Part I: Rioran's Confession
After hearing Rioran's story, Lord Rodel sat motionless in his grand chair, his weathered fingers clenching the ornate armrests until his knuckles whitened. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across his face, deepening the lines of grief that now etched themselves into his features. His throat tightened as the brutal details of his brother's death played vividly in his mind.
"So that's what happened," he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never imagined my brother's death would be so brutal." His eyes, glistening with unshed tears, searched Rioran's face. "Are you the lone survivor?"
Rioran shifted his weight, the metal of his artificial limb catching the light as he extended his left leg. "Yes, as you can see, my left leg is made of steel, crafted by me." His fingers absently traced the intricate metalwork, remembering countless hours of pain and determination spent forging not just the limb, but a new identity from the ashes of war.
Lord Rodel observed the craftsmanship with genuine admiration, his gaze lingering on the mechanical joints that moved with surprising fluidity. Such skill born from such tragedy, he thought. He drew a deep breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of sixteen years of unanswered questions.
"I understand... sigh... It's been sixteen years since the war ended." He paused, carefully choosing his next words. "By the way, Rioran, I wanted to ask about your child."
Rioran's eyes darkened, and he looked away, staring into the dancing flames of the hearth. The confession had been building inside him for years, and now the moment had come. "Oh, sorry but... he was not really my child," Rioran admitted, his voice heavy with the burden of his long-kept secret.
"What?!" Lord Rodel exclaimed, lurching forward in his chair, unable to mask his shock. His mind raced with new questions, each demanding immediate answers.
Rioran clasped his hands together, steadying himself. "His mother died while holding him in her arms," he explained, the painful memory still fresh despite the passing years. "I saw that the baby was in good condition. I didn't think much at the time—I just... I adopted him." His eyes revealed the depth of attachment that had grown over the years, despite the child not being his by blood.
Lord Rodel's expression softened as he began to understand. "Can you also tell me how you and Aelar survived?"
Rioran nodded, gathering his thoughts. The memories of those desperate days came flooding back—the smoke, the screams, the silence that followed.
"All right, I'll tell you," he began, his voice growing stronger as he spoke. "The place where the war ended was the only place where we lived. There was a destroyed house that was once a blacksmith's store. In that place, I made my own foot of steel and fitted it to my leg." His hands gestured as he spoke, mimicking the painstaking work. "I trained until I immediately got used to it."
He continued, his eyes distant as he recalled the hardships. "If you want to know how me and Aelar could eat—the reason is also the destroyed store where we found food. The place was in ruins, so we needed to survive on our own."
Rioran's face brightened slightly as he remembered Aelar's childhood. "That kid adapted quickly. I allowed him to explore and find useful items for our survival. I taught him what little knowledge I had to prepare him for his own journey someday."
Lord Rodel leaned back, processing everything he'd heard. Such hardship, yet such resilience, he thought admiringly.
"What a long story, isn't it?" Rioran said with a weary smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling.
"Yeah," Lord Rodel agreed, shaking his head in wonder. "Those sixteen years... do you regret any of it?"
"Those sixteen years, I did not regret any of them," Rioran said firmly, conviction burning in his eyes. "All those years spent with him are precious. But now..." His voice trailed off, heavy with emotion. "It's time for Aelar to embark on a journey into the world, to confront potential dangers from lurking demons. I brought him here to prepare him." His words carried a profound sense of sorrow, each syllable weighted with the pain of imminent separation.
Lord Rodel chuckled softly, though his eyes remained serious. "So, that's where you reside, huh? Do you intend to disclose the truth to him?" he inquired, studying Rioran's face carefully.
Rioran rubbed his head, the gesture betraying his inner conflict. "Sorry, that's the only solution I can think of at the moment. And yes, I will tell him—but not immediately," he responded, avoiding Lord Rodel's gaze. In his mind, he pictured Aelar's face contorting with betrayal at learning the truth, and his heart constricted painfully.
"It's your decision," Lord Rodel said, his tone gentle yet firm. "But perhaps consider revealing it sooner rather than later." He had seen too many secrets fester over time, poisoning relationships beyond repair.
Rioran shifted uncomfortably, then met Lord Rodel's eyes with determination. "Can I entrust Aelar to you for guidance, to mold him into a skilled swordsman until he reaches maturity? I must journey to the Padayan country, my homeland," he implored, his voice carrying the weight of a parent's desperate hope for their child's future.
Lord Rodel didn't hesitate. "Of course, my friend, if it's you asking. I'll ensure Aelar receives the necessary guidance," he agreed, though his heart felt leaden in his chest. Another young life shaped by the echoes of war, he thought sadly.
Relief washed over Rioran's face. "Thank you sincerely, my friend. I already owe you so much; someday, I hope to repay you." His gratitude was palpable, hanging in the air between them.
"Indeed, I'll be counting on it," replied Lord Rodel, as silence enveloped the chamber. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and their measured breathing. After a moment of contemplation, he added, "Tomorrow, a ship will be ready to ferry you to your destination, Rioran."
