The remaining 4 years before his departure for the Anchor seemed to fly by for Lawk. He truly loved every second of it. From his early morning training with John, Lariat, Lariatta, and Lana, to his afternoon studies with Stace, and even his missions and duties as the Wraith of Laramea, he was truly enjoying life. He was no longer only training and studying to achieve his long-term goals of bringing his mother’s murderers to justice and finding his birth family. He also trained and studied because he enjoyed it, which only served to increase his incredible rate of progression further. The Brahm’s and Lartiso’s had also taught him the importance of rest and relaxation, though his rest tended to be very similar to training, considering the stealth games he and Lana played. And, his relaxation was typically going out ranging with John or discussing history and other subjects with Stace. He also meditated more than he slept, but for some reason, his body always seemed just as rested and equally content with either option. And, the young warrior preferred meditation, as it allowed him to improve his aura skills, which were delicately described by Lana as, “freakishly advanced and absolutely terrifying but pretty much run of the mill for Lawk Revlo, the Wraith of Laramea.”
As for his reputation, well…as his skills improved, Lawk was only ever seen if he decided to be seen. So his legend only grew. The Left Hand was always a great deterrent for crime and renowned far and wide for his capabilities and accomplishments. But, now with two monsters lurking in the shadows, Laramea was safer than ever, and both warriors’ reputations soared accordingly. There was even a new and popular song by a Laramean bard called, “What Lurks in the Shadows of Laramea”. The lyrics served as a warning to those who would threaten the peace.
There was also a local fan-favorite called, “The Poltergeist Princess”, which was essentially a satirical version of the former song based off of Lana’s pranks. A certain maid in the keep happened to be married to bard, and this was her friendly way of getting back at the mischievous young royal. But, of course, Lana loved it. She wore her nickname like a badge of honor, much to her mothers’ chagrin and father’s amusement. The king was of the mindset that it endeared their youngest to the people, but the queen was mildly embarrassed by the lack of propriety, until eventually Lysander’s opinion proved true. Lana had become somewhat of an idol to many youngsters in the kingdom, for better or worse. And, it normalized her and the royal family as a whole to the adults, resulting in better relations all around.
Craftsmen-and-women had even begun selling wooden figurines of the Poltergeist Princess, the Left Hand, and the Wraith of Laramea. However, since no one ever got a good look at Lawk, but the Left Hand was required to make occasional public appearances, the garb of the two shadowy figures differed somewhat. They were essentially the same, except that Lawk was always depicted in all black instead of the Left Hand’s mottled blacks and dark grays, and his mask was the thing of nightmares, as opposed to the Left’s more plain one. Lawk’s mask on the figurine was essentially an angry appearing, smoothed out, black skull, without an opening for a mouth or nose and only black emptiness where the eye holes would be.
To buoy the legend and deter crime and espionage further, King Lysander decided to have garb matching Lawk’s legend as the Wraith made for him. The eye holes were enchanted to not let any light pass through as usual, but with Lawk’s ever growing aura control, if he intended it, he could make his shining moonlight eyes pierce the veil, so-to-speak. Either way, it was an eerie visage.
The Wraith made just two intentional public appearances, one in broad daylight and one at night, emerging briefly from the shadows in crowded areas, subduing a known criminal, and disappearing with the captive over his shoulder on both occasions. There were just enough witnesses present each time to grow the legend further and confirm that the figurines were accurate. There were even suspicions that he was truly a wraith because of the way he moved with unnatural swiftness, appearing and disappearing without a trace, even while carrying his prisoners. Bedtime stories to keep children in check abounded, just as Lana had originally teased.
As for Lana, she had become an incredibly formidable young warrior herself. Her training with John, her siblings, the Left Hand, and Lawk had paid off greatly. She could never quite catch up to Lawk’s astronomical rate of progression, but she was never discouraged and only put in more effort for it. She learned to fight in tandem with him almost as if they were twins, and Lawk’s natural awareness in battle combined with his deft use of his aura to sense his surroundings bridged the gap, making it appear as if they really were connected like twins when they teamed up. She had also been put through an absolute gauntlet of aura resistance training, because if she was to fight with Lawk without holding him back, she would require formidable resistance to such things.
