Eleanor watched her son with a quiet, mounting concern, her crimson eyes tracing the tension etched into his posture. Lancelot sat across from her, his expression calm, almost serene, but it was the kind of calm that masked storms. A coil wound too tightly, threatening to snap, yet refusing to show its strain.
To the world, Lancelot was the epitome of a perfect heir. He carried the weight of the Silvaria name with unflinching poise, his strength both mental and physical a testament to his noble lineage. Many praised him, envied him even. Yet Eleanor knew the truth hidden beneath the polished exterior. She knew the boy who bore burdens far too heavy for his years, burdens he never shared.
It was moments like these that pained her the most. When he sat before her, seemingly composed, yet distant, as though a part of him was locked away in a place even she couldn't reach.
"You're leaving again, with Evelyn?" she asked, her voice steady, betraying none of the ache behind her words.
Lancelot nodded, his crimson eyes meeting hers briefly before shifting away. That fleeting glance was enough to make her heart twist. There was something there—something heavy, unspoken, and unyielding.
Eleanor resisted the urge to press him. Lancelot was not a boy who yielded to pressure, even from her. She had learned that lesson long ago, though it didn't make the acceptance any easier. He was her son, her pride, but also her mystery—a puzzle she could only glimpse pieces of, never the whole.
"Are you certain this is what you want?" she asked, softer now.
His lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "It's what needs to be done."
That answer, so typical of him, left her unsatisfied yet unable to argue. Lancelot always moved with purpose, but it was a purpose that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than duty. Somewhere she feared even he didn't fully understand.
"You push yourself too hard," she said, her voice carrying a rare note of vulnerability. "Even the strongest blade will dull if it's never given rest."
Lancelot's smile grew slightly, though it was tinged with a melancholy that made her chest tighten. "A blade is meant to be used, Mother. Rest isn't what sharpens it."
She opened her mouth to argue, to remind him that even blades needed a sheath, but the words faltered on her tongue. He had always been like this—resolute, unyielding, a force of will that defied her attempts to temper it.
And yet, for all his strength, he was still her child. The boy who had once clung to her skirts, the boy whose laughter had filled these halls before life had carved away at his innocence.
"I worry for you," she admitted quietly, the confession slipping out before she could stop it.
Lancelot's gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of something warm breaking through the cracks. "I know, Mother. But you don't have to. I'll be fine."
The reassurance did little to ease her worry, but she nodded nonetheless. What else could she do? Lancelot was a force unto himself, a storm she could only hope to guide, never control.
"When will you leave?" she asked, regaining her composure.
"Tomorrow morning," he replied. "Evelyn and I will visit the nearby towns first, then move westward."
Eleanor nodded, her mind already calculating what provisions and support they might need. If she couldn't stop him, she could at least ensure he was prepared.
"Then I'll have Lyra ready the supplies," she said. "And Lancelot... if you ever need to rest, truly rest, you know this is your home."
His smile returned, warmer this time, and he inclined his head. "Thank you, Mother."
Eleanor watched as he turned to leave, his steps measured and confident. Yet her heart remained heavy as she watched him disappear down the corridor, his figure swallowed by the shadows of the grand estate.
Turning to the window, she let out a soft sigh. The view of Verdantia stretched out before her, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun. She wondered if Lancelot saw the same beauty in the world as she did—or if his vision was clouded by the ghosts he refused to name.
Behind her, a soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Lyra stepped into the room, her expression as composed as ever. "My Lady, shall I prepare the travel arrangements for Master Lancelot and Lady Evelyn?"
"Yes," Eleanor said after a pause, her voice firm. "Ensure they have everything they might need. And Lyra, keep an eye on him. Discreetly."
Lyra bowed her head. "Of course, My Lady."
As the maid left, Eleanor's gaze returned to the horizon. The sun was dipping lower now, casting long shadows across the land. Shadows that seemed to mirror the ones in her son's eyes.
"Lancelot," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Don't lose yourself in the weight of what you carry."
But the wind carried her words away, leaving only silence in its wake.
__________________________________________________________________________________
My goal for adventuring was clear: to reclaim the strength I had wielded at my peak on Earth by the time I reached adulthood. That level of power, unmatched and unyielding, was the standard I set for myself. With it, I would no longer need to venture into danger, no longer need to risk those I cared for. I would be enough.
