Spring settled over House Valefen with quiet strength. The cliffs that had stood wrapped in winter's embrace for months shed their frost coats as warmer winds swept up from the southern sea. The gardens along the eastern wing finally breathed color again—delicate snowdrops giving way to vibrant bluebells and golden primrose that mirrored the colors of our house. Even the ancient stone seemed to soften beneath the sun's lengthening caress, as though the fortress itself was awakening from hibernation.
But I didn't care for flowers.
Not that year.
My eyes were drawn to steel—and the way it moved.
Four months had passed since Lyra's birth. Winter had come and gone, turning the world white before retreating once more. My sister grew stronger by the day, her cries becoming more purposeful, her eyes—those stormy green mirrors of our father's—tracking movement with uncanny focus for one so young.
I visited the nursery each morning and evening, establishing a ritual that the household soon came to expect. Lady Ysolde often watched these interactions with a curious smile, as though she saw something in our silent exchanges that others missed.
"She quiets for you," she observed one evening as I stood beside the ornate cradle. "Even when she's been fussing for hours."
I didn't reply, too caught in the way Lyra's tiny fingers wrapped around mine, her grip surprisingly strong.
"Blood calls to blood," my mother murmured, echoing words she had spoken at Lyra's birth.
Something in her tone made me look up. "What does that mean?"
Lady Ysolde's expression grew thoughtful. "The Valefen line carries certain... sensitivities. Connections. Your grandmother could sense when any of her children were in danger, even leagues away. Your father always knows when a storm will break, hours before the clouds gather."
"And me?" I asked, curiosity piqued.
"That remains to be seen," she replied with a cryptic smile. "But I suspect your bond with Lyra will be exceptional, even by Valefen standards."
I considered this as I watched my sister drift into sleep, her breaths growing deep and even. The pendant around my neck—the one Lady Ysolde had given me two years before—warmed slightly against my skin, as it often did in moments of quiet contemplation.
"Will she have training? Like mine?" I asked, thinking of Master Helwyn's lessons, of Sir Kerran's forms, of the growing responsibilities that filled my days.
"In time," my mother answered. "Each Valefen finds their own path to service. For now, her only duty is to grow."
I nodded, accepting this wisdom. Yet as I gazed down at Lyra's sleeping form, I couldn't help but wonder what future awaited her—what challenges, what dangers. The thought stirred something in my chest, a fierce protectiveness that had been growing since I first held her tiny hand in mine.
I'll be ready, I promised silently. Whatever comes for you, I'll stand between it and you.
"That sword's too heavy for you, pup."
Gavyn's voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. He stood across from me in the open courtyard, tossing a worn training blade from one hand to the other with practiced nonchalance. Morning light caught the steel, sending quick flashes across the sand-covered stones.
I had been watching the knights train since dawn, observing their movements with a focus that had earned curious glances from several of the seasoned warriors. Sir Kerran had nodded approvingly before returning to his own drills, but Gavyn—ever perceptive—had noticed my particular attention to the blades.
"I just want to hold it," I replied quietly, my voice carrying that measured calm that still surprised those who remembered my years of silence.
"Mm. That's what they all say..." Gavyn's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Right before they drop it on their foot."
He set the sword down, point into the sand, and motioned toward it with a casual flick of his wrist.
"Go on, then."
I approached, aware of the eyes that had turned to watch—not just Gavyn's, but others in the yard. Sir Kerran had paused in his demonstration to a group of pages. Even Lady Kira, who had remained at House Valefen as a guest since her sparring match with Gavyn months earlier, leaned against a pillar, her amber eyes narrowed with interest.
The hilt was worn leather, sweat-soaked and shaped by decades of callused hands. I wrapped both of mine around it, planting my feet firmly as I had seen the knights do countless times.
And lifted.
It moved slower than I expected—but it moved.
The blade rose from the sand, its weight sending tremors through my arms that I fought to control. My muscles protested, but I stood straight, refusing to show weakness before these warriors who had, in their own ways, become my teachers.
