=92nd year of the Eighth Era= 12 hours from Vi'nto
Laphisto grunted as his face hit the mud, pain radiating from his snout to his jaw. He groaned, spitting dirt and slowly pushing himself up, only to hear his sparring partner’s voice booming nearby.
"Come on, Diva'tori, get up. And be quick about it," came the command, equal parts stern and amused.
Laphisto, steadying his stance, tightened his hands around the sword hilt. Mud clung to his scales, and he felt the uncomfortable grit clogging his left nostril. With a rough snort, he cleared it, straightening into an offensive position. His hands tightened around the guard of his blade, each muscle tense, eager for the next move.
Across from him stood Ray’vera Kli’vo, a tall, intimidating dragon. Unlike Laphisto, Ray’vera stood on his hind legs, giving him an air of upright confidence. His scales were a sandy white, with a streak of coarse fur down his back that disappeared beneath the well-worn armor of a seasoned warrior. A scar marked his snout, and dents and scrapes marred the metal of his Kov’dra armor—a silent testament to his experience and the countless battles he’d survived. As the element lead of their squad and a mentor three times Laphisto’s age, Ray’vera’s reputation was etched in every scar.
"Fix your hands, kid," Ray'vera barked, "Give them some space, don’t bunch up against the guard. You’ll need that flexibility."
Stifling a grumble, Laphisto adjusted his grip. His gaze flicked to the onlookers gathered around the wide circle drawn in the dirt. It was a simple sparring setup with one rule: stay in the ring.
A question had been lingering in his mind, and before he could hold it back, he muttered, "Why do we need to learn how to wield a sword anyway? We’re dragons. We’ve got magic, the elements of our birth. We should be able to handle Lycans easily enough—they’re half our size!"
Ray'vera's eyes narrowed, and his expression shifted to one of patience tempered by experience. "Why?” He shook his head, his tone sliding from authority to something almost paternal. “Because magic isn’t infinite, kid. What will you do when you’re weak, when your mana’s drained and every bone in your body aches for rest? The Lycans won’t wait for you to recover; they’ll gut you while you’re gasping for breath. It’s you or them. You win, or you die. And if you rely too heavily on magic, you might end up like Belgras the Burdened—drained to death."
Ray’vera’s words echoed through the field, grounding Laphisto in the reality of the war that lay ahead. Before he could process them, Ray'vera launched forward, sword cutting through the air in a swift, vertical arc. Laphisto’s reaction was instinctual; he raised his blade, bracing for impact.
The first strike met his defense, but the force of it jarred his arms. Another strike came, then another, each blow faster and stronger than the last. By the fifth strike, he felt the rhythm of the exchange, his body starting to respond more fluidly. But by the eighth, Ray'vera broke his pattern, twisting his blade and striking Laphisto’s sword guard, throwing him off balance just enough to deliver a kick to his chest. Laphisto staggered back, barely staying on his feet.
"Your enemy won’t be predictable," Ray'vera chided, voice like stone. "They’ll use everything at their disposal to win. You have to learn to do the same."
A low growl escaped Laphisto’s throat, his ears pinning back in frustration. He surged forward, pushing Ray'vera toward the edge of the circle. For a moment, he gained ground, pride swelling in his chest. But his victory was short-lived. Ray'vera blocked his advance, and with a practiced flick of his wrist, he struck Laphisto upside the head with the back of his hand. Pain blossomed across his cheek, tingling into his snout.
Regaining his footing, Laphisto locked eyes with Ray'vera, who began sidestepping to his left. Laphisto matched his movement, mirroring his steps. He saw Ray'vera's blade rising for an overhead attack and moved to deflect—only to find himself striking at empty air. Ray'vera had pulled back mid-swing, landing another solid kick to Laphisto’s chest. This time, he stumbled harder, the wind knocked out of him.
A snarl slipped past his lips, partly from pain, partly from frustration. How had he fallen for the same trick twice?
He struck back with renewed determination, swinging left and right, his attacks clumsy but relentless. He remembered Ray'vera’s earlier trick and mirrored it, jarring his opponent’s blade with his handguard and smirking at his small victory. But Ray'vera merely chuckled, his amusement palpable.
"Good, kid," Ray’vera said, nodding in approval. “You’re learning.”
