Over the next few days, Eryndar didn’t speak to the boys.
Not once.
He stood at the edge of the clearing each morning, arms crossed, silent as stone. Watching.
He observed them sparring with Lytharos, running drills, pushing their limits. And every time—they got sharper. Faster. More precise.
The growth curve was absurd. Even for him.
Eryndar had once run a dojo in the capital—One of the most respected in the kingdom. Now managed by one of his old students. He’d trained dozens of fighters, some of them prodigies.
But watching these two…
“They look like diamonds polishing on their own.”
His train of thought was shattered by a yell.
“GETTING POTATOES OUT OF THE GROUND!” Towan shouted mid-air, launching a palm strike into the dirt like he was summoning an ancient technique.
Elliot, sitting nearby with a book in his lap, didn’t even look up.
“Don’t shout it, bro. You sound dumb.”
Towan ignored him.
Essentia surged through his legs, flowing into the earth—And with a rumble, the soil in front of him cracked open. Tiny seeds popped free from the surface, the ground trembling gently around them.
Towan blinked.
“Huh… that’s actually kind of sick.”
Elliot turned a page.
“Yeah, didn’t expect Leon to have a book titled ‘Best Techniques for Farming!’ in the advanced section.”
Towan grinned.
“Man knew the value of crops and chaos.”
Eryndar, still watching from the tree line, blinked slowly.
He didn’t smile.
But the corner of his mouth almost twitched.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“…Rheon definitely liked them.”
The dojo was asleep.
Wind rustled gently outside, carrying the faint sound of water from the nearby stream. The scent of wild herbs drifted in from the garden Leon once tended.
Inside, a dim candle flickered near the bookshelf. Elliot sat with his knees pulled up, a book in his lap he hadn’t turned a page of in over ten minutes.
The dojo was dark. Only the soft blue of Essentia stones glowed faintly from the far walls, pulsing like sleepy heartbeats.
Towan sat cross-legged in the center of the training mat, his posture rigid, but his eyes unfocused. Across from him, Elliot leaned back against a wooden pillar, arms resting loosely on his knees, book forgotten in his lap.
They hadn’t spoken seriously in a while.
Not since Rheon fell.
Not since everything.
The silence between them had grown dense—not cold, but full of the things they hadn’t said. The thoughts they hadn’t dared to voice.
Towan exhaled, slow and rough. “He used it.”
Elliot didn’t need to ask what he meant. “Yeah.”
“Didn’t hesitate,” Towan added, voice low. “Just gave it all.”
Another pause. Then Elliot:
“And we stood there. Watched.”
Towan’s jaw clenched.
“I thought we were ready.”
“We weren’t.” Elliot’s voice didn’t waver, but something behind it cracked.
“We’ve trained, sure. We’ve fought. We’ve even survived. But back there? Against him?”
He shook his head. “We were just kids holding sharp sticks.”
Towan didn’t argue.
Instead, he looked down at his hands. Calloused. Bruised. Not enough.
“He was always protecting us,” Towan said quietly. “Even when we didn’t realize it.”
“I knew,” Elliot whispered. “I think… I always knew he wasn’t fighting at full strength.”
“Why didn’t we stop him?” Towan’s voice broke just slightly. “Why didn’t we make him rest?”
“Because we needed him,” Elliot said. “And he knew it.”
The dojo creaked around them, like it too was holding grief in its bones.
Elliot sat forward, hands clasped. “When he collapsed… I thought he died. I thought—” He swallowed. “That we were about to be alone again.”
Towan finally looked up at him.
“We’re not.”
“No. But it feels like we are.”
They sat in silence for another moment. Then Elliot’s gaze dropped to his ring—the one Rheon gave them.
“If he wakes up…” he started, “I want to be better. Stronger. Not just to fight.”
“To make sure no one else has to sacrifice like that again,” Towan finished.
They nodded in sync, and for the first time in days, the silence between them didn’t feel like weight. It felt like understanding.
From outside the dojo, just beyond the shadow of the doorway, Eryndar stood.
He hadn’t meant to listen.
Didn’t even realize he’d stopped walking when he heard their voices.
But now he stood there, unmoving, arms crossed—not in discipline, but as if holding something inside.
A pause.
Eryndar closed his eyes.
They’re grieving.
But not by breaking.
By growing.
He felt something twist in his chest.
Old grief. Older fear.
And something else.
Rheon… you always did pick the broken ones. Not because they were strong… but because they wanted to be.
He stepped back from the door, leaving them their silence.
For now, he wouldn’t speak.
Wouldn’t interrupt.
But for the first time since arriving,
he didn’t see just two boys.
He saw potential.
Real.
Painful.
And maybe—just maybe—worth believing in.