Sol's boots echoed across the training hall, each step landing like a countdown. The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight—less like it feared him, more like it respected him.
Aelar tried not to fidget. His back ached from holding perfect posture, his arms sore from morning drills, but he didn't dare shift. Not now. Not with Sol watching.
His heart thudded harder with every step the instructor took. It wasn't just nerves—it was anticipation. Something about this moment felt… heavy.
"Now that you know the story," Sol said, his voice soft—but it carried, somehow. As if the air itself helped him speak. The scar on his cheek looked sharper in the torchlight, the shadows pulling it deeper.
"Let me show you this blade."
Clang.
The unsheathing was loud, sudden. Half the class jumped. Aelar didn't, but only because his body had frozen completely.
Silver flashed through the air. Not just shiny—but alive. Torchlight scattered off it in streams, like liquid starlight.
Sol turned the sword in his hand with slow, deliberate ease. It didn't feel like a demonstration. It felt like a ceremony.
So this is it, Aelar thought, breath catching in his throat. The sword from the legends.
"At first glance," Sol murmured, running his hand along the blade's surface, "you might mistake this for something ordinary."
He held it out, perfectly balanced on his palm. The room held its breath.
"But it's anything but ordinary. This sword," he said, "can kill a demon."
A sharp intake of breath rolled through the hall. A girl near Aelar gasped audibly, clutching her notebook like it might shield her. Two boys at the back exchanged wide-eyed looks—equal parts fear and fascination.
Aelar said nothing. He couldn't. His mouth was too dry.
"Steel won't stop them," Sol continued. "Iron just makes them angry. But this…"
He raised the blade again. The runes along its edge glimmered faintly—maybe from the light. Or maybe from something else.
"This is silver. And demons…"
He paused. Let the weight of the word settle.
"…hate silver. They hate light. And above all, they fear the sun."
He turned slowly, letting the blade throw reflections onto the stone walls. Light flickered over the faces of the students, distorting them—hopeful, scared, curious. Aelar caught a glimpse of himself in one polished edge: pale, tense, unsure.
"Silver reflects light," Sol went on. "Light weakens them. The sun burns them away. But at night…"
He slid the sword back into its sheath with a sound that felt almost final.
"…they thrive. So you must be ready."
Aelar swallowed, barely aware of it.
Is that what this place is really for? he wondered. Not training. Not tradition. Preparation. For war.
Sol gestured to the towering walls surrounding them.
"This fortress wasn't built for prestige," he said. "It was built for protection. So we could shape you into what the world needs."
A hand went up.
Sol didn't hesitate. "Darian Crestfall."
Aelar turned as Darian stood. His chestnut hair was messier than usual, his usual grin dimmed but still alive.
"Sir," Darian began, his voice clear, but tinged with doubt. "What if a demon does something… unexpected? Something we can't handle?"
A few students turned toward him, brows furrowed.
Sol's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not approval, either. Something more complicated.
"Good question."
He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms.
"They're clever. Smarter than people think. And when they want something badly enough, there's little they won't do to get it."
He looked around the room. For the first time, there was something softer in his eyes—regret, maybe. Or memory.
"To demons, we're not just prey. We're… delicious."
Someone behind Aelar let out a shaky laugh. No one joined.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the cold creeping up his spine. It was warm outside. But not in here.
Then why don't people know? he thought. Why are we just hearing about this now?
Another voice rose, calm and firm.
"Ser Sol?"
It was Lana Rodel.
Everyone turned.
She stood tall—shoulders back, eyes locked on Sol—but something about her seemed different now. She hadn't smiled all day, but now she looked… sharp. Focused. Like a blade pulled from its sheath.
"Yes, Miss Lana," Sol said.
"One last question."
She didn't hesitate.
"What is the origin of demons?"
The room felt like it stopped breathing.
Even Sol didn't answer right away. His fingers tapped once on his hilt. A quiet, nervous tic Aelar might have missed if he hadn't been watching closely.
"They originate…"
His words came slow, like each one weighed something.
"…from us."
Silence.
Aelar blinked. He looked around, half-expecting someone to laugh. No one did.
From us? he thought. Humans? Is that even possible?
Lana's expression didn't change. Just a subtle narrowing of her eyes. Like she'd expected it. Like she was already connecting dots no one else could even see.
Sol straightened.
"I'll explain tomorrow."
He gave a nod that ended the moment with quiet finality.
"Class dismissed. Return to your quarters. Tomorrow… initiation begins."
Chairs scraped stone. Conversations sparked immediately, students whispering behind cupped hands. A few glanced toward the windows, as if the setting sun itself might suddenly shift.
Aelar stayed where he was, slow to gather his things.
Around him, the others moved in familiar packs. Light laughter. Shoulder nudges. Easy jokes passed between people who had already found their places.
He hadn't.
Not yet.
He adjusted his satchel, trailing behind the group as they headed toward the stairs.
I'm still the new one, he thought. Still standing on the edge, waiting for someone to pull me in.
The steps were cold under his boots, even though the sun still shone outside.