Suddenly, Ray'vera’s attacks intensified, each blow demanding more of Laphisto’s strength. Just as he adjusted to the rhythm, Ray’vera pivoted, and Laphisto saw his tail swinging toward him. Thinking quickly, he dropped his sword, catching Ray'vera’s tail mid-air and giving it a sharp yank.
Ray'vera went down, face-first into the mud. Silence fell over the onlookers, and for a moment, pride swelled within Laphisto—until he realized what he’d done. He had just thrown his commanding officer into the mud in front of the entire battalion.
As the realization hit, Ray'vera was already retaliating. A well-aimed strike landed under Laphisto’s jaw, snapping his teeth together with a painful clack. He was thrown onto his back, and before he could regain his bearings, Ray'vera’s foot was pressing firmly against his throat, his sword’s tip aimed for the kill.
“Not bad, kid,” Ray’vera said, a hard glint in his eyes. “But don’t celebrate too soon. You keep fighting until you’re sure your enemy’s down.”
Ray'vera removed his foot, sheathing his sword and offering Laphisto a hand. Laphisto hesitated, rubbing his throat before accepting the help, standing tall and giving a respectful nod.
“At ease, Diva'tori. Get yourself cleaned up and grab a meal. We march to Vi'nto at first light,” Ray'vera said. “You’re dismissed for the rest of the day.”
Laphisto nodded, saluting. “Yes, sir.”
As Ray'vera walked off, Laphisto dropped onto all fours, joints popping back into Thier primary locations. Like all kiev'arians, he was double-jointed in his entire body, which allowed him to walk upright and function in a bipedal manner or drop to all fours and walk like a quadruped. With a rumble, He made his way toward the stream, his body aching but his heart still pounding with adrenaline. Once he reached the water’s edge, he waded in, groaning softly as he felt the cool water washing over his sore muscles.
He glanced around before summoning a small, blue flame in his hand,a flame that produced no heat. letting it flicker as he relaxed. It was something he learned early in his life to help him channel what element he wished to call upon with his magick. With a sigh he relaxed as the water wrapped around him etching between his scales and running over his body, cleaning away the mud and grime, revealing his dark green scales and sandy brown underbelly.
As he let his thoughts drift, his mind wandered back to his life before he was Diva'tori, back to the castle and the life he’d left behind. He missed his family, his father’s wisdom, and his mother’s gentle voice. But returning now would be an admission of failure, a sign that he couldn’t handle the hardships of war.
He closed his eyes, trying to push the memories away, but they lingered. A splash nearby jolted him from his thoughts. His magic flickered out. His body tensing as he shot a wary look across the water, but all he saw were ripples.
as Laphisto settled back into the river’s embrace, allowing the cool water to run over his scales once more a voice broke the peace, whispering close to his ear, “You know, you’re going to get yourself caught one of these days.”
“Gah!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet in shock. Whipping around, he placed a taloned hand over his chest, his breath racing as he glared at the intruder. His equine-like ears flattened, and he gave a low growl, eyeing the culprit: a smaller water dragon, laughing openly at his reaction. It was Nesver Fli’kor, his scales a light teal with white streaks that shimmered like sunlight on water. They marked him as a creature of rivers and shores, a playful spirit that seldom held back.
“By the brothers, Nesver!” Laphisto’s tone was exasperated, though the edge of a smile threatened to break through. “Why in the name of the gods did you sneak up on me like that?”
Nesver tried to stifle his laughter, though it was a losing battle. “Oh gods, you should’ve seen your face, Laphisto. If only I could paint! I’d show the whole battalion.” With a grin that stretched ear to ear, he leaned back, using his wings as makeshift buoys to keep himself afloat as he continued laughing, water rippling out around him.
Hearing his true name jolted Laphisto back to the reality of his disguise. Nesver was the only one who knew him as Laphisto, heir to the Earth Dragon throne, and bearer of the gift of Dra’ko and not as Diva'tori, the Thrice Svihele - one with no family lineage -. Nesver’s knowledge of his true identity was a constant risk, but Laphisto trusted him like a brother. Reaching out, he flicked Nesver’s forehead with a talon. “Hey, keep it down! Tell the whole battalion, why don’t you?”
He winced and rubbed his forehead “ Ray’vera said you’re not supposed to do that aga—” He caught himself, then muttered an apologetic, “I mean, sorry,”feigning a pout but looking far from sorry. glancing down at the water like a chastised pup, stealing glances up at Laphisto with large, imploring eyes.
