I

Tyr and Fern rounded the corner to Agnar’s house, halting as the faint sounds of a conversation drifted toward them.

“Who’s talking to Agnar?” Tyr whispered.

Fern squinted, trying to make out the voices. “I can’t really hear, but they sound familiar.”

“For god’s sake, Agnar, how many times must we have this conversation?” A regal voice snapped. “Do you not realize how frustrating it is to constantly clean up your mess?”

Agnar’s voice remained strong and steady. “Let’s not forget, Elrend, you wouldn’t be where you are if not for me.”

Elrend gritted his teeth. “I’ve dealt with the complaints from the others. If you could refrain from causing trouble in the future, that would be much appreciated. Oh, and let’s not forget who took you in after your exile.” His gaze darkened as he turned to leave, heading in the direction of Tyr and Fern.

Agnar muttered under his breath, “Damn royal types.”

Elrend’s voice cut through the air. “You best come out now. I don’t appreciate people spying on my conversations.” His sharp eyes locked onto their hiding spot.

Tyr and Fern exchanged panicked glances.

Tyr whispered, “How did he know we were here?”

Fern swallowed hard. “He…” Her words trailed off.

“I’m done waiting,” Elrend warned, his patience wearing thin. “If you don’t show yourselves now, you will face the consequences.”

Tyr and Fern hesitantly stepped out from behind the corner, their small frames frozen in place.

Elrend loomed over them, his tall and imposing figure radiating authority. His piercing blue eyes scrutinized them, his sharp jawline and neatly styled black hair adding to his severe presence. He adjusted his silver-framed glasses in an intimidating manner before speaking.

“So, Fern,” he said coldly. “This is where you’ve been.”

Fern lowered her head, avoiding his gaze as his attention shifted to Tyr. His intense stare bore into the boy. “What have you been doing with my daughter?”

Tyr stammered, barely able to speak. “W-we were c-coming to see A-Agnar.”

Elrend turned back to Fern. “Why aren’t you studying? How do you expect to amount to anything if you spend your days running around causing trouble?”

Fern stomped her foot, her expression defiant. “I don’t want to study! It’s boring, and I don’t learn anything!”

Elrend’s voice rose. “Watch your tone, young lady, or you’ll be locked in your room with nothing but your books.”

Tyr clenched his fists, unable to watch Fern being treated this way. “You’re an asshole!” he shouted. “Why are you so cruel to her? Why can’t she just live her life the way she wants?”

Elrend’s expression darkened, his eyes burning with fury. “How dare—”

Agnar’s voice cut through the tension, booming with authority. “Tyr, that’s enough. Apologize to the mayor. Now.”

Tyr flinched at the reprimand, his heart sinking. He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you.”

Elrend composed himself, his anger masked behind a calm veneer. “So, Agnar,” he said smoothly, “you know this disrespectful runt?”

Agnar crossed his arms. “Yes. I’m going to train him.”

Elrend raised an eyebrow. “I see. The boy is weak—he has no potential. And yet, all the times I asked you to train Fern, you refused.”

“This is different” Agnar replied flatly.

Elrend’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Very well. I can’t force you to take Fern on as a student, but I hope you reconsider.” He shot Agnar a pointed glance before turning to Fern. “Let’s go. You have much studying to do.”

Fern avoided looking at Tyr, her posture slumped in defeat. “Yes, Father.”

Tyr watched as they walked away, Fern visibly upset. Before disappearing from sight, Elrend turned his head slightly, his voice laced with quiet menace. “Stay away from Fern.”

As soon as they were gone, Agnar let out a heavy sigh. “Gods, that man gets on my nerves.” He turned to Tyr. “Kid, get over here.”

Tyr hesitated before stepping forward, his gaze lowered.

“So, you came back,” Agnar said. “Did you come to terms with your situation?”

Tyr nodded slowly. “I think so, but…” He hesitated. “I thought Fern didn’t have any parents.”

Agnar scratched his chin. “She doesn’t. The mayor found her as a baby outside town. He’s the one who raised her.”

“Oh…” Tyr frowned. “Then why is he so cruel to her?”

Agnar sighed. “That’s… a more complicated question.”