Gavyn let out a low whistle.
"Well now. I've seen squires twice your age cry from less."
I didn't respond. My eyes were locked on the blade as I held it before me, feeling its balance, its weight, its potential. But something felt... wrong. Not because of the heaviness, but because the sword itself seemed to resist my grip, as though we were poorly matched dance partners.
I need something else...
The thought came unbidden, rising from some deep instinct.
Something faster. Lighter. Both hands. Two swords.
I didn't know where the certainty came from. Only that it was true, bone-deep and undeniable.
Gavyn tilted his head, watching me closer than usual. His dark eyes narrowed, assessing.
"You're seeing it, aren't you?"
"Seeing what?" I asked, carefully lowering the blade back to the sand.
"How you'd move. If it were you. In a fight."
His words sent a strange thrill through me—recognition that what I had experienced wasn't imagination or childish fantasy, but something more fundamental.
He nodded slowly, a smile touching the corner of his mouth.
"That's good. That's when it starts. The itch."
"The itch?" I repeated, curious despite myself.
"The feeling that your body already knows what to do, even before you've learned it." Gavyn glanced toward Lady Kira, who had pushed away from her pillar and was approaching with that fluid grace that marked her movements. "Every true warrior feels it—that moment when the weapon becomes an extension of will rather than just metal and wood."
Lady Kira stopped beside us, her copper skin gleaming in the morning light. "The Wind Tribes have a name for this moment," she said, her accented voice musical despite its solemnity. "Kal'mireth—the first awakening of the warrior spirit."
She knelt before me, bringing her unusual amber eyes level with mine. "It comes earlier to some than others. My people would consider this a powerful omen."
I met her gaze steadily, unintimidated by her exotic appearance or the reverence with which other knights treated her. "What does it mean?"
"It means your path has begun to reveal itself," she replied. "The question is whether you will follow where it leads."
Before I could respond, another voice interrupted—deep, resonant, unmistakably my father's.
"He will follow it when the time is right."
Lord Thalric strode into the courtyard, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the sand. The knights and squires immediately straightened, offering respectful nods to the master of House Valefen.
"For now," my father continued, coming to stand beside me, "he has studies that require his attention. Master Helwyn has been waiting in the east tower for nearly half an hour."
I felt a flush of embarrassment at having lost track of time, but something in my father's tone suggested he wasn't truly displeased. He placed a hand on my shoulder, the weight of it both comforting and grounding.
"Sir Gavyn," he addressed the knight, "perhaps you might find time in the coming days to assess my son's... aptitudes. Under proper supervision, of course."
Gavyn's eyebrows rose slightly at this unexpected concession, but he recovered quickly. "It would be my honor, Lord Valefen."
My father gave a curt nod, then turned to me. "Come. I'll walk with you to the tower. There are matters we should discuss."
I followed him from the courtyard, feeling the weight of curious gazes on my back. As we entered the eastern corridor, I ventured a question.
"You're not angry that I was late?"
Lord Thalric's mouth quirked in a rare smile. "There are worse reasons to lose track of time than discovering one's calling." His expression grew more serious. "But discipline remains essential, Asher. The path of a warrior is as much about restraint as it is about action."
We walked in silence for a moment, our footsteps echoing against stone floors polished by centuries of Valefen feet.
"Father," I began, uncertain how to phrase the question that had been forming since my conversation with Gavyn. "How did you know? That I should train with Sir Gavyn?"
Lord Thalric glanced down at me, his storm-green eyes—so like Lyra's—thoughtful. "I recognized something in the way you watched them. The same intensity I once felt, standing in my father's shadow as he demonstrated the forms."
He paused as we reached the base of the spiral staircase that led to Master Helwyn's domain. "Every Valefen serves the Wall in their own way. Some through knowledge, some through leadership." His hand moved to the hilt of the great sword at his hip—the ancestral blade that had been carried by the lords of House Valefen for generations. "And some through steel."
