After enduring a relentless barrage of rejections from various instructors over several disheartening days, Theoron finally surrendered his quest for guidance. Crushed but not defeated, he resolved to redirect his energy toward solitary training, determined to forge his own path.
Day after day, doors had slammed shut, leaving Theoron's resolve battered but unbroken. With a renewed sense of purpose, he retreated into the solitude of his training, abandoning his pursuit of external validation. Theoron chose to channel his frustration into focused discipline, dedicating every ounce of his being to self-improvement.
As he embarked on this solitary journey, he discovered an unshakeable sense of purpose. Dawson's concern for Theoron deepened with each passing day, as he witnessed the young man's relentless drive teetering on the brink of collapse. Theoron's third episode of exhaustion, resulting from his unyielding training regimen, heightened Dawson's anxiety.
As the days blended together, Dawson observed Theoron's resolve intensifying, his determination forged in the fire of adversity. Despite the ominous signs of burnout, Theoron pressed onward, pushing his body and mind to unprecedented limits. His days became a blur of sweat-drenched training sessions, punctuated by fleeting moments of rest.
Dawson's unease grew as he noticed Theoron's eyes, once bright with promise, increasingly sunken and haunted by fatigue. Theoron's skin, tanned from countless hours under the scorching sun, revealed the toll of extreme training sessions.
As the first rays of dawn pierced the sky, Dawson ventured into the bustling market, braving the unseasonable throngs that filled the cobblestone streets. The morning air was alive with the vibrant sounds of vendors' calls, the clinking of pots, and the rustling of exotic fabrics. Even at this early hour, the marketplace buzzed with energy, as if the very fabric of the town depended on this daily convergence.
Amidst the crowded stalls, Dawson navigated through a tapestry of colors and scents: pyramids of golden apples, baskets overflowing with emerald-green herbs, and counters displaying an array of rainbow-hued spices. Merchants touted their wares, from rare, glowing mushrooms to delicate handcrafted silverware. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, enticing passersby to sample the day's freshest offerings.
As Dawson completed his shopping, the crowd began to thin, revealing a familiar face. His friend Mason stood waiting for him, and together they veered off the market's main thoroughfare, slipping into the cozy confines of the local diner. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, with rich wood accents, flickering candles, and the gentle hum of conversation.
"It's been over a month since I last saw you," Mason said, tapping Dawson's shoulder. "Hope everything's going well for you."
Dawson sighed. His friend studied his distressed face, sensing something was amiss. "What's wrong? Need a new job?"
"No," he replied firmly.
"I thought you were stressed about a job after Creed's first son passed away."
A woman arrived to serve their tea. "I'm not quitting anytime soon," Dawson said. "I'm worried about something else."
"I see. Tell me about it. I could help."
Dawson took a deep breath before speaking. "I need to find a mentor for the young lord."
"A mentor for the Youngest Creed?"
"Yes," he confirmed.
Mason nodded, lost in thought. "As long as I can remember, he wasn't interested in finding one."
The Youngest Creed, renowned for his bold decision to forge a path distinct from the traditional ways of his family and community, had long fascinated the townspeople. For years, they had watched him remain steadfast.
Now, in a sudden and unexpected turn of events, the Youngest Creed sought guidance from a mentor, leaving Mason in disbelief. "He has changed. A lot."
Dawson recalled the determination etched on Theoron's face as he trained tirelessly since his brother's death. It was as if another soul had completely taken over his body.
"My resources are depleted, but I'll notify you if anything changes," Mason said.
As they concluded their tea and stimulating conversation, Dawson and Mason parted ways, diverging onto separate paths that wound through the bustling cobblestone streets. The warm, golden glow of the setting sun cast long shadows behind them.
Unbeknownst to them, their concerned exchange had caught the attention of a nearby patron, who had unwittingly become an audience to their conversation. As Dawson and Mason disappeared into the crowd, the eavesdropper lingered, nursing a cup of cooling, fragrant tea. Their mind replayed snippets of the discussion, lost in thought, surrounded by the soft clinking of dishes and the muted hum of conversation.
"Creed…"
The eavesdropper murmured, a smirk forming as the memory of the name resurfaced.