Another odd talent that Lawk would occasionally display while out ranging was his ability to communicate with animals without words, but it appeared to stem more from his time in the wilds than a unique gift, as far as anyone could tell at this point. Though John had harbored suspicions of Lawk possessing some sort of unique trait as well since, when he’d met him, the boy had effectively commandeered his horse temporarily. Though, that level of ability had yet to show itself again since.
And interestingly enough, this (combined with her inborn talent) seemed to give Lana the upper hand when it came to horses. In Laramea, a kingdom known for its equines and its riders, she stood a cut above the rest, even at the young age of sixteen. The young prodigy rode like she was part horse herself. And, she shared with Lawk as much of this gift as she could.
Over their eight years of joint training, Lawk and Lana had become closer than most siblings. Even the twins were impressed. The pair acted as if they had somehow become true twins. They even resembled each other a bit physically, which lent credence to the rumors in the tavern district that they were actually related somehow.
By the age of sixteen, Lana was beautiful and tall for a girl, at 5’9”, with long, wavy, dark brown hair that she usually pulled back into a tight bun, braid, or ponytail. She was lean and athletic, yet still feminine and curvy. Lawk was tall as well, with similarly brown hair at slightly past shoulder length, which he most often wore in a tight cue at the base of his neck. He already reached 6 feet in height and resembled more a battle-hardened knight than a sixteen-year-old adolescent, at 200 pounds without an ounce of fat on him. The young man truly was by all rights a full-fledged warrior assassin, after all. Though, he recognized there was still more than ample room to grow.
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Lawk was also as strikingly handsome as Lana was gorgeous. The main difference between them was their eyes, but even they were somewhat similar, in the sense that both changed colors. Lana had hazel green eyes that acquired a greener hue in the sunlight or in accordance with her mood or the color of her clothing. This was in contrast to Lawk’s unique dark gray eyes that would, at times, glow a moonlight silver hue. The two made an imposing young duo, and no one ever guessed they were only sixteen.
***
As Lawk and John packed their horses in front of the cabin, with Stace looking on, tears in her eyes, the royal family approached. Stace quickly wiped her eyes and greeted their friends with a smile. Lana and the twins would be traveling with John and Lawk, and their horses were already packed. King Lysander was the first to dismount. He moved straight toward the barn, calling for Lawk and John to join him. The two fatherly men had planned a surprise, and both wore broad grins. Once inside the training area within the barn, the king turned to face the other two, reverently presenting Lawk with a magnificent hand-and-a-half longsword. This particular blade had been kept in the royal vault for countless generations. Over the millennia, the origins of the sword were forgotten, but it never rusted and never lost its edge. Curiously, the King had felt it belonged with Lawk since his first visit to the vault after meeting the boy. He could not explain why at the time, but eventually it dawned on him, after getting a closer look at Lawk’s opthenium hunting knife.
The sword was clearly constructed of the same material and in the same manner. It was as if the hunting knife had been elongated and scaled up in size to become a longsword. They could have been a paired set. The weapon was a single smooth, solid piece from end to end and had the exact same t-shaped crossguard as the knife, but larger. Instead of a typical, bulbous pommel, the thick hilt finished with a slight, elegant curve and smooth, rounded end, just like the knife. Regardless, it would certainly inflict just as much damage (if not more), to be struck by this pommel, considering the heft of the weapon in its entirety. As thick as the knife was, the sword was thicker, and equally as sharp. A relatively soft blow from this blade would likely sever a limb more effortlessly than a hard swung meat cleaver. And, the drop point tip, matching that of the hunting knife made for a menacingly beautiful profile that would perform excellently in slashing and stabbing. It was a piece of perfection, a falchion of sorts, with no rival. And, it was utilitarian rather than flashy, which Lysander thought would suit Lawk’s personality perfectly.