"And me?" I asked, voicing the question that had begun to consume my thoughts in recent weeks. "How will I serve?"
My father's expression softened slightly, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the lord's stern exterior. "That remains to be seen. But I suspect your path may be different from those who came before. Neither entirely scholar nor entirely warrior."
With that cryptic observation, he gestured toward the stairs. "Now go. Master Helwyn is not known for his patience."
I nodded and began the ascent, my mind whirling with new possibilities.
That night, I dreamt of fire.
Not destruction. Not chaos. Focus.
I was older. Stronger. My arms moved on instinct—two swords dancing in the wind, extensions of my will rather than mere weapons. Sparks flew with every clash, but I never faltered, never hesitated.
And behind me... my sister. No longer a babe, but a child with Lady Ysolde's golden hair and Lord Thalric's stormy eyes. She watched me with absolute trust, unafraid despite the darkness that pressed against the edges of my awareness.
I stood between her and that darkness. Unwavering. Unbreakable.
When I woke, the pendant at my throat burned hot against my skin. My heart pounded in my chest, and my hands—clenched into fists at my sides—tingled with an unfamiliar energy.
Dawn was still hours away, but sleep felt impossible. I slipped from my bed, dressed quickly in the simple tunic and trousers I wore for training, and moved silently through the darkened corridors of House Valefen.
My feet carried me to the gardens along the eastern wing—a place I rarely visited, preferring the purposeful activity of the training yards to the contemplative stillness of cultivated nature.
But tonight, something drew me here. Perhaps the memory of my dream, perhaps some deeper instinct that I had yet to fully understand.
The garden was transformed in moonlight, its familiar paths turned silver, its carefully tended flowers glowing with an otherworldly luminescence. I moved through it like a ghost, barely disturbing the air around me.
Near the center, where a circular marble floor created a small plaza for ceremonies or quiet reflection, I stopped. The smooth stone gleamed beneath my feet, cool against my skin.
I picked up two wooden sticks—fallen branches from the ancient oak that dominated the garden's northern edge. They were uneven, one slightly longer than the other, both chipped and worn by weather and time.
But they felt right in my hands.
I stepped onto the empty marble floor and breathed in deep, drawing the cool night air into my lungs. The pendant at my throat pulsed with warmth, synchronizing with my heartbeat.
Then I moved.
Clumsy at first. Uneven. But each motion felt like my own, as though I were remembering rather than learning. I swung the makeshift swords in wide arcs, turned, stepped back, trying to mimic the rhythm I had seen in Gavyn and Lady Kira's sparring matches.
I need to get faster...
I pushed myself harder, driving my small body through increasingly complex movements.
I need to get stronger.
Something stirred in my chest. A heat that had nothing to do with exertion or the cool night air. Low. Subtle. Like an ember under skin.
I swung again—harder this time—and the heat spread down my arms, racing toward my fingertips.
For a moment, my vision flickered, reality overlaid with something else—a ghostly afterimage of fire tracing the paths of my improvised blades.
My hands tightened. The sticks vibrated—gently at first, then with increasing intensity as the strange warmth concentrated in my palms.
Then—
Crack!
One stick snapped mid-swing, the sound echoing through the quiet garden like a thunderclap.
I froze, breathing hard, staring at the splintered wood in my hand. The warmth vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving me strangely cold despite my exertion.
"Hoh..."
The soft exclamation made me turn sharply.
Father stood at the edge of the marble circle, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable in the moonlight. He wore simple clothes rather than his usual formal attire, suggesting he too had been unable to sleep.
"That wasn't just instinct."
I said nothing, uncertain whether I was in trouble for being outside so late, for disturbing the peace of the garden, or for something else entirely.
He stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, and knelt before me. This close, I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the fine lines at their corners that spoke of both laughter and sorrow.
"Tell me what you felt."
His tone held no accusation, only genuine curiosity. I hesitated, then answered honestly.
"Heat. In my chest. Then in my arms."
