The days leading up to Velian's departure blurred into a quiet flurry of preparations and unspoken emotions. Azuris Keep, usually steeped in routine, seemed to hold its breath. Cook Martha tucked honey cakes and dried fruit into a small satchel, her usual gruffness softened by misty eyes. Torvin, the ever-stoic guard, spent an entire afternoon honing a small, perfectly balanced dagger—"for the road," he told Kaelen brusquely. "A young lord should have something to hand, just in case." Even the keep's hounds seemed to sense the coming change, whining softly and nudging Velian's hand more often than usual.
Velian moved through it all with a calm that reassured and quietly broke his parents' hearts. He packed his modest belongings: a change of clothes, the celestial lore book Elara had painstakingly copied, Torvin's new dagger, and a smooth grey stone from the beach below the keep—a fragment of home. His Mana Sense hummed constantly, attuned to the undercurrents of love and sorrow that permeated the keep. He noticed the dimming of his mother's aura whenever her gaze lingered on his satchel, and the tight coil in his father's normally blazing energy.
Elara spent long hours with him, not to teach, but simply to talk. She recounted tales of the Azuris lineage—not just faded glories, but the resilience and quiet strength that had kept their house standing against wind and sea for generations. She spoke of the stars not as distant lights, but as ancient witnesses—sources of power and memory he was uniquely tied to.
"Remember the star songs, Velian," she'd murmur, gently stroking his snow-white hair. "Even far from here, they'll remain unchanged. They'll bind you to us, to this place. Listen, and you'll never be truly alone."
Kaelen, less inclined to tenderness, expressed his care through action. He led Velian through every defensive feature of the keep one last time, not just explaining how they worked, but why they mattered. Their sparring grew sharper, more relentless. He pushed Velian to anticipate, react, and strategize. "The world beyond these walls isn't a training yard," Kaelen said, voice rough after a brutal bout. "Mistakes out there don't end in bruises—they cost blood. Stay alert. Trust your instincts—they're sharper than most. And never underestimate anyone. Weakness is often just well-worn disguise."
On his final night, sleep eluded Velian. He slipped from bed and padded silently to the battlements—the place where he had first learned to listen to the starlight. The moon was a silver sliver, and the stars above burned with cold intensity. He closed his eyes, and the familiar symphony washed over him—cosmic energies singing their eternal harmonies. He felt the pull of Luminaris, the steady hum of the Silver Wolf constellation. But tonight, he reached deeper still, brushing against countless distant voices—a vast, interconnected web of celestial power.
His thoughts drifted to the lingering shadow beneath the old watchtower. He hadn't gone near it since the decision had been made, yet he could still sense its cold, sorrowful presence from afar. A strange feeling of responsibility stirred within him. Someday, he thought, he would understand what it was—and why it felt so alone.
A soft footfall broke his reverie. Elara approached, a cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders against the chill. She stood beside him, gazing at the stars.
"They're beautiful tonight, aren't they?" she said softly.
"Yes, Mama," Velian replied. "They sound... like they're saying goodbye."
She slipped an arm around his shoulders. "Or perhaps," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears, "they're lighting your way."
They stood that way for a long time—mother and son—sharing a silent communion beneath the watchful sky.
The morning of his departure dawned grey and blustery. The sea roiled with whitecaps, reflecting the turmoil in their hearts. The caravan Kaelen had arranged was small—three sturdy wagons, a handful of seasoned guards, and a retired captain named Borin, whose weathered face and steady eyes inspired quiet confidence. Borin exchanged a respectful nod with Kaelen, his gaze pausing on Velian with polite curiosity but no undue scrutiny.
The farewells were brief—almost painfully so. Cook Martha pressed one last honey cake into his hand. Torvin clapped him on the shoulder, a rare show of affection.
Kaelen knelt before him, hands firm on his son's shoulders. "Be strong, Velian. Be wise. Learn everything you can. And remember who you are—where you come from." His voice was steady, but his eyes, usually fierce, shimmered with unshed tears.
Elara held him close, her face buried in his hair. She whispered, "My star-child. My brave boy. Carry our love with you—it's a shield stronger than steel." She pressed something into his hand: a small silver locket, carved with the snarling wolf of House Azuris on one side and the Silver Wolf constellation on the other. "So you never forget."
Velian clutched the locket tightly, his own eyes burning. He looked one last time at his parents, at the weathered stones of Azuris Keep—the only home he had ever known. A wave of sorrow rose in his chest, chased swiftly by a surge of determination.
"I will, Mama. I will, Papa," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. "I'll make you proud."
He turned and walked to the waiting wagon. Borin gave him a nod of encouragement. Velian didn't look back—at least not right away. He knew if he did, his resolve might crack. He climbed in, settling among the bundled goods, the scent of wool and oiled leather grounding him.
The caravan jolted into motion. The gates of Azuris Keep creaked open, heavy and reluctant. As they rolled forward, Velian finally looked back. His parents stood silhouetted against the grey sky—Kaelen tall and still, Elara a softer figure beside him. Even from this distance, even without his eyes, he felt them. Their auras, brilliant with love, sorrow, and pride, reached for him like unseen hands.
He raised his own small hand in a final wave.
The caravan picked up speed. The salty air of the sea faded, replaced by the earthy scent of the inland road. Velian clutched the locket, its cool silver a steadying weight in his palm. He was leaving home, stepping into the unknown, toward a future he barely understood.
The salt on his cheeks wasn't only from the sea spray.
The threshold had been crossed. The journey had truly begun.