Year 536 CC, Primal Chaos Era 

The night sky was dark, and no one could see anything below their feet. Despite the lamp attached to their holder, only a foot of light cast them in a circle in darkness. 

The scouting legion among the darkness traveled along the dark roads; stone walls on either side blocked people from entering the forest to prevent anything from getting out. They clumped together, and their lanterns expanded the light source by a few feet.

Though the light shed away the darkness, it was both a boon and a curse that could attract the monstrous creatures called Fiends that roamed the realm.

Since the deity of light, Saint Lumos, cast the dark deity, Deimos, the world of Aurum had fallen into disarray during the Primal Chaos Era. 

The Dark Ages were an epoch veiled in shadows, during which the echoes of a once-great civilization faded into obscurity. 

As the light of humanity dimmed, ignorance and superstition flourished. 

However, amidst the darkness, glimmers of hope flickered like distant stars in the night sky. 

The legion's mission was to retrieve proof of a magical geyser that could grant untold power. With that power, it could smite their foes and eradicate the Fiends. 

The legion had been traveling for less than a fortnight and were coming up with no solid proof. Yet, they denied going back for fear of defying their Tsar. 

“We move forward, men! For we shall rest when we return with good tidings.” their captain, Praefectus Vigilum Osiris Aegis, urged his men on. 

The legion of armed soldiers cheered in unison, elated by his message. 

Little did they know, their journey led them into a conflict they could not yet fathom. 

Ahead of them, there was an orange glow from a lantern. The legion was ready to take arms if the strange person was an enemy. 

Osiris’ thick black brows rose at the strange man dressed in odd attire unfamiliar to the era.

“G’d evening to you, traveler,” Osiris said. The stranger had stunning blue eyes that were both foreboding and daunting, but he couldn't explain why his heart thudded and blood pumped quickly.

“And to you, fine legion,” the stranger replied.

He tipped his tricorne hat that matched the rest of his moss green and brown suit. His hair was the color of mud, much like his clothing. 

“You travel alone?” Osiris asked the mousy-haired traveler. His instincts were on high alert, and in case of an ambush, the hushed whispers of his legion shook his insides.

“Yes and no.” Leaving his answer vague and unknown. Before Osiris could question him, he replied, “Just waiting for the right moment. For you.”

Heat flushed to his face at the reveal of being tricked.  

Osiris and his men took no chances. One by one, they brandished their swords. 

“What business do you have with us?”

The gleam in the stranger's eye made the Captain's blood run cold, and his throat tightened.

“Why this.”

The surrounding area grew foggy, and a monstrous roar erupted into the sky. 

“Stay strong! Formation, everyone.” 

They did on command but did not expect the men to disappear into the foggy wake one by one.

----------------------------------------

The year 1085 CC, Month of Solara, on the 2nd day of Aurorion

During the early dawn hours, a traveler enters Verdan Glen's idyllic, rural town of Sylvanbrook. Its rolling hills stretch for miles, surrounding itself in lush forests and a lake yonder into town.

The traveler crossed the bridge, overpassing a stream and into the town’s gates. There weren’t many people out as the day had only begun. The traveler, cloaked in a hood to hide their face, passed by residential brick buildings and into the center of town where the shops were located; a few owners were beginning to open their doors for the day.

The traveler approached the end of the street where Sylvanbrook’s Ashen Vanguard guild resided. 

Their gloved fist, gentle but hard, knocked on the wooden door. They wondered if the owner still opened it daily at the same time. He did, and the door opened, revealing an older man, about his late fifties, with salt-pepper hair, on the other side of the door.

The traveler's amber eyes widened. Despite their cloak hood, the older man recognized him immediately; he was his adoptive son.

“Eamon?”

The traveler, Eamon, smiled sheepishly. He removed his hood and exposed curly black hair that reached the nape of his tanned neck. His deep brown oval eyes looked at the man he regarded so fondly and disappointed.

“Hello, Master Ealdred.”

Ealdred ushered his pupil inside, closing the door behind him. When Eamon stepped onto the wooden training floors, a sense of euphoria filled his entire body as filtered memories flooded his mind. The smell of the upholstered wood filled his nose, and even the faint scent of lavender incense that Master Ealdred put out to cleanse the area and free it of negative energy.

Eamon closed his eyes, and his heart swelled with longing. The euphoric feeling was proof that he was home, but a brief stab in his chest also reminded him that this was home.

“How have you been?” Ealdred voiced out, thankfully freeing Eamon of his agonizing thoughts. “The last time I saw you was four years ago when you left the guild to join the Argonian’s Imperial Military.”

