Feet softly touching the ground Dorian moved as quietly as he could through the forest. His father had a head start and was most likely laying in ambush further ahead. He kept his eyes roaming nonstop looking for any hint of his father, he filtered the sounds of the forest from any sounds that were out of place.

Stepping forward carefully he started scanning the treetops looking for his father or any traps. Placing one foot in front of the other, slowly and with precision. He was taught to move his body with the sway of the branches. He synchronized his movements with the gusts of wind that rustled the leaves.

Heart pounding in his ears Dorian meticulously made his way through the forest. Hand on his knife sheathed on his lower back he kept his other hand open. That was the way his father had taught him to move. With an open hand he could use said hand to deflect incoming attacks and then use the hand with the knife to react.

For now the knife was kept in its sheath. The metallic shine could otherwise give his position away. Dorian knew that he had no chance of sneaking up on his father. But letting his guard down for even a split second was out of the question. The more alert and prepared he was, the less bruises he was going to get.

People who have been in forests would know, there are twigs everywhere. Stepping on one would give his position away. Because of this the way he walked was rather peculiar. Instead of just stepping down as one normally would. He would place the ball of his foot on the ground and smoothly slide it forward until his whole foot made contact.

This would make a soft rustle sound true, but it was far less noticeable than then when you broke a twig. Dorian could feel a shift in the air currents behind him and he swiftly tucked a leg in and managed to roll out of the way. There stood his father, his usual grin was nowhere to be seen.

Whenever they were training his father was deadly serious. The aura and blood lust that drifted around his body was almost palpable. Dorian, not wasting anytime, rolled back on his feet and drew his knife. Waiting for his father to make the next move Dorian prepared himself.

Without any warning his father moved again. A swift jab aimed at his throat was pushed away with the open palm. Dorian countered by rotating the blade in his hand and making a stabbing motion towards his dad's side. Right at a vital point, The liver.

His father smoothly moved a bit to the side so the knife narrowly missed its mark. He used the movement of the dodge to smoothly transfer into a head butt. Dorian reacted by pulling his father towards him, letting himself fall to the ground.

He pressed his legs against his fathers stomach and vaulted him to the back. Using the kicking motion to roll and stand on his feet again he turned around. Nothing, his father had disappeared.

Dorian once more changed to a ready stance and surveyed the area around him. Slowly turning his head listening for any sound, looking for any movement, out of place. Heart pounding in his chest he could feel himself shaking because of the adrenaline rush.

He hated to admit it but he really liked these training sessions with his dad. Even now he had a hard time keeping an excited smile from his face. Keeping his breathing even despite how exited he was, had become nothing more than an easily mastered trick after all this practice.

Then another shift in the air currents and his father appeared from the side this time. The jab came from low, aimed at his side. Smoothly turning around he used his open hand to make a slap towards his fathers ear.

His father flowed out of the blows way, but Dorian kept twisting his body and now the blade swept towards his fathers face. His father leaned in a way that shouldn't be humanly possible and used a foot to kick at one of Dorian's ankles.

Having his feet swept from under him he landed on his back and a blink of the eye later and his father was on top of him with his fist just short of Dorian's face.

“Once more, you are dead.” His father said. The usual grin had returned to his face, he stuck out his hand and helped his son to his feet.

Dorian stretched his muscles feeling the familiar ache spreading its way through out his body. This wasn't the first sparring match he and his father had done today. He already had a gathering of bruises all over his body.

Slowly but surely however they were becoming less and less in number. He was improving, he knew that. But somehow he never felt even the slightest bit closer to being able to fight on even ground with his father. Let alone defeat him.

His father patted him on the back. “You had some good moves there though my boy, You almost make a father proud.” he said teasing his son a bit.

“One day i will be able to wipe that grin off your face!” Dorian vowed grinning back at his father.

His father laughed loudly and exclaimed. “If you ever manage to beat me kid, you wouldn't be able to make me stop grinning!” his father told him with a hint of pride. “You got the talent, i taught you well. You don't have any real, life or death experiences however. Trust me on this, that experience makes all the difference.”

It wasn't the first time his father had told him about the importance of fighting experience. Dorian agreed with his father on that. Thats why tomorrow would be such an exciting day. Tomorrow he would turn 16. He and his parents had been discussing it for a long time now but Dorian had decided to join the Aethling Legion. His father was completely behind this decision and even if his mother would rather not see him go, she had in the end agreed.

