"It's finally time, isn't it?" my mother said, her voice soft yet threaded with a steel that had carried her through years of leadership. Her gaze met mine, searching for a flicker of hesitation, but I met her eyes with the steady certainty of someone who had long made peace with their path.
I nodded. "I need real experience if I'm going to keep growing."
More than three years had passed since the grand banquet of my tenth birthday, and now, on the cusp of the Indigo Stage, I found myself at a crossroads. My spear had grown with me, honed to a fine edge through relentless practice, yet something eluded me—the resonance that would bind my will to the weapon, making it sing with purpose. It was the song that could only be learned in the unforgiving theater of true battle.
That's when it became clear: I needed to step beyond the confines of the estate, past the shadow of Silvaria, into the wide, unpredictable world. The life of an adventurer was calling—a path forged in the thrill of the hunt, the mysteries of forgotten dungeons, and quests that wove danger and discovery into the fabric of everyday life.
"You are more than strong enough to take care of yourself now," my mother said, nodding as if to convince herself as much as me. Her voice was proud, but beneath it lay a mother's quiet worry, a weight that even her practiced composure couldn't hide. "Make your preparations then, my son. You shall leave on the morrow."
A smile tugged at my lips, both exhilaration and solemnity swirling within me. "Thank you, Mother."
The rest of that day passed in a blur of preparations, but I carved out the afternoon to spend with Celia, knowing that leaving without this would make the farewell feel hollow. We retreated to the gardens where the peonies were in full bloom, their fragrance mingling with the soft hum of bees and the whisper of the wind through the ivy-covered arches.
Celia had her arms crossed, trying to maintain the demeanor of a serious young lady but failing spectacularly as her eyes darted toward the basket I carried. I set it down on the grass with a grin.
"Hungry?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"You remembered!" she gasped, her silver eyes wide with delight as I lifted the cloth to reveal an assortment of her favorite pastries, glistening with sugar and filled with cream and fruit.
"Of course I did," I said, ruffling her hair, which she half-heartedly swatted away before sitting down beside me, skirts fanning out like petals.
We shared the pastries, and for a while, it felt like time itself had softened around the edges, giving us this moment untouched by the future. Celia's laughter bubbled up as she recounted stories from the past year—the time she and Isadora tried to teach the castle cats tricks or how she had finally beaten one of the squires at a game of chess. I listened, soaking in every word, committing the cadence of her voice to memory.
"Do you think it'll be lonely here without you?" she asked suddenly, her smile dimming for the briefest moment.
"I think you'll be too busy causing trouble to notice," I teased, but there was a truth beneath the jest. Celia was a flame, burning bright enough to fill the halls of Silvaria with warmth. "But I'll write as often as I can. And when I come back, I expect to hear that you've beaten everyone in the estate at chess."
She rolled her eyes but smiled, a mischievous glint returning. "Only if you promise to bring back stories—real stories, not just 'I fought a monster, the end.'"
"Deal," I said, reaching out to pinky swear, which she solemnly accepted, locking our fingers together with the weight of a childhood oath.
The afternoon sun began to slant lower, casting a golden glow over the gardens, and I led her to the small fountain at the center, where we'd often played as children. This time, instead of splashing each other, we sat with our feet in the cool water, enjoying the silence punctuated by the trickling sound of the fountain. It was a peace that seemed more precious now, fragile and fleeting.
"I'll miss this," she said softly, glancing sideways at me. The vulnerability in her voice struck a chord deep within, echoing in the part of me that would always be her older brother first and a warrior second.
"So will I, Celia. But this isn't goodbye, not really. It's just the start of a new chapter," I said, leaning back on my palms, eyes turned toward the horizon that beckoned me.
The sky shifted from blue to a wash of warm oranges and purples as the sun began its descent. We stayed until the first stars blinked awake in the darkening sky, holding onto the day until the last possible moment. When the maids finally came to call us back for supper, Celia tugged at my sleeve.
"Promise me one more thing," she said, eyes searching mine with a rare seriousness.
"Anything."
"Promise me you'll come back stronger, but not so strong that you forget how to play," she said, her voice catching on the last word.
I smiled, the kind of smile that held its own promise. "I won't forget. I promise."
We returned to the estate, the gardens now cast in moonlight, whispering of stories untold.
The next morning, the estate was wrapped in the pale hush of dawn, a world caught between slumber and waking. The gentle light painted the grand halls in shades of gold and lavender as I made my way to the courtyard, where my departure awaited.
Celia was there first, of course. Her silver hair gleamed in the early light, eyes wide and brimming with an emotion she struggled to mask behind a brave smile. Beside her stood Isadora, her auburn curls more subdued than usual, a look of wistful determination settled on her face.
"You're really going, then," Celia said, her voice trembling just enough for me to notice. She took a step forward, small hands clenching at the folds of her dress. "Who will practice with me now? Who will sneak into the kitchens for midnight sweets?"
I chuckled, the sound more tender than amused. "You'll manage, Celia. You're stronger than you think, even if you don't know it yet."
She glanced away, blinking rapidly, refusing to let a single tear fall. With a sudden burst of movement, she threw her arms around me, squeezing as if she could anchor me here just a moment longer. I returned the embrace, my hand smoothing down her hair, committing the warmth of it to memory.
Isadora stepped forward, clearing her throat as if to dispel the melancholy. "Don't let the world swallow you whole, Lance," she said with a crooked smile, her eyes searching mine. "And if it tries, you make sure to bite back."
"I will," I promised, the corners of my mouth lifting.
With a final nod from Celia, who stepped back reluctantly, and a wry smile from Isadora, I turned to see the waiting knights who would escort me to the Adventurer's Guild. The road stretched ahead, beckoning with its uncertain horizon, and for the first time, I felt its call not as a burden, but as the first note of a song that was mine alone to write.
Mother stood by the great archway, arms folded, her expression a blend of pride and worry. She inclined her head as I passed, a gesture of understanding that spoke louder than any farewell.
"Go, Lancelot," she said softly. "Find what you seek."