Laphisto smirked. He couldn’t resist; with a swift motion, he wrapped an arm around Nesver’s neck, dragging the squirming water dragon close and beginning a firm noogie. Nesver wriggled in protest, laughing and splashing, trying to pry himself free.
“Oh, I wasn’t supposed to do this?” Laphisto teased, rubbing his knuckles playfully against the top of Nesver’s head.
“Ah! Hey! Cut it out—let me go! This isn’t fair!” Nesver yelped, tail flapping wildly as he tried to smack Laphisto’s arm away. Laphisto couldn’t hold back a laugh, finding joy in the chaos of their scuffle. Growing up as an only child had been dreadfully lonely; the presence of Nesver filled that absence, bringing a sort of brotherly bond he hadn’t known.
Finally, Laphisto released him, watching as Nesver fell backward into the water with a loud splash. Grumbling, Nesver resurfaced and shook the water from his head, sticking his tongue out at Laphisto in defiance. Laphisto, suppressing another chuckle, lay back, allowing himself to float on the surface, his armor weighing him down slightly but the coolness of the water a welcome reprieve.
After a moment of silence, Laphisto turned to Nesver. “Do you ever wish you could go back and change something?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost swallowed by the sounds of the river.
Nesver looked at him thoughtfully, glancing up at the sky as he considered. After a moment, he shook his head. “Nope. I’m pretty carefree, you know? Live and let live. Why? You regretting something? Oh, wait,” Nesver’s face lit up with a mischievous grin, “don’t tell me it was ditching cooking classes. Have I ever told you how bad your cooking is? Terrible.”
Laphisto rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a small laugh. “Yes, whenever it’s my turn to cook, I get reminded.” He sighed, the laughter fading as he considered Nesver’s question. His gaze shifted to the water, the reflection of his face almost unrecognizable with the weight of uncertainty clouding his expression. “Honestly, though… sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d just stayed home. If I hadn’t come here, if I’d listened to my father instead of running off to prove something.” He closed his eyes, the familiar ache of homesickness pressing at his chest. “I miss home. There’s so much I left behind—so much I didn’t realize I’d miss until it was gone.”
The playful light in Nesver’s eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer. He fell silent for a moment, allowing the gravity of Laphisto’s words to settle between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, his usual levity tempered with genuine warmth. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you did. I mean, we never would’ve met otherwise. Do you know how often someone like you—royalty, let alone the Gift of Dra’ko—actually talks to someone like me? We never would’ve been friends.”
Laphisto let out a small laugh, though his eyes were still distant. “Friends, huh? You’re sure about that? Maybe I just tolerate you because you’re the only one who doesn’t make a fuss about who I am.”
“Oh, I’ll have you know we water dragons are quite popular among earth dragons,” Nesver shot back, his grin reappearing as he splashed Laphisto with his wing. “Besides, who else is going to put up with your brooding?”
They shared a laugh, the tension easing. After a quiet moment, Nesver added, his tone softening, “Look, don’t let it eat you up too much, Laphisto. The future’s what matters. You can’t go back, so just focus on what’s ahead.”
Laphisto nodded, taking in the words. “You’re right.” With a sigh, he straightened, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. “I have to make this count. No more second-guessing.”
As the sun dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows over the river, Laphisto and Nesver sat quietly, watching the water flow around them. In the silence, Laphisto felt a weight lift, if only for a moment. Whatever the future held, he knew he wouldn’t face it alone.
With a final grin, Nesver shook the water from his scales, gave Laphisto a nod, and dove beneath the river’s surface, swimming downstream, his teal scales blending with the current until he was gone from sight. Watching him disappear, Laphisto pulled himself from the water, casting a glance around before using his magick to dry himself.
It wasn’t often that Laphisto got a day to himself, relieved of duty, and he intended to make the most of it. He’d spent so much of his time recently caught up in endless drills and missions that he hadn’t had the chance to relax or catch up with friends. Perhaps today he could find Hazori. She was almost always training, along with her element—newer recruits around his true age. Though his official records claimed he was 127, he was really only 92, making him closer to their age than most knew.