The gracious king wordlessly presented the weapon, and as the young warrior reached for the hilt, it was as if time slowed and the air around him stilled. Lawk felt the sword call to him, just as his knife had. He knew, in that moment, that the blade had always been meant for him. Upon grasping the opthenium steel, Lawk’s unique state of calm fell over him unbidden, and both his eyes and the sword shone in the same brilliant moonlight silver. The young man then sensed his knife calling to him as well, and for the first time, he instinctively and silently called back. The knife flew out of its sheath and into Lawk’s empty hand. It promptly became clear to him that he could always call upon either blade, no matter the distance, and they would come. He knew weapons couldn’t feel, and yet he felt pride, contentedness, and a resolve he could not explain emanating from both blades in this moment.
An urge to test the weapons as a pair began to simmer within him. The young swordsman knew the unique falchion should be difficult to wield due to the immense weight of it in comparison to any normal blade, but he also felt a new strength flowing into him from both weapons. The falchion had to weigh more than a great sword despite not being as long, but with each second that passed, the weapon felt lighter. He felt lighter. No, lighter definitely wasn’t the right word for how he felt. He was more powerful. Lawk looked to his hands in wonder. He could instinctively sense the changes that had just occurred throughout his body without moving. The sword had altered him somehow. He was…denser maybe? His outward appearance had not changed, but there was a new depth to his strength, like his muscles and even his bones had been strengthened by several degrees of magnitude. To the young warrior, it felt like minutes had passed, but to everyone else, it had not been a full second since Lawk had grasped hold of the sword.
Emerging from his impromptu meditative state, unable to resist the urge to wield the weapons any longer, Lawk began practicing some advanced sword forms John had taught him, ones that were meant for a much lighter sword and to be paired with a dagger in the off hand. The hunting knife supplanted the dagger, and both blades came to life responding to his will. They moved in a blur.
After a minute or two, the young warrior finished the display with an on-the-spot innovation. Using his own momentum and that of a downward, angled swing of the sword, Lawk whipped into a twist, his body horizontal to the ground, and flung the knife straight into a vertical beam 25 meters further into the barn. In the same motion, he planted one foot back on the ground, tucked the sword in close, and whipped it back out, launching it straight into the same beam as the knife, only an inch below the other weapon. Both were buried up to their crossguards. He then casually turned and walked back to John and the King, calling the blades back to him as he moved. They shot out of the wooden beam with lightning speed, returning to his hands, which were raised slightly above his head. Both spectators were dumbfounded, as the young warrior sheathed the magnificent weapons.
Lawk came out of his calm, both blades and eyes returning to their normal gray hues. He, too, was speechless. He lacked the words to express his gratitude in that moment, for such a perfect and rare gift. So, the youth simply bowed his thanks, knowing Lysander would understand. As much as John had become a second father to Lawk, Lysander had truly become an uncle.
The King chose this moment to speak, “Lawk, with this weapon, which I am certain was meant for you, also comes the humble request of a father. I ask that you continue to look out for Lana and protect her, should the need ever arise.”
Lysander appeared as if he was going to say more, but Lawk immediately replied, appeasing the man’s concerns. “There is no need to ask. You are family to me, and so is she. But, you have my word, regardless.”
John didn’t want to ruin the moment, so he kept quiet. But, the ranger was more than a little curious how the boy had wielded such a ridiculously heavy sword so easily the first time he picked up anything of the sort. He had figured the young man would grow into the weapon and use it to grow stronger, not be able to whip it around with grace, precision, and inhumane speed on the first day. But, then again, this was Lawk. He’d witnessed far stranger things in the young warrior’s presence.
Many bittersweet tears were shed that morning, as the five companions departed for the Anchor. Lawk’s eyes, however, simply silvered, and he rode off with his characteristic calm collectedness. He would miss his life in Laramea, but he also knew it was time for the next step on his journey. The young warrior had never forgotten his goals, and he was more determined than ever to see them through.