The atmosphere around Eamon tensed, and he stiffened. The stab in Eamon’s chest returned. “It's better left unsaid.”

Ealdred assumed, judging by the sorrowful expression on the young man's face, that his experiences with the Argonian Empire were not fulfilling. His past was not for prying ears, even if no one was around.

“Then let’s leave talk of the Empire outside these walls—relax yourself–no one has arrived but myself and another student.”

Eamon’s cinched shoulders relaxed, and he released a strangled breath. “It’s good to see you are still teaching, Master. Who is this student that rises this early in the morning? Reminds me of our schedule.”

“Aye, she reminds me of you quite a bit despite her being three years younger, especially with that thick skull you both seem to have.”

Eamon gave a dry laugh, one that Ealdred noticed was not in the same manner as it was when he was younger. Now a young man, he looked like he weighed the world on his shoulders that was more than just from war.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet her. Oh, is that Riftblade?” Eamon’s brown eyes took notice of the brilliant silver, gilded great sword hanging on the wall. 

It once was held by Ealdred when he was fighting the  Veilspawn and closing Rifts. Eamon walked over to it, about to touch it, when there was another voice.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

“You can look, but you can’t touch.”

Both men turn to see a young woman with a curly black afro and bright amber eyes that complimented her tawny brown complexion.

“Glad to see that you’re done with your chores.” Ealdred regarded her with a tender smile.

The girl grinned and shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, it was no problem. Who’s this?”

The girl headed toward the sword and picked it up, surprising a gaping Eamon that she removed his Master’s legendary sword.

“L-Later for that!” he balked at the girl. She held the sword with ease despite its weight and her small stature. She trained to master it without breaking a sweat. “Who are you to even touch that?”

He pointed to the sword she was now leaning on to add further confusion on his part.

The girl said with a frown. “I can because it’s mine, thanks for asking.”

Eamon’s eyes widened. A mental short fuse started to form in the back of his mind. “Y-Yours?” He averted his eyes from her to his master to see if she was telling the truth.

Ealdred nodded. “It is true. Her skills have excelled quite well.”

Eamon scoffed. “In terms of what? She’s practically a kid.”

Ealdred sighed and rested his hand on his face. “And now you’ve done it.” He knew what to expect now that Eamon released the tainted words.

Eamon furrowed his brows, unsure what he was talking about, when a sharp hostility struck him to the chord. He turned to see the girl with fury in her amber eyes, and a shiver ran down his spine.

“Who are you calling a kid?! I’m eighteen.” She exclaimed. “And I’ll have you know I earned this.”

Waving off his early reverie from her sudden aura of power, he smugly grinned. “Right, I bet you can’t even control its power.” Eamon knew that was a lie, but he couldn’t help his jealousy into goading her.

She gasped at his audacity. “Wanna bet?”

She easily propped the giant sword on her shoulder to make a point. She prepared herself into a ready stance, feet a few inches apart, and channeled her energy.

The circulating energy formed an aura of radiating energy. With the sword drawn over her head, she jumped in the air and yelled a battle cry to her signature move: “Radiant Slash!”

A burst of white Essentia shrouded the blade and transformed its power into the element Zephyr. Its powerful gust of wind smashed into the guild's wooden wall without her having to strike it physically.

The girl dropped down to the floor with one knee and stood with a grin on her face. “What do you have to say about that?”

Eamon couldn't help but be impressed, but there was no way he was letting her know that. 

He crossed his arms and snorted. “It’s childish to call out your attacks like that. You’re giving your enemies the advantage by announcing your presence.”

The girl's eye twitched, knowing full well that he was bothered. She rolled her eyes with a snappy comeback. “Yeah, what enemies? One strike and there won’t be an obstacle in my way.”

Eamon frowned. She was strong as she was cocky, and she knew that he knew. It only made the burning spikes of jealousy heat at his cheeks as the two stood mere feet apart, glaring at the other to submit first. “Cockiness like that will get you killed.”

She smiled. It was evident by the redness of Eamon’s face that she was getting under his skin. She held her head high. “Not cockiness if you’re confident in your skills.”

Their dagger-like glare continued, trying to will the other to submit defeat.

“Alright, that is enough. Eamon. Lyra. Break it up.” 

The tension ceased when Ealdred doused the fire. Eamon, however, was now curious about the familiar name. 

“You’re little Lyra? Lyra Ashbourne?”

Lyra looked at her manicured nails. “Yup, and that would make you Eamon, the traitor who ran off to join the Imperial army.” She looked him up and down, unimpressed. 