Tomorrow he and his father would make their way to the city so he could enlist. The minimum age before one could enlist was 16. Tomorrow would be his 16th birthday. He and his father had decided not to waste any time and enlist as soon as he had became of age.

Luckily the Aethling Empire was so huge that there would always be a new battalion every week. Dorian would be lying if he said that he was not looking forward to joining the Legion. He had always felt the urge to leave home.

His parents who wholeheartedly supported him would secretly be sad to see him go. He knew this, but his parents also knew that he had to make his own choices. If he did not create his own life to live. He would feel as if he had never really accomplished anything.

It was not really spoken about, but he was sure his parents were peculiar cases themselves. As far as Dorian knew he had no other family members. His parents never talked about their heritage either. He had no idea where his parents came from or how they had ended up in this small village.

He and his father finally exited the forest after some time. Once they left the forest they started to run. It was still a good 2 hours of running before they would reach the village. As usual his father set a swift yet steady pace and headed for home.

Maybe at one point the running had been exhausting, but after all these years of running the distance twice a day. He wasn't even breathing heavily once they entered the village. The villagers greeted them once they saw them running back into the village.

Those that were still outside saw them coming home like this every day. In a small village everyone knew each other. Hopefully that meant everyone was on friendly terms as well. At the very least greetings would be exchanged. This was polite and was how things should be done. That was what he was taught anyways.

When they were close to home they could see the smoke coming out of the chimney. The closer they got the more they could smell the delicious aroma of his mothers cooking. Nearly starting to drool he and his father picked up their pace.

After a split second they broke into a sprint and all but crashed right through the door. Shutting it behind them they dove into their chairs at the table. From the kitchen his mother arrived with a smile on her face.

Every day exactly when they took their seats his mother would come from the kitchen with a fresh and deliciously made meal. How she managed to time it perfectly every time was a mystery to Dorian. Whenever he asked his mother about it she would just wink teasingly and tell him it was all just a pinch of magic.

As soon as his mother set the plates in front of them, Dorian and his father ravenously dug in. A sigh of extacy left their mouths. Their mothers cooking was incredible. He doubted any other cook in the world would be able to replace this kind of cooking.

“I'm going to miss this once i leave to enlist” Dorian told his mother with his mouthful, making sure to fully savor every bite.

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Dorian was so focused on his meal that he didn't see the flash of sadness that appeared on his mothers face. What mother wouldn't be worried to see her son enlist. War was a dangerous thing, and there would always be a war to fight.

The rest of the meal was passed in silence. Dorian and his father were to hungry and focused on the meal, to really say anything, his mother didn't really feel like talking so dinner was spent in more silence than it usually would.

After dinner as usual Dorian would spend his time meditating and studying some parts of magic with his mother. He did not have a great deal of talent for magic. Magic could be separated into its different elements. Runic, Order, Chaos, Shadow, Light, Water, Earth, Fire, Air, Enchanting and last but not least Internal. His mother was strongest in 3 Element types. Fire, Chaos and Enchanting.

Dorian had some talent in Fire and this is what his mother focused on teaching. He also had a good amount of talent in Internal, or so he was told. His mother however had no clue about this peculiar element so she could not teach him about it.

The few magic tricks he could do with fire were useful to be sure but not even close to the level his mother had. He could light a fire, heat up his food, even shoot a small fire bolt but that was the extent of his magical skills.

His mother told him that meditating and focusing on his inner mana pool was the to increase it. The reasoning behind it was to use up all your mana and then force yourself to continue for the few bare seconds later. This would put strain on the mana pool and force it to grow a little.

Just like the training with his father he had been doing this every day for years. With the small talent in fire he had he could not manage any big spells. But with the magic pool he had, he could use whatever little magic he could, for as long as he wanted.

His favorite trick was using the fire magic to warm his own body. He could spread the magic to the layers between his skin and let it smolder there so to speak. This way he would never get cold, he had no need for a coat or warm winter clothes when the snow's started falling. The cold never bothered him anyway.

Another trick that he had gained from that was that he could heat up his knuckles or other bones to the point were heat waves would flow from his body. If he forced a good deal of mana into his knuckles at the point of impact he could increase the damage one would take by a punch a great deal.

This he never used in sparring however. There was this unspoken rule Dorian and his father had that when they sparred. It should be their own pure muscle power, techniques and experience that won them the fight. The raw physical fight was something both of them enjoyed.

