Asher stood silently in his room, removing his clothes with deliberate motions. A flurry of thoughts raced through his mind, uncertainty gripped him, and he had no idea what to expect or what might come next.
From the fragmented memories he possessed, the original Asher had never once stepped foot on the training grounds. They were reserved solely for those who had recently awakened, serving as a place of preparation and training until the age of eighteen.
Upon reaching the age of eighteen, every trainee was expected to confront real combat, undertaking missions assigned by the Wargrave family.
Though Asher was only seventeen, he doubted he would remain in the First Training Ground for the entirety of the year, especially in light of the true awakening the Primarch had spoken of.
The true awakening was a sacred rite of the Wargrave family, a ritual that stood apart from the conventional awakening. While the standard awakening involved the use of an orb to activate one’s Astra veins, the Wargrave family’s tradition was far more brutal and unforgiving.
Six months after the initial awakening of their Astra veins, the family’s Suns and Moons were cast into a wild, untamed forest with no guidance or aid. From that point on, survival became the only teacher.
They either returned having seen the world for what it truly was, cruel, vast, and indifferent, or perished, swallowed whole by its merciless depths.
From the tender age of fifteen, the moment their Astra veins first stirred, the Wargrave family exposed their direct descendants to the raw, unfiltered horrors of the world. It was their way of forging strength through suffering, of shaping heirs through hardship.
But Asher’s awakening had come late, at seventeen. His own trial, the true awakening, would begin in six months.
Ordinary children recruited into the Wargrave household were spared this merciless tradition. As they were not of the Primarch’s direct bloodline, they were exempt from the ritual. Their training ended at eighteen, whereupon they could begin crafting their own horrors, on their own terms.
Truthfully, Asher had no idea what to expect from the so-called true awakening. The Suns and Moons who returned from it never spoke of their experiences, silence was the only testament they gave.
Still, he could imagine the nature of it: battles drenched in blood, survival against monsters twisted and evolved through Astra. Whatever else the ritual entailed remained shrouded in mystery. For now, all he could do was wait... six more months until the unknown became his reality.
A knock echoed through the room, pulling Asher from the depths of his thoughts and snapping him back to the present.
"Come in," he said flatly.
As expected, it was Lyra. She stepped inside with quiet familiarity, holding a neatly folded set of clothing in her hands. This time, it was his training uniform, a form-fitting, pitch-black ensemble consisting of a long-sleeved compression shirt and matching trousers.
"Your training clothes, Young Master," Lyra said softly as she handed the uniform to Asher.
He gave a silent nod, accepting the garments before slipping into them without a word.
Asher shifted and moved, testing the feel of the outfit. After a few motions, he gave a subtle nod of approval. The fabric clung to him like a second skin, offering no resistance to his movements, it was less a uniform and more an extension of his body.
Asher exhaled deeply and seated himself on the edge of his bed, awaiting Zarek, who was tasked with escorting him to the training grounds.
At that very moment, Virelass returned to his soul. Minutes later, another knock echoed through the room. This time, Asher did not issue a command for the visitor to enter.
Instead, he rose, approached the door, and opened it himself. His gaze settled on Zarek, who stood tall, poised and composed as always.
"Are you ready, Tenth Sun?" Zarek asked, his eyes fixed intently on Asher.
"I am," Asher replied with a nod.
"Then let us proceed," Zarek said, pivoting gracefully on his heel. Asher followed close behind, unfamiliar with the path to the First Training Ground. A few steps behind them, Lyra moved in silence, trailing their footsteps.
Zarek led them out of the building and into an entirely different sector of the compound. As they moved, Asher passed several guards, each bearing weapons at their sides. He spared them brief glances but did not slow his stride.
Before long, they arrived at a vast structure, its architecture divided clearly into three distinct sections. Zarek offered no explanation and remained silent, his pace unbroken. Still, Asher could surmise that these divisions marked the three training grounds.
Passing through a set of doors, Zarek and Asher entered the First Training Ground. By this point, Lyra had quietly slipped away, only trainees were permitted within the grounds. Still, she remained nearby, concealed but within reach, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice.
After crossing another threshold, they stepped into a brightly lit room. At its center stood a modest table, behind which a man sat with composed posture. Two empty chairs faced him, clearly prepared for his guest.
Hearing the door open without so much as a knock, the man spoke without lifting his gaze from the photograph before him.
"Who is it?"
"It’s been a while, Boris," Zarek replied, his eyes settling on the man seated across the room.
Recognizing the voice, Boris immediately looked up, his expression shifting as he locked eyes with Zarek. A warm smile spread across his face as he rose from his chair.
"Good morning, Mr. Zarek," he greeted, his gaze then drifting to Asher, who stood quietly at Zarek’s side.
Within the Wargrave estate, Asher’s identity was unmistakable. Everyone knew of him, the Wargrave who had failed his awakening, the one believed to be bound by a future with little promise.
"Good morning, Tenth Sun," Boris said, this time lowering himself into a respectful bow.
Asher offered no words in return, only a curt nod of acknowledgment.
"And how may I assist you today, Mr. Zarek?" Boris asked, his smile gentle as he gestured for both men to take a seat.
Zarek settled into his chair, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, his fingers interlocked and resting calmly on his knee. Asher took the seat beside him in silence.
Though Zarek said nothing at first, he was well aware that Boris had already inferred the reason for their visit, Asher’s presence made that all too clear. Still, there was no time for formalities or small talk. He had a duty to fulfill and was expected back at the Primarch’s side without delay.