Kaien led Aris into the small, rustic cabin and gestured toward a modest bed near the window. The room was simple—wooden walls adorned with a few handmade decorations, shelves lined with books and jars, and a faint smell of herbs lingering in the air.
"You can take this bed," Kaien said, placing a blanket at its foot. "It's not much, but it's warm."
Aris nodded, his throat tightening with an odd mix of gratitude and discomfort. "Thank you."
Kaien smiled, lighting a small oil lamp on the table before retreating to the other side of the room. Soon, the only sounds were the faint rustling of the wind outside and the steady crackle of the dying embers in the fireplace.
Aris lay on the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. The mattress was firm, the blanket scratchy compared to the luxuries he had grown up with, but that wasn't why he couldn't sleep. His mind was racing, tangled with thoughts he couldn't fully untangle.
He turned onto his side, his eyes catching the faint shimmer of moonlight spilling through the window. Slowly, he sat up and gazed out into the night.
The sky was breathtaking. Stars dotted the vast expanse like scattered jewels, their light shimmering against the velvety black canvas. The crescent moon hung low, its pale glow bathing the trees in silver. The world outside seemed so peaceful, so untouched by the chaos that had consumed his life.
For a moment, Aris forgot everything—his disgrace, his anger, his plans for vengeance. All that mattered was the beauty of the night sky.
He rested his chin on the windowsill, his breath fogging the glass slightly. He couldn't remember the last time he had truly looked at the stars. Back when he was a child, perhaps, before the weight of expectations and ambition had clouded his vision.
The sky made him feel small, insignificant, and yet strangely comforted. It was as if the vastness of the universe was telling him that his troubles, no matter how consuming, were just a speck in the grand scheme of things.
As his gaze lingered, he felt something stir within him—a faint flicker of hope, or perhaps curiosity. He wasn't sure. But for the first time in what felt like years, his thoughts weren't consumed by anger or bitterness.
The stars seemed to whisper a promise, one he couldn't quite decipher yet. But as the night stretched on, Aris found himself drawn to their quiet, unyielding presence. And though sleep still eluded him, he felt just a little lighter.
Aris hadn't slept a single moment that night, yet when morning broke and the golden rays of dawn filtered through the window, he felt a strange sense of renewal. It wasn't physical rest that refreshed him—it was something deeper, a faint but undeniable shift within.
Kaien greeted him with a warm smile and a simple breakfast of bread, eggs, and tea. At first, Aris eyed the food with suspicion, his pride warring with his hunger. But in the end, practicality won, and he ate. Though reluctant at first, he found himself enjoying the meal more than he expected.
Once the plates were cleared, Aris rose and began preparing to leave. Kaien, who had been quietly cleaning up, turned to him.
"Where will you go?" Kaien asked, his voice gentle but probing.
Aris hesitated for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ground. Then, with a faint, bitter smile, he replied, "Somewhere my disgrace won't follow me." His words carried the weight of his sorrow, though he tried to hide it.
Kaien studied him for a moment, then simply patted him on the back. "The past might follow, but so can change. Take this."
He handed Aris a worn leather travel bag. It was old, the stitching frayed in places, but it was sturdy.
"It's not much," Kaien said, "but it'll carry what you need. May it serve you well."
Aris nodded, a lump forming in his throat as he accepted the bag. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Then he left .
He had only walked a few meters from the cabin when Kaien's voice rang out behind him.
"Oye! Don't forget to come back for dinner!"
Aris froze, startled. He turned slightly, glancing back at the man who had shown him more kindness than he deserved. For the first time in what felt like years, his lips curved into a genuine smile a small one, but a smile nonetheless.
Without responding, he continued on his way, the smile lingering as he ventured toward the wilderness.
The landscape shifted as Aris walked. At first, it was grassy plains, the gentle breeze rustling the tall blades. Then came fields of dense bushes, their vibrant greens and occasional bursts of flowers a welcome contrast to the gloom in his heart.
Finally, the dense forest loomed ahead, its towering trees casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. The air was cooler here, the sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves filling the space around him.
