The morning of my departure was colder than I expected, the autumn air crisp and sharp against my face as I stood outside our home. The village was quiet at this hour, the first rays of sunlight casting long shadows across the wooden platforms that made up Valda-Ashdock. I clutched the small bag Mother had packed for me, its contents carefully chosen: a change of clothes, some dried rations, and a scarf she had woven herself.
“You’ve packed everything?” she asked, her hands fidgeting with the straps of the bag. It was the third time she’d asked, and I gave her the same patient answer.
“Yes, Mother,” I said.
She frowned slightly, her fingers brushing against my shoulder as though she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go. There was something in her eyes that I couldn’t name—a mixture of pride and worry.
Father stood a few steps away, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “That’s our Wolfhart,” he said with a chuckle. “Always so calm.”
Mother’s frown deepened, and she turned to him. “It’s not normal, Tharn. He’s too calm. Most boys his age would be clinging to their mothers or throwing fits about leaving home.”
Father shrugged, the faint smile never leaving his face. “He’s different. Always has been.”
Different. It was a word I’d grown used to hearing, often spoken with affection but always carrying a hint of unease. Mother’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, as though she were trying to decipher some hidden meaning in my expression.
“You don’t have to be so brave, you know,” she said softly.
“I’m not trying to be brave,” I replied. “I just... don’t see the point in being scared.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced back at Father. He gave her a reassuring nod, the kind he used when he thought she was overthinking.
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Breakfast was quieter than usual, the familiar clatter of dishes and hum of conversation muted by the weight of what lay ahead. Halrik, ever the optimist, tried to lighten the mood by recounting stories of his future glory as a guardsmen the highest level the village had ever seen.
“You’ll love it, Wolfhart,” he said, his enthusiasm filling the silences the rest of us couldn’t. “The Town will be a huge city by the time you come back under my leadership brother!. None of this small village nonsense.”
I nodded, though my mind was elsewhere. I could feel Mother’s gaze on me as I picked at the bread on my plate, her worry palpable even without words.
“Don’t forget to make friends,” she said suddenly, her tone light but her eyes serious. “It’s important to have people you can trust.”
“I’ll try,” I said, though I wasn’t sure how true that was.
“And don’t let anyone push you around,” Halrik added with a grin. “If anyone gives you trouble, just tell them your brother’s a top swordsman in your home city.”
Father chuckled, ruffling Halrik’s hair. “Top swordsman, eh? I don’t remember you winning every sparring match.”
Halrik flushed, but his laughter was infectious, and for a moment, the heaviness lifted.
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When the boat finally arrived at the dock, its sleek frame gliding silently through the water, the reality of my departure hit me. This wasn’t just a story or a plan anymore. It was happening.
Mother hugged me tightly, her arms lingering as though she could hold me back from growing up. “Write to us when you can,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
“I will,” I promised.
Father’s goodbye was simpler but no less meaningful. He clasped my shoulder with a firm hand, his expression steady. “You’ll do fine,” he said. “Just remember what I’ve taught you. And don’t let anyone tell you who you should be.”
Ava stood nearby, shifting her weight impatiently as she waited for her turn. When Mother finally released me, she stepped forward and punched my arm lightly.
“You’d better write me, too,” she said, her usual energy tempered by something quieter. “I’ll be at the academy next year, so don’t make it weird when I show up.”
“I won’t,” I said, managing a small smile.
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“Good,” she said. Then, after a pause, she added, “And don’t let those city kids make fun of you. You’re smarter than all of them.”
Her words lingered in my mind as I boarded the boat, finding a seat near the front.
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The journey across the lake was calm, the water reflecting the endless expanse of the Nexus above. The strands connecting the worlds shimmered faintly, their presence both comforting and unnerving. I spent most of the trip staring up at them, my thoughts tangled in questions I couldn’t answer.
“Hexa,” I thought, “do you think anyone else in this world understands how the Nexus works?”
“Unlikely,” Hexa replied, its tone as steady as always. “The level of scientific understanding in this world appears to be rudimentary at best. However, you may encounter individuals with theoretical knowledge or cultural interpretations.”
“Do you think I’ll ever figure it out?”