Like Nes'ver, Laphisto was faking being older than he truly was, a necessity for enlisting. But as the war dragged on, it seemed younger dragons were allowed to enlist without needing to lie about their age. He wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe it was a sign that the military was running low on recruits, or perhaps there simply weren’t enough dragons willing to enlist. It wouldn’t be surprising—fire dragons like Hazori were practically born for battle, with a natural instinct for war, while the other elements were more cautious. Fire dragons seemed eager, almost driven, to defend their kind. The others… they needed reasons.
It was one of the things he liked about Hazori. She and her element treated him as an equal. His alias made him a nameless outsider to most, and besides his own element, Hazori’s group were the only other dragons who knew him well. He trusted them. Now he just had to find them.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Pushing forward, Laphisto made his way back to the main encampment, eyes scanning the training rings. The area was bustling, and the whole battalion seemed on edge. They were heading to the front lines soon, after all. The stories about that intense stretch of battlefield had spread far and wide across the kingdoms, painting a grim picture. There were skirmishes scattered all over the continent, but the front lines were an endless, bloody stalemate. The Kiev'arians would seize ground, only for the Lycans to take it back. It was a relentless back-and-forth with no side truly gaining the upper hand, particularly near the heart of the war, closest to the capital of Amanstagroul.
If the Kiev'arians managed to push through the valley defenses, they’d find themselves on the doorstep of the Lycan capital. And that could change everything. Laphisto had heard countless times that if they reached the city, the war could end with a single strike: capture the capital, eliminate their leadership, and the entire kingdom would fall.
And he was headed there, to the most dangerous front in the entire conflict. He tried not to let the thought sink in too deeply, but the nerves were hard to ignore. Still, he reassured himself—he was ready. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself to stave off the anxiety.
Lost in thought, he almost missed the voice calling his name. It took a moment to register the name he went by, but eventually, he looked up and saw Elantrie, a member of Hazori’s element. Elantrie was their designated earth dragon, with a calm but intense demeanor that set her apart. She was from his home city, and their shared past connected them. But it also brought some weight; she believed him dead, along with everyone else on Kiev’ara—everyone except Nes'ver.
A few weeks back, he’d noticed the dulling of her scales, a subtle but troubling sign. He’d mentioned his concern to Hazori, and it turned out Elantrie had been over-relying on her magic during training, pushing herself too far and draining herself almost to death. She’d been placed on bed rest for two moons because of it, yet here she was, already back in the training grounds, her face betraying only a hint of exhaustion.
“Looking for Hazori?” she asked, her tone half-teasing but warm. She always spoke with a sense of duty, laced with unyielding resolve.
“I am,” he admitted, falling into step beside her as they walked toward the training ring. He glanced over, noting the determination in her expression. She trained harder than almost anyone he knew, a fire in her eyes that rarely dimmed. Once, she’d told him that she needed to be strong enough to avenge her prince and her throne—an oath she held close to her heart.
She believed she was fighting for him, unaware that the very prince she sought to honor walked beside her. It unsettled him, the way she pushed herself so relentlessly, sometimes to dangerous limits. If she wasn’t careful, her own body might fail her before she ever saw real combat.
“You’re pushing yourself hard again,” he noted quietly, concern lacing his words.
She gave him a wry smile, shrugging as if to brush off the worry. “Can’t waste time, can I? There’s a kingdom that needs defending, and I intend to be ready.”
Before he could press further, she changed the subject. “It’s strange, isn’t it? So many of the new recruits are almost our age now.” She cast him a sidelong glance, as if wondering if he shared her unease. “Doesn’t sit well with me. Feels like we’re rushing into this.”
Laphisto nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. The more of us they recruit, the younger we get. That can’t mean anything good.”
When they reached the training ring, they spotted Hazori sparring with another fire dragon, her movements fierce and precise. Her Great sword swung in controlled arcs, each strike reflecting her strength and discipline. Her fiery red scales caught the light, a bright, determined presence amid the tense atmosphere.
Seeing them approach, Hazori broke off, a grin breaking across her face. “Well, if it isn’t the quiet earth dragon himself,” she teased, her voice warm with camaraderie. “Come to join us, Div’atori?”
He chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Thought I’d drop by. Could use a reminder of what real training looks like.”
Elantrie laughed beside him, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Real training? Admit it—you’re just here for the company.”
