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Chapter 29 A Legacy Forged in Fire

  Kael’s gaze was steady, unreadable, as he leaned back slightly in his chair. His fingers tapped lightly against the wooden table, the only sound filling the brief silence that settled between them.

  "You will train under Tyra," Kael stated, his tone final. "You will be secluded, away from distractions, until you can fully control what you unleashed against Vraxxis."

  Lucian stiffened slightly. He had expected Kael to train him himself, or perhaps Sir Jorah, but Tyra? The Wise One was an enigma, her methods unknown to him.

  Still, he could not deny the weight in Kael's words. The fight against the Grellocks had proven how unstable his power was. The energy he had released—he could still feel its remnants lingering within his Ascen, like embers refusing to fade.

  Yet… there was something Kael hadn't mentioned. Something Lucian hesitated to admit.

  The power that had allowed him to defeat Vraxxis—it wasn’t his.

  It had been borrowed.

  Bargained.

  Lucian swallowed, keeping his expression neutral. "And if I fail?" he asked carefully.

  "You won’t." Kael’s answer was immediate. "Failure is not an option—not when the Scions may already be watching."

  Lucian stiffened at that.

  Kael had anticipated it. The sheer magnitude of the energy Lucian had released—it had undoubtedly caught the attention of those who lurked in the shadows of the world.

  And yet, something didn’t sit right.

  "The Voidaris," Kael muttered, more to himself than anyone in the room. "They did not make a move, not even while you were unconscious for two weeks."

  Sir Jorah exhaled through his nose, arms crossed over his broad chest. "That is what bothers me," he admitted. "If they knew what he was… they would not have wasted an opportunity."

  Kael nodded slowly. "Which means either they are waiting… or they still don’t know." His sharp gaze locked onto Lucian. "But they will, if you don’t learn to control it."

  Lucian clenched his fists beneath the table. He had barely begun to grasp what was inside him, let alone master it. And now, he was being told that time was already against him.

  But there was still the issue of his borrowed power.

  He hesitated. Should he tell them? That what he had unleashed against Vraxxis was not his own but Gildren’s gift—a power granted, not earned?

  Before he could decide, Kael spoke again.

  "Tyra may be able to help you make that power your own."

  Lucian looked up, startled.

  Kael's expression was calm, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. "You hesitated just now, didn’t you?" he observed. "I can tell. You were about to say something."

  Lucian stayed silent.

  Kael smirked slightly. "You don’t have to say it. Not yet. But whatever it is, the Wise One may have a way to make it truly yours."

  Lucian exhaled slowly. Could that be possible?

  He had agreed to a bargain with Gildren, but now, if there was a way to sever that debt… if there was a way to claim the power without being indebted to something beyond his understanding—

  He had to try.

  Kael stood from his chair, his decision final. "Your training begins at dawn."

  Lucian bowed slightly before speaking, his voice steady but tinged with concern. "I… can't start at dawn, Commander. The Wise One is tending to someone—someone from my group." He hesitated, glancing at Kael, then at Sir Jorah. "Isla, our healer, resurrected one of our fallen comrades. She burned away a huge portion of her Ascen to do it. She’s barely holding on."

  Kael's fingers stopped drumming. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

  Sir Jorah let out a low hum, arms crossed over his chest. "Resurrection… That’s not something one walks away from unscathed," he muttered. "If she truly burned through her Ascen, then even the Wise One might struggle to pull her back."

  Lucian nodded, his jaw tightening. He hated feeling powerless. Isla had done what no one else could, and now she was suffering for it.

  Kael let out a slow sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose before glancing at Sir Jorah. "Fine," he said at last, his voice clipped but resigned. "Lucian's training will start in two weeks. That will give the Wise One time to tend to Isla—and give Lucian time to prepare."

  Lucian exhaled in quiet relief, though he knew Kael wasn’t doing this just for Isla’s sake. This was also for him. Once his training started, he wouldn’t have the luxury of stopping.

  Sir Jorah smirked, shaking his head. "Enjoy the sunlight while you can, boy," he said with a gruff chuckle. "You won’t be seeing much of it once you start."

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  Lucian swallowed at the weight of those words.

  Kael leaned back slightly, arms crossed, his expression shifting as he reflected on the past. His usual sharp, commanding presence softened just a little, replaced by something more introspective.

  "I was a lot like you once," Kael admitted, his voice steady but carrying a weight that Lucian hadn’t heard before. "Too strong for my own good. Too proud to know when to stop."

  Lucian remained quiet, listening.

  Kael exhaled sharply, as if the memory itself still irritated him. "I was sixteen when I first became a mercenary—already leagues ahead of others my age. I could take down grown men, complete missions faster than veterans, and I made damn sure everyone knew it." His lips quirked slightly, not in amusement, but in self-mockery. "I thought I was untouchable."

  Lucian absorbed the words, recognizing the same unshakable confidence he had seen in Kael before. To imagine him as a reckless youth seemed almost impossible, but at the same time—it made sense.

  "Then," Kael continued, "one day, I heard about a mercenary passing through town. Strong, experienced, a real legend on the battlefield. I had never heard his name before, but I didn’t care. I wanted to test myself. So I found him, walked right up to him in the middle of a tavern, and challenged him."

  Lucian blinked, knowing exactly where this was going.

  Kael smirked at his reaction. "And then I got my ass handed to me."

  A beat of silence.

  Kael shook his head. "It wasn’t even a fight. I couldn’t touch him. Every move I made—he had already seen it before I even committed to it. He wasn’t just faster or stronger. He was better. Wiser. And when he finally put me down, he didn’t even look impressed."