The only thing about him that changed was that his usually short hair had grown much longer, and the vibrant brown eyes she used to admire–though she’d never reveal—looked dull and faded, shrouded by a curtain of misery.

“You looked better before. Oh, and another thing: I’m. Not. Little.” Her eyes squared at him with knit brows. Her agitation only enhanced being called little.

Ealdred cleared his throat. Despite him stopping it before it could get heated, there was still the intensity in the air. “Perhaps it is best you worry about the damages you caused, Lyra?”

Lyra turned to where he jutted his thumb at the leftover X mark on the side of the wooden guild's wall. It collapsed with a crash, exposing the other half of the building.

Lyra flinched. “Sorry, Grandpa. I’m on it.” She placed Riftblade back on the wall's perch. She caught Eamon looking and glared at him before leaving the two men in the training hall alone.

“Come, Eamon, to my office, and we can discuss further.”

•†•

Once in private, Eamon sat in the brown corduroy loveseat across from Ealdre’s oak desk.

Ealdred sat down and folded his hands together. He took in Eamon, who was both familiar and a stranger. “I’ll come out and say: What brings you back?” He didn’t want to be direct about bringing up anything about the military.

Eamon weakly smiled at his master’s forwardness. He missed that. “I would like to rejoin the guild as your student again, Master Ealdred.”

He raised a thick gray brow. “Oh?”

Eamon nodded. “Yes, I know I left for the Imperial Army suddenly, but I had to answer a calling for myself.”

“Hmm. And what did this calling lead you to?”

Eamon fidgeted in his seat. His eyes averted to everywhere else in the room, to the ficus plant in the corner of the room, the old wooden radio on the table that he’d listened to when he was younger, and to the bookshelf against the wall filled with tomes he had often read growing up. 

“I can’t divulge that…I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”

Ealdred closed his eyes, humming to himself. “I do. Some things should only be kept between you and Saint Lumos. Now, as for your reinstatement, besides a few changes to the interior, everything is the same as when you left.”

Eamon gaped at his master, realizing what he meant. He shot up from his seat and thrust his head into a bow. “Thank you, Master. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. It’s different this time.” Even if his student couldn’t divulge any information, he knew it was for a reason, and he was glad he made it before it was too late.

On the other hand, Eamon wasn’t sure what his master meant, but he was always wise, even though he was cryptic.

“There is…one other thing I wanted to ask you?” It had been reeling in the back of his mind since he first saw the sword perched on the wall.

“About my giving Riftblade to Lyra?”

Eamon gave a stiff nod. He was ashamed for letting jealousy gnaw at his gut. Riftblade was supposed to be his. He, of course, knew that he had no claim to the weapon since he was the one to leave, but it still hurt seeing what could have been his legacy no longer appointed to him.

Ealdred sighed. He rested his hands on the surface of the desk. “When you left Eamon, it devastated me. You were an exceptional Locksmith, and there was no one better I would have wanted to inherit Riftblade. But I understood your decision and had to let you go.” 

A gleam appeared in Ealdred’s eyes as he remembered training young Eamon as a child and raising him as his own.

Ealdred rose from his seat, and Eamon’s eyes followed his master’s movement as he walked along the shag carpeting of the office. 

“You were no longer that young boy I raised.” 

Ealdred headed over to the bookshelf, where he removed a rectangular blue book from the shelf, a photo album filled with sepia and grayscale photos of him and Eamon as a small boy.

 He momentarily flipped through the pages, admiring them before passing on to the next one.

“Since your parents’ accident and taking you into the guild, you’ve always strived to be better and wanted to help those in need. It’s what I see in Lyra, too, and though she may be young and a bit headstrong, she serves that same fire and determination you did.”

Hearing the word ‘did,’ Eamon assumed his master had already read him like a book, but Eamon couldn’t reveal what he had gone through, done, in the Imperial Military.

“I understand, Master,” he said, watching him close the album and return it to its home. “I will get along with Lyra as we will both be students under your tutelage.”

Ealdred smiled. He walked back over to him and clapped him on the back. “Good. You’ll be a good senior to her with your experience. Besides, you two may hit it off well, like you did as children. She’d follow you around, and you’d try to impress her with a fighting move, ultimately hurting yourself, and I had to heal up the scrapes.”

Eamon’s face reddened. Ealdred barked out a laugh. “Y-Yeah, I don’t think there will be any of that. Besides, we haven't seen each other since we were kids. I practically insulted her, and I can only imagine what she thinks of me.”

Ealdred leaned close with a lidded-eye look and a sly grin, scooping Eamon’s neck in his arm. “We’ll see. You never know.”