The following days settled into a routine. Willhem would attend his classes, his focus sharpened by the allure of the library's treasures. He often found himself seated with Elliot during lessons, their whispered conversations carrying through the duller moments of lectures. It was refreshing, having a companion who shared his curiosity and hunger for knowledge, even if their perspectives on alchemy sometimes diverged.
Willhem's mornings began earlier now, his aunt Beatrix ensuring he was immaculately dressed and well-mannered before leaving the house. Each day began with the same ritual: she would inspect his uniform, adjust his cravat, and remind him of proper etiquette.
"Stand straight, Willhem. Shoulders back. You represent the Varden name," she would say, her voice firm but not unkind.
"Yes, Aunt Beatrix," Willhem would reply, suppressing a small sigh but complying nonetheless.
The city itself, Willhem realized, was as much a teacher as the school. Each morning, the streets bustled with life—carriages rattling over cobblestones, vendors shouting the merits of their wares, and the constant hum of industry in the background. Factories loomed over the city like iron giants, their chimneys belching smoke into the gray sky. Yet, amidst the industrial sprawl, there were pockets of beauty: tree-lined avenues, ornate lampposts, and shop windows filled with books, trinkets, and curiosities that beckoned to passersby.
The school stood as a beacon of tradition in the heart of this evolving world. Its Gothic architecture, with its pointed arches and intricate carvings, seemed almost out of place against the city's modern backdrop. Yet, within its walls, Willhem felt a sense of belonging he hadn't expected.
Back in the Frontier
The rain had subsided by the time Alwin Varden stepped into the barracks' makeshift meeting hall. He glanced at the map spread across the table, the inked outlines of unfamiliar territory marked with strategies and defenses. The distant rumble of thunder lingered in the air, a reminder of the storm both outside and within.
The war felt endless. The frontier was a place of isolation, far removed from the comforts of home and the warmth of his son's laughter. Here, Alwin was surrounded by hardened soldiers and fleeting victories, each one costing more than the last. Yet, for all the challenges, it was Willhem's absence that struck him the hardest.
His mind drifted back to the letter he had written the previous evening. Willhem. His boy would be holding the parchment by now, reading the words he had so carefully chosen. He could picture his son, his brow furrowed in concentration, lips moving silently as he read. A small smile tugged at Alwin's lips at the thought.
"Commander Varden." The voice pulled him back to the present. Captain Mathers stood at attention near the door, his posture rigid but his eyes carrying a hint of concern.
"Yes, Captain?"
"There's been movement reported near the western ridge. Scouts suggest the enemy may attempt to push through by nightfall."
Alwin nodded, his expression hardening. "Double the patrols and reinforce the perimeter. If they make their move, I want our men ready."
Mathers saluted and turned to leave, but hesitated. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Granted."
"Sir, with all due respect… you seem distracted."
Alwin regarded him for a moment, then let out a weary sigh. "War has a way of demanding everything from a man, Mathers. And sometimes, it demands more than we are willing to give."
The captain nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "I'll see to the patrols, sir."
As Mathers departed, Alwin returned to the map, but his thoughts were already elsewhere.
Back in the City
The midday sun shone weakly through the fog, casting a pale light over the city as Sunny walked briskly to the academy. The letter from his father was tucked securely in his satchel, the weight of it a steady reminder of the man who had written it.
The academy stood at the edge of the city, its towering spires visible even through the thick haze. The building was a blend of Gothic and Victorian architecture, with intricate stone carvings and tall, arched windows that reflected the muted sunlight.
Inside, the halls were bustling with students, their polished shoes clicking against the marble floors. Sunny adjusted his coat and straightened his posture, mindful of the academy's strict standards.
The day's lessons passed in a blur of lectures and note-taking. Mathematics, natural sciences, and literature filled his schedule, each taught by stern instructors who demanded excellence. But it was the break between classes that Sunny anticipated most.
The library was his refuge. It was a grand, cavernous room filled with the scent of aged paper and polished wood. Tall shelves stretched to the ceiling, laden with books on every subject imaginable. Sunny made his way to the section on alchemy, his fingers tracing the spines of the tomes as he searched for something that might spark his curiosity.
"Looking for something specific?"
The voice startled him. Sunny turned to see a boy about his age, dressed neatly in the academy's uniform. His hair was a tousled mess of dark curls, and his eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"Not really," Sunny admitted. "Just browsing."
The boy grinned. "You're new here, aren't you?"
"Yes," Sunny replied cautiously. "I started this term."
"I thought so. I'm Edwin Hartwell," the boy said, extending a hand.
"Sunny Varden," he replied, shaking Edwin's hand.
"Varden," Edwin repeated, his brow lifting. "Your father is a Commander?"
Sunny hesitated. "My father is a Commander, yes."
"Interesting. Are you following in his footsteps?"
"I hope to," Sunny said, glancing at the shelves. "Though there's much I still don't understand."
Edwin nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you've come to the right place. This library has some of the finest texts on alchemy. My father's in the trade, so I've picked up a few things myself. Maybe I could help?"
Sunny smiled faintly. "I'd like that."
The two boys spent the next hour poring over books, discussing theories and experiments. Edwin's enthusiasm was infectious, and Sunny found himself relaxing in his company.
As the bell signaled the end of the break, Edwin closed the book he had been reading and grinned. "We should do this again. It's not every day I meet someone who's actually interested in this stuff."
"I'd like that," Sunny said earnestly.
On the Frontier
That evening, Alwin sat by the campfire with a group of his men. The conversation was sparse, the soldiers too weary to speak at length. The flames crackled softly, their light dancing across the faces of the gathered men.
Alwin's thoughts once again drifted to Sunny. He imagined his son at the academy, navigating the challenges of education and finding his place among his peers. The image brought a small measure of comfort, though it did little to ease the ache of separation.
One of the younger soldiers, barely more than a boy, looked up from the fire. "Commander, do you have family back home?"
Alwin hesitated, then nodded. "A son. He's about your age."
The soldier's eyes widened. "Do you miss him, sir?"
"Every day," Alwin admitted, his voice low.
The boy fell silent, and Alwin leaned back, gazing at the stars. He thought of the letter he had sent, the words he had written in the hope that they might bridge the distance between him and Sunny.
"Stay strong, my boy," he murmured again, the night carrying his words into the vast expanse of the frontier.
Back in the City
As Sunny prepared for bed that night, he retrieved his father's letter from his satchel. Sitting by the window, he read it once more, his father's words resonating deeply.
"Seek knowledge, but also wisdom. Be curious, but cautious. And above all, know that you are never alone."
He folded the letter carefully and placed it under his pillow. The world outside the academy was vast and full of mysteries, but Sunny felt a renewed sense of purpose. His father's pride and guidance were with him, even from afar.
And with that thought, he drifted into a dreamless sleep, the steady rhythm of the city beyond his window a reminder that life continued, and so must he.