He nodded once, his expression thoughtful.
"Aura," he said. "Not control. Not cultivation. But the beginning of it."
"Aura?" I repeated, unfamiliar with the term despite Master Helwyn's extensive teachings.
My father placed a hand over my heart, his palm warm against my chest even through the fabric of my tunic.
"It means your body is waking up to the flow of your will. Learning to channel what lies within all of us, but few ever truly access."
I thought of the vibration in the sticks, the ghostly fire that had traced my movements, the strange certainty that had guided my body. "Is that... good?"
"It means you're mine," he said, his voice rumbling with a pride he rarely displayed. "And that you're ready."
"Ready for what?" I asked, my curiosity overcoming my usual reserve.
Lord Thalric rose to his full height, towering over me once more. "For the next step in your training. Something beyond what Master Helwyn or Sir Kerran can teach you."
He extended his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, I took it. His fingers closed around mine—gentle despite their strength, careful not to crush my smaller hand.
"Come," he said. "There's something I want to show you."
Father led me deeper into the eastern wing, past Master Helwyn's tower, beyond even the ancient library where I spent many of my study hours. We descended a narrow staircase I had never noticed before, hidden behind a tapestry depicting the founding of House Valefen.
The air grew cooler as we descended, the walls changing from dressed stone to rough-hewn rock. Torches in iron sconces provided the only light, casting long shadows that danced across the uneven floor.
"Few know of this place," Lord Thalric said, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. "It is shown only to those who have demonstrated the potential to walk the path of Aura."
"Like the Shadowwalkers?" I asked, remembering Lady Kira's strange amber eyes and the whispers that followed her through House Valefen.
My father glanced back, his expression approving. "Yes. Though they follow a different tradition than ours. The Wind Tribes harness the power of the elements directly. House Valefen's approach is... more internal."
We reached the bottom of the staircase and stood before a circular door carved from a single piece of ancient oak. Symbols I didn't recognize adorned its surface, their lines glowing faintly with an inner light.
Lord Thalric pressed his palm against the center of the door. The symbols flared briefly, then faded. The door swung inward without a sound, revealing a circular chamber beyond.
"Welcome," my father said softly, "to the Heart of Valefen."
I stepped inside, my eyes widening at what I saw.
The chamber was vast—far larger than seemed possible given its location within the cliff face. Its ceiling arched high overhead, supported by columns of the same strange, luminescent stone that formed the Wall itself. At the center stood a circular dais, upon which rested a pool of what appeared to be liquid silver, its surface perfectly still despite the subtle currents of air that moved through the chamber.
Around the walls, arranged in alcoves carved from the living rock, stood statues of men and women—lords and ladies of House Valefen throughout the ages, I realized with a start. Each held a weapon or symbol of office, their stone faces stern and watchful.
"This chamber," Lord Thalric explained, "has existed since the earliest days of our house. Before the Wall was raised, before the Five Kingdoms were formed—when the world was young and the Veil between realms was still forming."
He guided me toward the central pool, his steps measured and reverential. "Here, generations of Valefens have come to cultivate their Aura—the manifestation of will that separates guardians from mere soldiers."
I approached the pool cautiously, drawn by its silvery gleam yet wary of its strange stillness. "What is it?"
"We call it the Mirror," my father replied. "It is... difficult to explain to those who have not experienced it. Some say it is a fragment of the Veil itself, captured and contained. Others believe it to be the collective memory of House Valefen, given physical form."
He knelt beside the pool, motioning for me to do the same.
"Look into it," he instructed. "Tell me what you see."
I leaned forward, gazing into the silvery surface. At first, I saw only my own reflection—serious eyes, the solemn face that had earned me so many curious glances from visitors to House Valefen. But as I continued to look, the surface began to change, rippling outward from the center despite the absence of any disturbance.
My reflection blurred, then transformed. I saw myself—older, taller, my features sharpened by maturity. In my hands, twin blades gleamed with an inner fire that matched the determined light in my eyes. Behind me stood shadowy figures—familiar yet indistinct, as though viewed through fog.