Tyr glanced down but pressed on. “Why didn’t you want to train Fern?”

Agnar gazed up at the sky. “Because… I vowed never to train anyone again.”

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“Why?”

Agnar’s expression darkened. “The last person I trained…” He paused. “I’m responsible for who they became.”

Tyr wanted to ask more, but he could see the weight behind Agnar’s words. Instead, he asked, “So why are you training me?”

Agnar finally looked down at Tyr. “Because I was chosen to guide you. It seems fate has demanded it of me.”

Before Tyr could respond, his stomach let out a loud growl.

Agnar chuckled. “Let’s eat. Then we begin your training—we have no time to waste.”

Tyr nodded, and together, they stepped inside the house.

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II

The sun hung high in the sky, casting golden rays over the vast fields of wheat, making the endless sea of stalks shimmer like molten gold. A cool breeze swept through, rustling the wheat in gentle waves. Birds chirped melodiously, filling the air with a serene harmony—until Agnar spoke.

“This is where you will be training.”

Nestled within the golden expanse was a small circular patch of barren earth, its deep brown stark against the vibrant wheat.

Tyr furrowed his brow, his curiosity evident. “But... it's just a dirt patch.”

Agnar stepped in front of Tyr, his old frame towering over him, casting a long shadow. Dressed in a faded gray robe, his weathered face bore an intense stare. “The most important thing for you to understand is that every living thing has a soul.” He gestured to the swaying wheat around them. “Every single blade has a soul. And this—this is how you will train.”

Tyr glanced around in awe, his curiosity deepening. “How is being here going to help me train?”

Agnar allowed a faint smile to touch his lips before walking to the edge of the dirt patch. He bent down with practiced ease, severing two blades of wheat at the base. Returning to Tyr, he placed one in the boy’s hand.

As Tyr held the wheat, the color slowly darkened to black. The grains at the tip withered, falling away like dust, while the stem cracked and crumbled, disintegrating into nothing. Tyr watched, bewildered. “Why did it do that?”

Agnar’s voice was calm but firm. “I cut that blade without using soul energy. The soul inside had no other energy to sustain it, so it withered and died.” He held up the other blade, still vibrant and whole. “This one, however, is feeding off of my soul energy. As you can see, it looks healthier than all the others around us.”

The blade of wheat in Agnar’s hand glowed with a brilliant gold, its stem sturdy, its grains full—an image of perfection.

“This,” Agnar continued, “is what a perfect output of soul energy looks like. Now, watch what happens when I pour in too much.”

The wheat began to glow brighter as the stem thickened, elongating unnaturally. The grains swelled to impossible sizes, until—crack. The stem split apart, the grains tumbled, and the entire blade burst into a puff of dry hay, scattering into the air.

“The soul within the wheat couldn’t hold the excess energy,” Agnar explained. “It expanded until it ruptured... and died.”

Tyr’s eyes gleamed with fascination. “That was incredible! I wanna do that!” Then, after a pause, he asked, “Wait... does every soul react the same way?”

Agnar stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, but the energy levels of souls vary from being to being. Now, let us put this principle into practice. Sit down, cross your legs, and rest your hands on your knees.”

Tyr eagerly complied, settling onto the ground. Agnar mirrored him, sitting directly across.

“Good,” Agnar said. “Now, sit upright and maintain this posture.”

Tyr shifted slightly. “This is a weird way to sit. Why do I have to do it like this?”

Agnar shot him an annoyed glance. “Just follow my instructions. Now, close your eyes.”

Tyr obeyed, his ears now tuned in for Agnar’s voice.

“Begin breathing in a steady rhythm. Focus on controlling your breath.”

Tyr inhaled deeply, exhaling in a measured cadence.

“Straighten your back,” Agnar’s voice grew sharper. “You’re slouching. If your posture collapses, your breathing will falter.”

Tyr quickly corrected himself, maintaining his controlled breaths.

“Now,” Agnar continued, “find your heartbeat while keeping your breathing steady.”

Tyr hesitated. My heartbeat? How do I feel that?

“Stop overthinking,” Agnar interjected, as if reading his thoughts. “You’re disrupting your rhythm. Don’t think—feel.”