The first step on that path was mundane but necessary. Evelyn and I needed proper adventurer licenses, albeit under false identities. The Adventurer's Guild didn't concern itself overly with the identities of those who worked for it, as long as the paperwork was clean and the fees were paid. Still, discretion was key. The disguise artifacts worked well enough to shield us from unwanted attention.
My own B-class license needed updating, a straightforward task considering my accomplishments. Evelyn, however, was a different story. She had never held a license before, which meant starting from scratch—or at least appearing to.
The Guild building was bustling as we approached, the air alive with chatter and the metallic clink of gear being adjusted. The familiar scent of oiled leather and iron filled the space, a strange comfort amidst the cacophony. The walls were lined with noticeboards, each plastered with quests ranging from mundane delivery errands to perilous monster subjugations.
"Keep your head down," I murmured to Evelyn as we entered. She nodded, her dark eyes flicking around the room, taking in the sights with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.
The receptionist, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a practiced smile, greeted us as we approached the counter. "New to the Guild?" he asked, his gaze lingering on Evelyn.
"For her, yes," I replied smoothly. "I need my license updated, and she's here to apply for hers. A-class licenses for both."
The man nodded, pulling out a thick ledger. "Name?"
"Arlen Vayne," I said without hesitation, offering the alias I'd chosen.
"And the lady?"
Evelyn hesitated, and I could see the gears turning in her head. "Elise Varian," she said finally, her voice steady.
The receptionist scribbled down the names, his pen scratching across the parchment. "You'll both need to provide proof of your abilities, of course," he said, his tone polite but firm. "Standard protocol."
"Of course," I said with a nod. "What does the assessment entail?"
"Simple enough," he replied. "A demonstration of combat prowess. We assess your rank based on performance, only for those beyond B-class."
I stepped back, gesturing for Evelyn to take the lead. This was her chance to gain confidence, to step into the world she was just beginning to explore.
Evelyn glanced at me, her nerves showing in the slight tightening of her grip on the staff she carried. But then she stepped forward, her posture straightening, her eyes sharpening with determination.
The Guild's training ground was a wide, open space behind the main hall, littered with scorch marks, gouged earth, and the remnants of countless battles. A veteran adventurer, his arms crossed over a barrel-like chest, stood waiting to oversee the test.
"You're up first," he barked, pointing to Evelyn. "Show me what you've got."
Evelyn nodded, gripping her staff tightly. With a muttered incantation, the air around her shifted. Threads of mana coalesced, forming shimmering puppet-like constructs. They moved with precision, each one a reflection of her control. The constructs attacked a series of targets she conjured, moving with an eerie grace that spoke of her unique magic.
The onlookers murmured, impressed despite themselves. The veteran nodded, his expression neutral but his eyes gleaming with approval. "Not bad," he said gruffly. "A solid start."
Evelyn stepped back, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she glanced at me. I gave her a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of her success.
"My turn," I said, stepping forward. The veteran raised an eyebrow, clearly sizing me up.
"Let's see what you've got," he said.
I drew my spear, its polished surface catching the light. Taking a deep breath, I let the enhanced aura flow through me, the resonance humming in my veins. I moved with practiced precision, the spear a blur as I struck the targets with devastating force. Each strike was measured, calculated, leaving no doubt about the level of control and power behind it.
When I finished, the training ground was silent. The veteran stared at me for a long moment before nodding. "You'll do," he said, his tone gruff but approving.
With the assessments complete, we returned to the main hall to finalize the paperwork. The receptionist handed us our licenses, stamped with the Guild's seal.
"Welcome to the Adventurer's Guild," he said with a smile. "You're both A-class now. Best of luck out there."
Evelyn held her license gingerly, as though it might disappear if she gripped it too tightly. She turned to me, her eyes shining with a mix of pride and disbelief.
"We did it," she said softly.
I nodded, slipping my own license into my pocket. "This is just the beginning," I said. "The real work starts now."
As we stepped out into the bustling streets, the weight of the licenses in our hands felt like the first tangible step toward the future we were building. For Evelyn, it was a new world of possibilities. For me, it was one more step on the path to reclaiming the strength I had lost.
And perhaps, somewhere along the way, finding something more.