"I see... myself," I whispered. "But older. Fighting."
Lord Thalric nodded, unsurprised. "The Mirror shows what might be—reflections of potential, not prophecy. It reveals the path your Aura naturally inclines toward." He studied my face carefully. "Dual blades, then? As Gavyn suspected."
I nodded, unable to look away from the vision in the pool. "There's something else. The swords... they're glowing."
"Ah." My father's expression grew thoughtful. "That would be Flameshaping—a rare manifestation, even among those who master Aura techniques. The ability to infuse weapons with elemental energy."
The image in the pool shifted again. Now I stood atop the Wall, flames dancing along my blades as I faced a darkness that seemed to devour the very air. Behind me, a slender figure with golden hair—Lyra, I realized with a jolt—maintained a barrier of shimmering light that held the encroaching shadows at bay.
"I'm protecting her," I murmured. "Lyra. She's... doing something too."
Lord Thalric's hand came to rest on my shoulder, drawing me back from the increasingly vivid vision. "Enough," he said gently. "The Mirror reveals possibilities, not certainties. To dwell too long in what might be is to risk losing sight of what is."
The silvery surface calmed, returning to its perfect stillness. I blinked, oddly disoriented, as though waking from a dream.
"What does it mean?" I asked, turning to my father. "The fire, the swords..."
"It means your path will be different from mine," he replied, rising to his feet. "Where I channel Aura through strength and single-minded purpose, you appear destined for speed and adaptability. Dual flames rather than singular force."
He offered his hand, helping me to my feet. "It also means your training must expand to include more than just the traditional forms and studies. You will need guidance in Aura cultivation—a different kind than Master Helwyn provides."
"Will you teach me?" I asked, hope rising in my chest.
Lord Thalric shook his head. "Not I. My methods would not serve your natural inclinations." A rare smile touched his lips. "But I believe we have someone at House Valefen who might be better suited to guide these first steps."
The following morning, I found myself once again in the training yard, though earlier than usual. The sun had barely crested the eastern cliffs, bathing the courtyard in golden light that turned the sand to amber.
Gavyn waited, his usual irreverent demeanor replaced by something more focused, more intent. Beside him stood Lady Kira, her copper skin glowing in the early morning light.
"Lord Thalric has informed us of your experience," Gavyn said without preamble. "He believes—and we agree—that your training should be... adjusted."
Lady Kira stepped forward, her amber eyes studying me with newfound interest. "In my tribe, one who shows signs of Kal'mireth so young would be given to the Wind Priests for training. Here, we must improvise."
She reached into a leather pouch at her belt and withdrew two slender rods, each about the length of my forearm. They appeared to be made of some dark wood, polished to a high sheen, with handles wrapped in leather dyed the deep blue of House Valefen.
"These are training blades," she explained, offering them to me. "Lightweight enough for your current strength, but balanced like true weapons. They will help your body learn the patterns it must eventually execute with steel."
I accepted them reverently, testing their weight in my hands. Unlike the heavy training sword from the day before, these felt... right. Extensions of my arms rather than burdens upon them.
"We will begin with basic forms," Gavyn announced, moving to stand beside me. "Nothing fancy. Just movement and control. Lady Kira will guide you in the dual-wield techniques of her people, while I teach you the fundamentals of Aura channeling."
He drew his own blades—the curved steel that had so fascinated me during his sparring matches—and assumed a ready stance. "Watch closely. Then mimic."
For the next hour, I followed their guidance, learning to move with the wooden blades as though they were part of me. Lady Kira demonstrated the flowing patterns of the Wind Tribes, where defense and attack blended seamlessly into a continuous dance. Gavyn showed me how to stand, how to breathe, how to maintain awareness of both weapons simultaneously.
"Good," he said as I completed a particularly challenging sequence without faltering. "You have the instinct. Now we add intention."