Tyr refocused, inhaling steadily. Then, faintly, he felt it.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Agnar nodded approvingly. “Good. Now, synchronize your breathing with your heartbeat.”

Tyr adjusted, slowly bringing them into harmony.

Inhale... ba-bump. Exhale... ba-bump.

His body responded—his lungs expanding, his blood flowing, his entire being vibrating with newfound awareness.

Agnar’s voice deepened. “Now that your body is in sync, bring in the third element—your soul.”

Tyr’s eyes snapped open. “Wait, what? I thought that was it! I could feel everything inside me!”

Agnar scowled. “No! That was the easy part. Now, find your soul’s pulse. And then... align all three.”

Tyr frowned. “How do I even find my soul’s pulse?”

Agnar’s voice softened. “It’s different for everyone. Mine? I feel it strongest when I win a battle—so I reach for those moments of victory. Your soul’s pulse is strongest in the moments that define it.”

Tyr scratched his head. “So I need to feel what my soul feels?”

Agnar chuckled. “Something like that. But be warned—what you feel and what your soul feels may be two very different things.”

Tyr nodded, closing his eyes once more. He reached inward, sifting through his memories. He pictured Raina—her smile, her laugh... but nothing. No pulse. He thought of Hagar—the warmth of their bond, the fatherly love... still nothing.

Why can’t I feel it? Frustration crept in.

Then, he remembered Agnar’s words. What you feel and what your soul feels may be different.

Instead of warmth, he reached for the cold. The pain. The darkness.

Thump.

Tyr froze. Was that it?

He waded deeper. Memories surfaced—death, blood, loss. His mother’s severed head, her empty gaze locking onto his. The crimson pool spreading around her.

Thump. Thump.

The darkness swallowed him. A vision unfolded—a wasteland of blood, bodies of those he loved, butchered, torn apart. Then, from above, it rained—rained blood.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Agnar’s sharp gaze snapped to Tyr. A faint glow flickered around him—an aura of intertwined blue and black. But the black energy began tearing at the blue, devouring it hungrily. The dark aura slithered outward, lashing at the golden wheat, erasing it from existence.

Agnar’s eyes widened. No... I need to stop this! He tore off his robe and slammed a palm against Tyr’s chest. The black aura latched onto him, burning, consuming flesh.

Gritting his teeth, Agnar roared, “Soul Rend!”

A blast of energy erupted, sending him flying back. The black aura shattered, retreating as the blue regained control.

Inside Tyr’s mind, a whisper echoed through the darkness. Embrace the love they showed you.

A soft white light blossomed. Warmth flooded Tyr’s heart—memories of gentle embraces, his mother’s tender kiss, laughter. The light expanded, dissolving the darkness.

His breathing aligned. His heart, his soul—perfect synchronicity.

His eyes snapped open. “I did it! Agnar, I—” His excitement died as he saw Agnar collapsed. “Agnar! Are you okay?”

Tyr’s joy evaporated as he rushed to his side. “Agnar! What happened? Are you okay?”

Agnar coughed, his eyes slowly opening. “I must have… passed out.”

Tyr’s eyes darted to Agnar’s mutilated arm. “What happened? You look hurt!”

Agnar sat up, trying to mask the damage. “It’s nothing. Just a bit dizzy.”

Tyr frowned. “Will you be okay?”

Agnar exhaled deeply. “Tyr, because you are Soulbound, you have two souls inside you. You must never use that other soul.”

Tyr turned and gasped at the sight behind him. The wheat where he had sat was blackened, disintegrating into dust.

“I… I did that?”

Agnar nodded gravely. “Yes. And you must never tap into that soul’s energy again. Do you understand me?”

Tyr swallowed hard. “Y-yes.”

Agnar sighed. “Good. But you did manage to awaken your true soul. That is an incredible feat.”

Tyr blinked in surprise. “Wait, really?”

Agnar nodded. “For now, we rest. Tomorrow, we continue.”

Tyr helped Agnar to his feet, casting one last uneasy glance at the withered field before heading home, the weight of what he had unleashed settling deep within him.