Laphisto rolled his eyes, a slight flush creeping under his scales at Elantrie’s teasing. “Maybe it’s both,” he said with a smirk, his gaze flicking back to Hazori. He’d never admit it outright, but something about her fierce determination, the way she commanded her space with that unwavering intensity—it had a way of drawing him in, even if he couldn’t put it into words.
Hazori, oblivious to the subtle tension in his thoughts, gave him a challenging grin. “Well, we don’t exactly coddle anyone here, Div'atori. Think you’re up for it?” She motioned toward the ring with her sword, an invitation and a dare in her eyes.
“Wouldn’t have come otherwise,” he replied, trying to keep his tone steady, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. As he stepped into the ring, he felt the eyes of the rest of Hazori’s element on him, curious and appraising.
Joining them at the edge of the ring, Elantrie settled onto her haunches beside two other dragons: Tularn, the air dragon, and Ireni, their water dragon. Tularn, with his light silver-blue scales and bright eyes, was the picture of relaxed amusement, his slender frame coiled with energy as if he might spring up at any moment. Beside him, Ireni’s deep ocean-blue scales glimmered softly, her expression calm and serene as she watched the unfolding spar.
“So, Div'atori, how long do you think you’ll last against Hazori this time?” Tularn called out with a playful grin, his wings giving a faint, excited flick.
“Long enough to make you rethink asking,” Laphisto shot back, giving the air dragon a mock glare. He could already feel the slight twinge of nerves, though he’d sparred with Hazori a handful of times. Each bout was a test, a small challenge to keep up with her strength and skill, to see if he could match the fire in her eyes with his own resolve.
Hazori took her place opposite him, adjusting her grip on her great sword. “Don’t go easy on him,” Tularn murmured to Elantrie with a grin. “He can take it… probably.”
Ireni watched with an amused, quiet smile, her voice soft but perceptive. “I think he enjoys the challenge, Tularn. It’s not often he shows up here without us dragging him along.” She glanced at Laphisto, her gaze thoughtful. “Maybe he wants to prove something.”
“Or someone,” Tularn added in a lower tone, his grin widening as he nudged Elantrie, who only rolled her eyes.
Inside the ring, Laphisto readied his stance, focusing on Hazori and trying to ignore the teasing remarks from the sidelines. They locked eyes, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded away—the bustling encampment, the sound of murmured voices. It was just him and Hazori, two dragons poised for battle, the thrill of the spar settling into his bones.
“Ready?” Hazori’s voice was calm but brimming with energy. He gave a short nod.
She moved first, closing the gap between them with a sweeping slash of her great sword. Laphisto sidestepped, feeling the air shift as the blade passed close enough to ruffle his scales. He countered with a strike of his own, testing her reflexes, which she deflected with ease, a smirk flickering across her face.
“You’re quicker than last time,” she commented, her tone approving. “Been practicing?”
“Maybe,” he replied, his heart beating faster as they exchanged a few more blows, each one more calculated than the last. He felt a surge of confidence, feeding off her intensity and meeting it with his own focus. In the midst of the spar, his usual restraint melted away, leaving him absorbed in the thrill of keeping up with her.
As they fought, Ireni leaned slightly toward Elantrie. “They balance each other well, don’t they?” she murmured, her calm gaze following Hazori and Laphisto’s movements.
Elantrie nodded, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “It’s good to see him like this—focused. He’s usually so quiet, but with Hazori… I don’t know, it brings something out in him.”
The sparring intensified, each clash of their weapons sending vibrations through the ground, drawing a small crowd. Hazori’s strikes were powerful, her swings calculated and relentless. Laphisto did his best to dodge and parry, trying to anticipate her moves, though he found himself struggling to keep up with her unyielding energy.
At one point, she spun and aimed a low sweep toward his legs, and he barely managed to leap back in time. The near miss left him off-balance, and before he could recover, Hazori lunged forward, her blade stopping just inches from his chest.
They locked eyes, both breathing hard, the faintest hint of a smile on Hazori’s face. She lowered her weapon, giving him a nod of respect. “Not bad, Div'atori,” she said, her voice approving. “You’ve improved.”
The compliment sent a warmth through him that had nothing to do with the exertion of the spar. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise.”
As they stepped out of the ring, Tularn came up beside him, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. “Nicely done. Almost thought you’d take her there for a second.”
Laphisto chuckled, though his heart was still pounding from the intensity of the spar. “Give me a few more tries,” he replied with a smirk, though a small part of him wondered if he really could match her one day.
