I stepped out of the Queen Mother's quarters, the weight of her gifts resting lightly in my arms. The sword, its sheath ornately decorated with gold filigree, felt like an extension of me already, even though I hadn't drawn it yet. The pouch of mana crystals jingled faintly with my steps, their energy pulsing against the fabric like tiny heartbeats.
Her words echoed in my mind:
"Take these, Milo. You'll need them when you return to your training. When you're ready to wield them, you'll understand their worth."
It wasn't just the gifts that lingered with me but the meaning behind them. She believed in my potential—or at least, she believed I'd grow into it. But the idea of returning to Damien's rigorous training brought an odd mixture of anticipation and unease. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was more like the awareness of a mountain yet to be climbed.