His mother smiled a bit as he noticed how his thoughts were roaming across whatever places he was creating in his mind. He tended to do that quite often. When Dorian was doing something mundane or something were he didn't have the need to concentrate, his mind would roam any which way.

The meditating went on for a while until he fell asleep, even though he was still sitting upright. Another of the peculiar traits Dorian had. He could fall asleep almost anywhere doing anything if he didn't focus himself on doing anything else.

His mother looked on at his slowly rising and falling chest, she sighed deeply. Her husband who had just walked into the room put a hand on her shoulder comforting her. She put her hands over his and for a moment they just stood there watching their child sleeping with his legs cross legged as if it was the most comfortable position in the world.

His father took soft deliberate steps toward Dorian to pick him up and haul him to bed. His wife stopped him with a hand and walked forward herself. Lifting the boy that was easily a head taller than her as if he weighed nothing she carefully walked him to his room and tucked him into his bed.

She knew that he was actually to old to still be carried to bed and normally they would do no such thing and just leave him sleeping there until he woke up again and moved himself to his bed. Tonight however she was feeling sentimental. She was remembering the years she had spent fostering and caring for her son.

Breastfeeding him, giving a slap on the back of the head whenever he did something he was not supposed to. Cooking for him, teaching him how to read and write, teaching him magic, Meditating together. So much different little things went into raising a child.

To both her and her husband this boy was something beyond precious to them. Their dark pasts had brightened immensely when a small child had joined their family. They put their previous occupations behind them and moved to a remote village to raise their son. To start the happy little family neither of them had ever expected to be able to have.

Life had a weird way of sorting itself out if you looked at it like that. Closing the door the red headed mother led her husband to their bed were they snuggled up against each other letting sleep take their consciousness.

The next day breakfast was a lively thing. Dorian was packing his bags for whatever little belongings he could take with him. His mother and father were teasing and arguing about little things, an all for good fun nature as they so often did.

Breakfast was full of laughter and stupid jokes. The light hearted mood was good for ones soul. Every little bit of laughter would make the world a slightly better place his mother had always told him. Once breakfast was done Dorian swung his bag over his shoulder and walked out the front door, mother on his heels.

Once outside he could see his father waiting there with 2 horses. His father would go with him to the city until he had enlisted. Dorian himself had never really left to see a city and had always lived out here, in the remote countryside. So without a proper guide like his father who knew where he would end up.

“One last thing before you go.” His mother said grabbing his hands into one of her own. Her hands as always were warm to the touch. One of those hands was behind her back. She put something in his hands.

The item she put into his hands was a knife. It was a short straight blade with a diagonally sharpened edge. The side of the blade with the lower sharpened edge was also sharpened. The knife was only sharpened on that one edge so it could stab but would be most efficient in slashing.

The knife had no guard but went straight from the blade into the hilt. His fathers expert smithing techniques could be seen. There was no extravagance or markings on the blade at all. This would have fit neither him or his father. There was beauty in simplicity. This was something they both agreed on.

The sheath was made of simple yet sturdy black leather and was made with a belt with a few pouches in it that fit around his waist leaving the knife on his lower back. The place where he preferred the blade to be.

The blade itself was most peculiar however. It was pitch black, so dark in fact that the light from the sun seemed to dim a little around it. He was certain that the area around him had gotten darker as soon as he had removed the knife from the sheath.

He had seen enough of the weapons his parents had created to know that even amongst the highest grade weapons, when they had created this knife. They made something else entirely. The knife felt ominous to the touch but familiar at the same time. The knife fit his hand so perfectly that he could tell it had been created especially for him.

“A parting gift from me and your father, we hope it will keep you safe.” His mother told him looking him in the eyes, trembling slightly.

“This knife is something rather special it is made from a material you will never be able to find anywhere else. Its a piece of another weapon that i used to make this with. Its a unique knife and it may have some properties, magical ones perhaps, that even we are not aware of. Handle it with care.” His father told him with a stern face.

His mother nodded franticly embedding the words in his mind. Then with a swift step forward she hugged him as hard as she could.

“Be careful,” She whispered. “make sure you come back to me in one piece.”

Saying her last goodbyes to her son she watched him get on the horse together with his father. Give his mother one last wave he and his father urged the horses forward. Disappearing from her eyesight over the horizon his mother stayed in her spot staring at them for a few long minutes before going back inside.

The next chapter of Dorians life was now being set in motion.