  Lucian couldn't help but ask, "That mercenary… it was Aldric, wasn’t it?"

  Kael nodded. "Yeah. Father Aldric."

  Lucian felt his chest tighten slightly at the name. The man who had raised him, taught him, and ultimately died for a cause still shrouded in mystery. He had never seen Aldric in the way Kael had—as a warrior first and foremost. To Lucian, Aldric had always been a mentor, a guardian. Hearing this perspective made the man feel even larger than life.

  Kael leaned forward slightly, his expression turning serious. "That day, Aldric gave me a choice. I could keep running around, picking fights I wasn’t ready for, or—I could learn. I could get stronger the right way. I could understand what it truly meant to wield power."

  Lucian clenched his fists slightly, knowing where this was going.

  "You chose to learn," he said.

  Kael’s smirk returned, just a little. "Yeah. But it wasn’t easy. Aldric never took on students, but for some reason, he took me in. And let me tell you—he was ruthless." His eyes darkened slightly, not in fear, but in respect. "He never let me get away with anything. No shortcuts, no easy routes. He drilled everything into me. Strength meant nothing without discipline. Power meant nothing without control."

  Lucian exhaled slowly. It all made sense now. Kael wasn’t just a skilled mercenary—he was Aldric’s first disciple. He had walked this path before Lucian, had been broken down and rebuilt under the same brutal philosophy.

  Kael’s gaze sharpened as he looked at Lucian. "That’s why I see a lot of myself in you, kid. And that’s why I need you to understand something—Aldric didn’t train you just to make you strong. He trained you because he saw something in you. Something worth sharpening."

  Lucian remained silent, absorbing the weight of those words.

  Kael leaned back again, his expression unreadable. "And now, it’s my turn to do what he did for me. Your training starts soon, Lucian. And like Aldric did for me—I’m not going to take it easy on you."

  Lucian sat across from Kael, the flickering torchlight casting shifting shadows against the stone walls of the chamber. The weight of their conversation lingered in the air, yet something still gnawed at him.

  Now that he had the chance, he had to ask.

  He shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping against his knee before finally breaking the silence.

  "Commander," Lucian began, his voice steady but edged with curiosity, "how did Father Aldric end up living in a secluded church?"

  Kael’s gaze drifted, as if looking at something beyond the room, beyond the years. "He was a legend among mercenaries. A warrior feared and respected. But unlike most, he didn’t chase fame, nor did he fight for the thrill of it. He fought because he had to."

  Lucian’s brow furrowed. "Then why did he leave it all behind?"

  Kael sighed, rubbing his temple before continuing. "He grew tired of war. Of killing. But that wasn’t the real reason he walked away." He paused. "It was her."

  Lucian straightened. "Her?"

  Kael nodded. "Aldric was supposed to have a wife. A mercenary like him. Strong. Fierce. His equal in every way. They fought together, lived together… and when the time came, he planned to leave that life behind with her."

  Lucian’s stomach twisted. He already knew what was coming.

  "But she died," he murmured.

  Kael’s jaw tightened. "Killed in battle. And Aldric wasn’t there to protect her."

  Silence fell over the room.

  Lucian lowered his gaze, his mind racing. Aldric—his Aldric—had once loved someone. Had once dreamed of a life beyond war. But that dream was stolen from him.

  "He blamed himself," Kael continued. "Said he should’ve been there. That if he had fought by her side, she wouldn’t have died. Guilt is a heavy thing, Lucian. And Aldric carried it until the day he died."

  Lucian swallowed hard. The memories of Aldric’s firm yet steady guidance felt different now. He had never seen it before, but in hindsight, it was obvious. The way Aldric avoided speaking of his past. The way he trained Lucian relentlessly, as if preparing him for something greater.

  As if he never wanted him to make the same mistakes.

  Kael sighed, shaking his head. "After she died, he vanished. Left everything behind. His reputation, his mercenary past, even his name. He just… walked away. Some thought he died in a war. Others believed he was assassinated. But the truth? He chose solitude. A quiet life. Atonement, if you could call it that."

  Lucian clenched his fists. "I never knew."

  "You wouldn’t have," Kael said. "He wouldn’t have told you. That wasn’t his way."

  A heavy silence stretched between them.

  Then, a thought surfaced in Lucian’s mind. His voice came softer, more cautious.

  "Then… how did he know about the Scions?"

  Kael’s expression darkened slightly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "That’s something even I don’t know."

  Lucian frowned. "You never asked him?"

  "I did," Kael admitted. "But Aldric never gave me a clear answer. He spoke of the Scions as if they were a real threat, but in my entire career, I’ve never once crossed paths with one. Never even heard whispers."

  Lucian felt a chill run through him.

  Kael continued, his voice quieter now, almost distant. "Even among the highest-ranked mercenaries, the Scions were nothing more than a ghost story. No records, no sightings, nothing but myths. And yet… Aldric spoke of them like he had seen them with his own eyes."

  Lucian’s fingers curled slightly. "Then how did he know?" he pressed. "Who told him?"

  Kael exhaled through his nose. "That, Lucian, is something we may never know. Not unless we find one of the Scions ourselves."

  Lucian’s fingers twitched.

  Kael’s next words came slower, deliberate. "But if Aldric knew them… if he had truly seen them… then there’s one thing I can say for sure."

  Lucian met his gaze.

  Kael’s voice was grave. "It means they want what's inside of you."

  A sharp chill passed through Lucian’s chest.

  Lucian’s breath came slow, steady. Too steady. He forced himself not to look over his shoulder.

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