Hazori sheathed her great sword and joined the group, her expression relaxed but still carrying that ever-present spark. “If he’s up for it, I’m happy to keep training him. Only if he can keep up, though,” she said, glancing at Laphisto with a hint of challenge in her gaze.
“I can keep up,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
Elantrie let out a short laugh, nudging Ireni. “Seems like he’s found his match, doesn’t it?”
Laphisto didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes, and Tularn shot him a knowing look. For now, he was content to keep his feelings under wraps, hiding his admiration for Hazori beneath layers of banter and competition. But the more he trained with her, the more he wondered if she’d ever see past his reserved exterior to the thoughts he kept hidden—and if he’d ever be bold enough to tell her.
As the sun sank lower, casting a soft amber glow across the encampment, Laphisto made his way back to his element’s camp. His heart still raced a little from the spar with Hazori, the intensity of her gaze and the challenge in her strikes replaying in his mind as he walked. The calm of the evening wrapped around him, and he let his breath slow, taking in the final moments of quiet before tomorrow’s journey.
When he reached the camp, he saw Nes'ver lounging by the fire, fiddling idly with his spear, but the instant he noticed Laphisto approaching, a curious glint sparked in his eyes. I'gra and Ray'vera were nearby, seated with a collection of carefully arranged supplies between them, double-checking the gear for the coming march. Ray'vera glanced up first, giving a nod of acknowledgment, but Nes'ver wasted no time leaning in with a grin that promised questions.
“Well, there you are,” Nes'ver said, drawing out the words as he looked Laphisto over. “Thought maybe you’d disappeared for good. Where’d you run off to?”
“Just… around,” Laphisto replied, aiming for a casual tone as he sat down next to him, though he couldn’t hide the faint smile. He started wiping down his sword, ignoring the way Nes'ver’s stare lingered.
“Oh, just around,” Nes'ver repeated with exaggerated disbelief, giving him a light jab on the shoulder with his elbow. “Out in the mud pits or off on some adventure?”
“Probably both, if he’s looking this dusty,” I’gra remarked without looking up, her voice dry as she inspected a leather strap on her armor. She was focused, as usual, her golden scales catching the warm light of the setting sun.
Laphisto chuckled, setting his sword down to start inspecting his armor, conscious of their curious gazes. “Just sparring with Hazori and her element,” he admitted, trying to keep his voice neutral. “Wanted a bit of extra training.”
Nes'ver’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Ah, sparring with Hazori, was it? Thought maybe you had more than just training in mind.” He waggled his brows, and Laphisto shot him a half-hearted glare.
“Watch it, Nes'ver,” he muttered, though he couldn’t help the faint flush that rose to his scales.
Ray'vera smirked, his eyes briefly flicking from his own armor to Laphisto. “From what I’ve heard, Hazori’s the type to make you fight for every inch. Got any bruises to show for it, Diva'tori?”
“Just a few,” Laphisto replied, glancing around. “She’s… thorough.” The last word slipped out quietly, and he hoped it conveyed the respect he felt for her skill more than the slight awe that lingered.
Nes'ver laughed, shaking his head. “Didn’t think you’d actually go for it. I mean, that’s Hazori we’re talking about. You’re braver than you look.”
Ray'vera looked up, his usual stern expression softened by a glint of amusement. “Don’t let him fool you, Nes'ver. Our dear Div'atori’s a quick learner. He knows where he can push his limits.”
Nes'ver gave an approving nod, leaning back to admire the twilight sky as it deepened into a soft purple hue. “Well, I guess we’ll need every bit of practice by tomorrow,” he said thoughtfully, glancing between Ray'vera, I'gra, and Laphisto. “They say Vi'nto’s not just a battlefield—rumor has it, strange things happen there. Things you can’t just fight off with a sword or spear.”
“What do you mean?” Laphisto asked, though he tried to keep his tone casual. Nes'ver’s serious tone had caught his attention.
Nes'ver’s expression became slightly distant, as though he were recalling something he’d only half-believed. “Some of the older water dragons talk about how shadows don’t stay put in Vi'nto, how they move like they’re alive. They say even the trees whisper there, and every time I hear about it, it’s something different—like the place itself changes.”
I'gra rolled her eyes, her hands busy threading new bindings on her armor’s straps. “Old stories meant to scare the young and restless. Shadows are shadows, Nes'ver. It’s probably just nerves talking. Everyone’s on edge before a march.”
