanic mountains, Thorne was gone.
No farewell, no explanation. Only a note left behind, simple and direct: Your training is complete. I must face my own battles now. Stay strong, Sid. Your path has only just begun.
Sid stared at the note, the words burning into his mind. The silence of Drakovia was deafening.