"Thank you very much." Rioran rose to his feet, the mechanical leg whirring softly as it adjusted to bear his weight. "I bid farewell now. Please also bid farewell to my son, as I cannot face him while saying goodbye." His voice cracked slightly, betraying the turmoil raging within.
"I'll handle it," Lord Rodel assured him, rising as well and placing a comforting hand on Rioran's shoulder. "Prepare yourself for tomorrow."
"I am truly grateful," Rioran expressed, bowing his head in deference. As they concluded their conversation, his thoughts turned to Aelar, and a bittersweet smile crossed his face.
Part II: Aelar's Dedication
While Rioran and Lord Rodel finished their somber conversation, Aelar was diligently cleaning his room, unaware of the life-altering decisions being made on his behalf. The young man moved with purpose, spending the entire day tidying his dormitory with meticulous care.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he scrubbed the wooden floors, his makeshift cleaning tools crafted from scrap wood he'd found scattered about the grounds. A clean space means a clear mind, he thought, recalling one of Rioran's many teachings. Every corner was attended to, every surface polished until it gleamed in the afternoon light filtering through the small window.
As he worked, Aelar's mind wandered to thoughts of his future. What will become of me in this new place? he wondered, excitement and apprehension mingling in his chest. The world beyond his small village was largely unknown to him, filled with possibilities both wondrous and terrifying.
With each stroke of his hand-carved broom, Aelar swept away not just dust but also his doubts. I will make Father proud, he resolved, straightening his back and surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. The dormitory, once barren and impersonal, now reflected his careful attention—a small achievement, but one that filled him with quiet pride.
Part III: Brom's Morning
Brom rose with the first light of dawn, the cool morning air caressing his skin as he emerged from slumber. His muscular frame cast a long shadow across the polished floor as he stood by the window, watching the sun paint the sky in hues of amber and gold. Another day, another opportunity to become stronger, he thought, his mind already mapping out the day's training regimen.
With practiced ease, he went through a series of exercises, each movement fluid and precise as water flowing over smooth stones. His body was his temple, and he treated it with reverence, pushing his muscles until they burned pleasantly, testimony to his dedication.
Perfect form is the foundation of perfect combat, he reminded himself, executing a flawless series of stances that he had perfected over years of rigorous training. The morning ritual centered his mind and prepared his body for the challenges ahead.
Afterward, he indulged in a refreshing shower, the warm water cascading over his toned physique, washing away the remnants of sleep and the sweat of exertion. Steam rose around him as he closed his eyes, savoring the brief moment of tranquility before the day's responsibilities would claim him.
Dressed in clean attire, Brom made his way to the dining area, his stomach growling in anticipation of breakfast. As he sat down to his meal, ready to savor the flavors of freshly baked bread and seasoned eggs, he allowed himself a rare moment of contentment. Simple pleasures are often the most satisfying, he mused, lifting his spoon.
But before the utensil could reach his mouth, a familiar voice shattered the quietude of the morning.
"Brother!!!!!"
Brom paused mid-bite, his spoon hovering in the air as his moment of peace evaporated. He turned to face the source of the interruption, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What's the problem now, Vey?!" he responded, a hint of exasperation coloring his tone. Not a single meal in peace, he thought ruefully.
The sound of hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of his younger sister, Vey, her long hair disheveled and her expression a mixture of frustration and urgency. She always looks like she's battling a tornado, Brom thought with a mixture of affection and annoyance.
"Brother!!!" Vey exclaimed again, her voice echoing off the walls before she winced at the volume of her own outburst. "Ouch..., that hurt my ears. What's going on?!" She rubbed her temples dramatically, her face scrunched in exaggerated pain.
"Where are my clothes??!" Brom demanded, setting down his spoon with more force than necessary. His irritation grew with each passing moment as he anticipated another one of Vey's well-intentioned but chaotic attempts at helping.
"They're on the clothesline," Vey explained, her tone defensive as she clasped her hands behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels. "I came home early in the morning and thought of doing the laundry right away." Her eyes, wide and hopeful, searched his face for approval.
Brom's frustration simmered beneath the surface, but as he observed the distress in Vey's eyes—those same eyes that had looked up to him since childhood—his heart softened. She means well, even if her methods are questionable, he acknowledged silently.
"Don't be sad," he said, his voice gentler now. "You always know how to tug at my heartstrings." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he added, "Here, use my clothes for now while yours dry." He gestured toward his room, where his spare training garments hung neatly in the wardrobe.
"Okay, brother..." Vey replied, her voice tinged with relief as her shoulders relaxed visibly. A smile bloomed across her face, lighting up her features with youthful exuberance.
"And next time, learn to do your own laundry," Brom added, his tone firm but gentle, hoping against hope that this time the lesson might stick. Unlikely, his practical side whispered.
"Alright, brother. I'll be the one to watch over the house while you're away," Vey responded, her expression brightening with a mischievous grin that Brom knew all too well. It was the same grin she'd worn as a child before embarking on some ill-advised adventure.
"Okay, just be careful," Brom cautioned, rising from his seat and preparing to depart, his breakfast forgotten. His mind had already shifted to his duties, particularly to his new apprentice waiting in the dormitory. "I'm off."