For the first time in years, Aris felt a connection not to power, status, or ambition, but to something far greater. The natural world around him seemed to hum with life, and with every step, he felt the faint stirrings of change within himself.
Hours passed before he stumbled upon a small waterfall. It wasn't grand or imposing, just a modest cascade that tumbled into a clear pool below. But to Aris, it was perfect. The sound of the rushing water, the cool mist on his skin it was both calming and invigorating.
He dropped his bag near the edge of the pool and stepped closer, letting the spray dampen his face. Then, without hesitation, he plunged his hands into the rushing water and began to train.
With a determined glare, he summoned a small fireball in his palm and thrust it into the waterfall. The collision of fire and water sent a small plume of steam rising into the air.
Again.
He clenched his fists and struck at the rocks near the pool's edge, the impact sending jolts of pain up his arms. The pain didn't deter him. If anything, it fueled him.
"More," he muttered, his teeth gritted.
He kept going, manifesting fireballs, punching rocks, and enduring the relentless cascade of the waterfall. His body screamed for rest, but he ignored it, his mind focused on one goal: becoming stronger.
The world around him seemed to fade, the only sounds being the roar of the waterfall and the thudding of his fists against unyielding stone. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't consumed by bitterness or regret. Instead, he was consumed by purpose a desire not just to prove himself, but to transform himself.
And so, under the watchful gaze of the unyielding forest, Aris Venholm trained, his sweat mingling with the mist of the waterfall, the embers of his fire lighting a new path forward.
Aris's relentless training continued without pause. He lunged his hands at the jagged edges of rocks, striking them with his fists, palms, and even forearms. Each impact sent sharp pain radiating through his body, but he refused to stop. Blood smeared the rocks and dripped onto the ground, but he simply cleaned his hands briefly, wrapped them in whatever scraps of cloth he could find, and returned to his grueling regimen.
The sun climbed higher into the sky, its golden rays filtering through the canopy of trees, marking the passage of time. By midday, when the sun was directly overhead, Aris finally paused.
But it wasn't for sleep.
Instead, he stepped under the cold cascade of the waterfall, its forceful rush enveloping him entirely. He crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and began to meditate, the water pounding against his bruised and bloodied body.
This was no peaceful meditation.
In the quiet of his mind, Aris revisited the events that had brought him here. The ridicule, the disgrace, the betrayal. He saw their sneering faces the judgment in their eyes as they looked down on him. The memory of his father's words in the letter, cold and final, echoed in his ears: "You are no longer my son."
And then, there was Lydia.
Lydia, the miscount's daughter. Lydia, who dared to speak with that commoner as if Aris didn't exist. Lydia, who humiliated him with her indifference.
A low growl escaped his lips as the anger churned within him. The water cascading over his body could not extinguish the fire burning in his chest.
"Lydia," he muttered, his fists clenching as his nails dug into his palms. "That miscount bitch. How dare she? How dare they all?"
His teeth ground together as the thoughts grew louder, angrier. Was I at fault? Was I wrong? No. NO! His eyes snapped open, burning with rage. How could I ever be wrong?
With renewed fury, Aris sprang to his feet and resumed his training.
He attacked the rocks with double the speed and intensity, his strikes landing harder, faster. With each blow, he shouted Lydia's name, his voice echoing throughout the forest.
"Lydia!" Smash.
"Miscount bitch!" Thud.
"Fuck her!" Crack.
He didn't feel the sharp pain in his knuckles or the sting of his cuts anymore. His anger had numbed him to it all. His body moved with one purpose: to grow stronger, to prove everyone wrong, to rise above the disgrace.
Aris didn't stop. With each strike, his breathing grew heavier, his movements more ferocious. And though the anger consumed him, driving every action, there was something deeper within a flicker of determination, raw and unrefined, pushing him forward.
By the time the afternoon sun began to cast long shadows across the forest, Aris stood amidst the wreckage of broken rocks and scorched earth, his hands bloodied but his resolve unshaken.
He stared at the waterfall, his chest heaving, his eyes ablaze. This is only the beginning.