But Nes'ver only shrugged, undeterred. “Maybe. But I’d still keep my wits sharp. You never know when the world might surprise you.”
Laphisto felt a chill ripple down his spine, though he tried to ignore it. Vi'nto would be dangerous enough without tales of mysterious shadows. He went back to adjusting his armor, making sure every strap was tight, every buckle secure.
Ray'vera, always the voice of reason, gave a final, approving nod to the group. “Whether it’s shadows or Lycans or something we can’t name, we’re all headed into the unknown. What matters is that we’re ready.” His gaze moved over each of them, a silent command for focus. “Last checks, then get some rest. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”
The four of them fell into a quiet rhythm, each double-checking their gear. Laphisto took an extra moment to inspect his sword, carefully feeling for any nicks or chips in the blade. Beside him, Nes'ver was doing the same, though he kept sneaking curious glances, still not quite satisfied with the mystery of where Laphisto had been.
Finally, as the last traces of sunlight faded and the stars began to scatter across the sky, the camp settled into a peaceful stillness. The fire crackled softly, and the occasional murmur of distant voices floated through the cool night air. Laphisto took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day easing, replaced by the quiet tension of anticipation.
Ray'vera broke the silence with a low voice, his gaze on the fire. “Tomorrow, we march together, and we protect each other. No one gets left behind.”
They all murmured their agreement, a solemn promise in their words.
As they stretched out to rest, Laphisto glanced at Nes'ver, who flashed him one last mischievous grin, his voice a whisper. “If you see any of those moving shadows, Laphisto, just remember: I warned you first.”
Laphisto chuckled softly, closing his eyes and letting the calm of the night settle over him. Whatever tomorrow held, he knew he wasn’t facing it alone.
As the fire dwindled to embers, the gentle murmurs of the camp faded into silence. Laphisto lay still, his eyes tracing the stars, but rest eluded him. The vastness of the night sky pulled at him, a quiet solitude that mirrored his thoughts. He rose quietly, careful not to disturb the others, and made his way to the edge of the camp, where the ground sloped into a low rise overlooking the landscape.
Here, the stars stretched wide and unbroken, their light washing over the world in a silvery glow. Laphisto settled down on the cool grass, drawing in a deep breath. The crisp air, the vastness of the night—it reminded him of home, of quiet nights spent looking out over the horizon from the castle’s ramparts. But that life felt distant now, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.
He thought back to the day he’d left, his mind drawn to a moment he rarely allowed himself to revisit. Standing in the shadow of his father, determined to prove himself. How sure he had been then, how confident in his need to leave, to forge his own path. But was he any closer to proving himself now than he had been then? He’d left behind everything he knew, taken up a new name, a new identity, all to escape the weight of expectation—and yet, the weight hadn’t disappeared. If anything, it had grown heavier.
A part of him longed to go back, to undo that moment and to have listened, really listened, to his father’s words. But he knew it was too late. He was committed now, bound to the choice he’d made, and returning home would feel like surrender. No, he would move forward, regardless of what lay ahead. He had to believe that this path held some meaning, that there was purpose in what he was doing.
A soft breeze rustled through the grass, carrying the faint sounds of the campfire crackling in the distance. Laphisto closed his eyes, letting the quiet wash over him, letting it steady the restless thoughts churning in his mind.
There were times, fleeting as shadows, when he wished he could tell someone about his true self. Someone who would understand the burden he carried, the weight of a life left behind. But each day, he wrapped himself tighter in the identity of Diva'tori, distancing himself from his past. It was a fragile mask, yet he wore it well. Nes'ver was the only one who knew, and though his friend’s loyalty was unwavering, Laphisto sensed the question sometimes lurking in Nes'ver’s eyes: why did he feel he had to hide?
He let out a slow breath, watching it drift in the cool night air. The answers weren’t here. Perhaps they lay somewhere along this path he had chosen, and perhaps, one day, he would understand. But for now, he was alone with his thoughts, his choices, and the silent company of the stars.
After a while, he rose, the stillness settling something inside him, and he made his way back to the camp. Tomorrow awaited, with all its challenges, and he would meet it. Whatever doubts lingered, whatever regrets tugged at his heart, he would leave them here, under the watchful eyes of the stars.