"Okay, brother, take care~" Vey called after him, her cheerful voice echoing in the corridor as Brom strode purposefully toward Aelar's quarters, mentally preparing himself for the day's training.
Part IV: The First Meeting
Standing before the closed door of Aelar's dormitory, Brom straightened his shoulders and fixed his expression into one of stern authority. First impressions matter, he reminded himself. With three sharp raps on the wooden surface, he called out impatiently, "Aelar!! It's time for your training to begin!!"
When no response came, Brom's irritation grew, his brow furrowing deeply. Oversleeping on the first day? Not a promising start, he thought grimly. Testing the door handle, he found it unlocked, and with caution born of years of training, he pushed it open, his body tensed for whatever might await him.
To his surprise, he was met not with chaos or a sleeping apprentice, but with order. Aelar's dormitory was impeccably clean, every surface gleaming in the morning light that streamed through the small window. The bed was made with military precision, and the sparse belongings were arranged with careful attention to detail.
Interesting. Not what I expected from a village boy, Brom thought, reassessing his preconceptions. His gaze landed on a bag resting against the wall, curiosity compelling him to investigate its contents. As he reached toward it, he sensed a presence behind him.
"Sir, may I inquire about your interest in my belongings?" Aelar's voice, calm and respectful yet firm, startled Brom, drawing his attention to the young man standing in the doorway. Aelar's posture was straight, his expression neutral, but his eyes betrayed a wariness that spoke of hard-learned lessons about trust and boundaries.
Brom turned fully to face him, taking measure of the youth with a critical eye. Strong build, clear eyes, disciplined stance—there's potential here, he assessed. Rather than apologizing for his intrusion, he decided to test the boy's reaction.
Brom glanced inside the bag, noting the assortment of swords nestled within. Each blade was unique, crafted with varying levels of skill but all showing dedication to the craft. "Tell me, Aelar, what purpose do these serve?" he asked, his tone serious as he gestured toward the weapons.
"These are the swords I've crafted," Aelar explained, his voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate and controlled. "Each one holds a special meaning to me." His eyes softened slightly as they fell upon his creations, a subtle change that did not escape Brom's notice.
"I understand... but why so many?" Brom inquired, his curiosity genuine now, overriding his initial intention to intimidate. There was something in the boy's attachment to these blades that spoke of a deeper story.
"Those swords of mine, I've been making them year after year, ever since I was a child," Aelar replied, a hint of pride coloring his words. His hands, calloused and strong, flexed unconsciously at his sides, as if remembering the feel of hammer and anvil.
Brom nodded, a sense of understanding dawning within him. This boy knows discipline and dedication—qualities that cannot be taught easily. "Alright then, let's leave that for another time because it's time for you to prepare," he said, redirecting their focus to the task at hand. His voice carried authority, but there was a new note of respect that hadn't been there before.
"Understood, Sir Brom. I'll get ready now," Aelar responded, his demeanor poised and determined. His eyes, clear and direct, met Brom's without hesitation, revealing a maturity beyond his years.
"Hurry up, and take this," Brom said, handing Aelar a bundle of cloth he had been carrying—a uniform similar to his own, bearing the insignia of Lord Rodel's household.
Aelar accepted the bundle, his fingers running over the fine fabric with barely concealed wonder. "Sir, what's this?" he asked, examining the garment with curiosity, as if he'd never owned anything so fine.
"It's a uniform. You'll need to wear it for training," Brom explained, his tone matter-of-fact. He watched Aelar's reaction carefully, noting the flash of pride that crossed the young man's face. He understands the honor being bestowed, Brom thought with approval.
"I see, Sir Brom. I'll accept it," Aelar replied, his resolve unwavering as he clutched the uniform to his chest. In his mind, he was already imagining himself worthy of such attire, vowing silently to live up to the expectations it represented.
"Quickly now, I'll wait for you outside," Brom instructed, eager to begin their training and see what this intriguing apprentice was capable of. He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him to afford Aelar privacy.
As he waited in the corridor, Brom found himself unexpectedly optimistic. Perhaps Lord Rodel was right about this one, he mused, recalling his master's insistence that Aelar was worth training personally.
Minutes later, Aelar emerged from his dormitory, clad in the uniform provided. The fabric, tailored for a larger frame, hung somewhat loosely on his muscular but leaner body, yet he carried himself with such dignity that the ill-fit hardly seemed to matter.
"Sir Brom, I'm ready," Aelar announced, his voice steady and determined, his back straight as a sword blade.
Brom allowed himself a small smile, a sense of pride swelling within him at the sight of his new apprentice. There's something about this boy... something special, he thought. "Excellent, let's go," he said, leading the way to the training grounds, his stride purposeful and confident.
"Yes!" Aelar replied, falling into step behind his new mentor, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. As they walked through the corridors of Lord Rodel's estate, Aelar's mind raced with thoughts of his father and the new path before him. I will make you proud, Father, he vowed silently, unaware of the complex web of truths and half-truths that had brought him to this moment.
The morning sun cast long shadows across the courtyard as master and apprentice emerged into the light, ready to begin a journey that would test them both in ways neither could yet imagine.