“With time and sufficient data, it is possible,” Hexa said. “Your curiosity and persistence are assets.”
I nodded to myself, watching as the faint glow of the Nexus seemed to pulse in time with the rhythm of the waves.
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The capital of the Ash Kingdom was a stark contrast to Valda-Ashdock. The docks were alive with activity, traders shouting over one another as they unloaded goods, and the streets were wide and bustling with people.
For a moment, I felt overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it all. The buildings stretched high into the sky, their spires glinting in the sunlight, and the air buzzed with energy.
“Welcome to the capital,” the boatman said gruffly as I stepped onto the dock.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and took a deep breath. The city smelled of salt and metal, of possibility and danger.
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The academy loomed in the distance, its stone walls and towering spires casting long shadows over the surrounding buildings. As I approached the gates, I felt a mix of anticipation and dread.
This was it—the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. The academy would be my home for the next few years, a place where I would train, learn, and hopefully begin to understand more about this world and my place in it.
The gates creaked open, revealing a sprawling courtyard filled with children my age. Some looked nervous, others confident, but all of them carried the same weight of expectation.
I stepped through the gates, my thoughts swirling with the words of my parents, Ava’s encouragement, and Hexa’s ever-present guidance.
The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, I felt ready to face it.
As the boat carrying Wolfhart and the other second children disappeared across the lake, Eliana stood motionless at the edge of the dock. The crisp autumn wind tugged at her shawl, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed on the shrinking silhouette of her youngest son, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if to hold herself together.
Tharn stood beside her, silent for a moment before placing a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be all right, Eliana,” he said gently.
She let out a shaky breath, her voice trembling. “I know. But knowing doesn’t make it easier.”
Tharn sighed, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the boat had vanished. “It’s hard to let them go,” he admitted. “But it’s the way of things. The academy will teach him what he needs to survive in this world.”
Eliana turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He’s not like Halrik, Tharn. Halrik was so eager, so full of excitement. Wolfhart...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Wolfhart’s always been different. Too quiet. Too serious. Sometimes, it feels like he’s an old man in a child’s body.”
Tharn chuckled softly, though there was little humor in it. “He’s always been like that, hasn’t he? Even as a baby. Never cried without reason, never fussed like Halrik did. He just... watched. It’s like he was always thinking, even before he could talk.”
Eliana wiped at her eyes with the corner of her shawl. “That’s what worries me. He doesn’t laugh like other children. He doesn’t play the same way. And he never gets angry—not like a boy his age should. It’s like he’s... missing something.”
Tharn’s brow furrowed as he considered her words. “Maybe. Or maybe he just sees the world differently. He’s got a sharp mind, Eliana. Smarter than most grown men I’ve met. That boy will do great things someday.”
“Maybe,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But what if we never see him again, Tharn? What if this is the last time I hold him, the last time I hear him call me Mother?”
Her voice broke on the last word, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the sob threatening to escape.
Tharn pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she wept against his chest. “I won’t lie to you,” he said quietly. “The world isn’t kind, especially not to boys like Wolfhart. But he’s strong in ways we can’t see. He’s got a mind that can change the course of nations. And he’s got your strength in him, Eliana. He’ll survive. I know he will.”
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. “But what if he doesn’t? What if all this—sending him away, asking him to be more than he should have to be—what if it’s all for nothing?”
Tharn cupped her face in his hands, his voice steady and resolute. “It’s not for nothing. You know why we have to do this. Second sons don’t inherit the home, the trade, or the land. But they do inherit the future. Wolfhart’s path might take him far from us, but it’s the path he was meant to walk.”
Eliana nodded, though her heart ached with every word. “I just wish it didn’t hurt so much. I know this is what he needs, what we need, but it feels like I’m losing him.”
“You’re not losing him,” Tharn said firmly. “He’ll come back, Eliana. When he does, he’ll be the man we always knew he could be.”
She leaned into him, letting his strength anchor her as the boat disappeared entirely from view. “I hope you’re right,” she said softly. “Because today... today feels like the hardest day of my life.”
Tharn held her tightly, his own heart heavy as he stared out over the lake. They stood there for a long time, their shared silence filled with love, hope, and the bittersweet pain of letting go.