He sheathed one of his blades and knelt before me, bringing his eyes level with mine. "Aura begins with breath and focus. Feel the center of your body—the point just below your navel. Ancient texts call it the sea of energy."
I followed his instructions, feeling slightly foolish but determined to understand.
"As you breathe in," he continued, "imagine drawing strength from the earth beneath your feet. As you exhale, direct that energy throughout your body, down your arms, into your hands."
I closed my eyes, concentrating on the sensation. At first, nothing changed—just the normal rhythm of breath and the slight strain in my muscles from the unfamiliar exercises.
"Remember what you felt in the garden," Gavyn urged. "The heat. The focus. Find that feeling again."
I thought back to the previous night, to the strange warmth that had radiated through my chest and arms. Focused on recreating that sensation, pulling from some deep well within myself.
Slowly, gradually, I became aware of... something. Not quite heat, not quite pressure. A subtle current flowing through me with each breath, growing stronger as I acknowledged its presence.
"Yes," Gavyn's voice seemed to come from far away. "That's it. Now, direct it into your hands. Let it flow into the blades."
I concentrated, imagining the strange energy moving down my arms, through my wrists, into my fingers. The wooden blades grew warmer in my grip, vibrating slightly as they had the night before.
"Open your eyes," Lady Kira instructed softly. "But maintain your focus."
I obeyed, my concentration nearly breaking at what I saw. The training blades glowed faintly—not with actual flame, but with a reddish-gold aura that outlined their edges, making them seem sharper, more substantial than mere wood.
"Well done," Gavyn said, genuine approval in his voice. "Most take weeks to achieve even this much visible manifestation."
The glow faded as my concentration wavered, the strange energy dissipating like morning mist. I felt suddenly tired, as though I had run the length of the Wall without stopping.
"Enough for today," Lady Kira decided, noting my exhaustion. "Aura cultivation requires stamina that develops over time. Push too far too quickly, and you risk damaging the channels through which it flows."
She took the training blades from my hands with a small nod of approval. "We will practice again tomorrow. For now, rest. Your regular studies still await."
As they turned to leave, Gavyn paused, looking back over his shoulder. "One more thing, cub. This training—it remains between us. Master Helwyn knows, of course, as does your father. But the cultivation of Aura is not something we advertise to casual observers."
I nodded, understanding the need for discretion even as questions burned in my mind. Why the secrecy? What was the purpose of Aura beyond making weapons glow? How did it connect to the Wall and House Valefen's sacred duties?
But those questions would wait. For now, I had been given a glimpse of a path forward—a way to channel the protective instinct that had only grown stronger since Lyra's birth.
Later that night, I returned to the nursery.
The room was quiet, lit only by a single candle that cast soft shadows across the walls. Lyra was asleep—wrapped in silver blankets, her tiny hands curled near her face as they always were.
I reached out and gently brushed her cheek with the back of my finger, marveling at the softness of her skin, the delicate perfection of her features.
"Don't worry," I whispered, my voice barely disturbing the silence. "I'll protect you. No matter what I have to become."
And in the candlelight, I thought—just for a second— I saw her smile.
Something passed between us in that moment—something beyond words, beyond even conscious thought. A bond that transcended ordinary sibling affection, rooted in blood and destiny and the ancient magic that flowed through House Valefen's stones.
As I stood there, watching over my sister's sleep, I felt the pendant at my throat grow warm once more. The strange energy I had accessed in the training yard stirred again, gentler now but no less real.
I closed my eyes, letting it flow through me—not directed outward as Gavyn had taught, but inward, forming a protective shell around my heart. Around my resolve.
I will master this, I promised silently. For her. For all of them.
Beyond the window, the Wall loomed against the night sky, its ancient stone gleaming silver in the moonlight. And beyond that, in the spaces between worlds where the Veil grew thin, something stirred—watching, waiting, testing the boundaries that had held it at bay for generations.
But I would be ready.
We would be ready.
The wolf was growing stronger. And its flame was just beginning to burn.
End of Chapter 8