Kaelen Rehn pressed a calloused hand against the hilt of his half-forged sword, feeling the faint ember-like lines that pulsed beneath the metal surface. Dawn's pale light flooded through the slit windows of the Fenmarch Combat & Flow Academy's main training hall, revealing dust motes dancing in the still air. He exhaled slowly, his breath a quiet vow to himself: I need to get stronger.
Next to him, Alyssia Verdante fiddled with the ornate bracer on her left forearm, the swirling green runes faintly alive under her touch. Outside, in the courtyard, the Academy's early morning classes were already underway—novices practiced thrusts and parries with wooden weapons, while more advanced trainees channeled elemental blasts at stationary targets. The rhythmic clang and shout set Kaelen's nerves alight, but not unpleasantly. It reminded him that he wasn't alone in his quest for power and redemption.
A robed instructor entered, clearing his throat to signal the start of their private session. Master Gainan, the tall, gray-haired man who oversaw much of Fenmarch's Astral Flow training, gave a brisk nod of greeting. He had assessed Kaelen and Alyssia briefly the day before, deeming them worthy of extra attention. After all, they didn't have time for the Academy's standard weeks-long orientation. With the warlord's forces reportedly on the move, they needed to accelerate their training—or risk being overwhelmed.
"Good morning," Gainan said, his voice calm but firm. "We'll begin by evaluating how well you can regulate Astral Flow under controlled conditions. Then we'll look at your Soul Focus foundations."
Kaelen and Alyssia exchanged a quick glance of anticipation, stepping forward.
They followed Gainan into a smaller adjacent chamber that the Academy used for more specialized exercises. The walls were lined with practice dummies etched with runic circles and cracks from repeated training. The faint odor of singed cloth and scorched wood clung to the air.
"Kaelen," Gainan said, gesturing for him to stand in front of a straw dummy reinforced by stone plates. "We'll begin with your Fire Affinity."
Kaelen nodded, swallowing nervously. He drew his half-forged sword from its scabbard. The steel still appeared incomplete—roughly hewn edges, faint ember-colored veins near the hilt. Yet, as he inhaled, he felt the warmth of his Affinity flicker to life deep in his core, igniting the Flow that coursed through him. Don't overdo it, he reminded himself. Control is key.
Raising the blade, he focused on the runic circles on the dummy's chest. He envisioned the Flow within him as liquid fire, surging from his center into his arms, then into the sword. Ember-like lines glowed more brightly along the blade, casting flickering red light against the stone walls.
He slashed forward. A small but focused arc of flame shot from the sword's edge, colliding with the straw dummy. The blast was enough to singe the outer layer, leaving a blackened scorch mark. Kaelen exhaled sharply—relief and slight disappointment intertwined. It's not very strong. But at least he hadn't lost control.
Gainan stepped closer to inspect the mark. "A neat cut. Fairly stable. But I can see your Flow fluctuated." He pointed at the irregular scorch pattern. "Notice how the burn line is jagged? That suggests your elemental channeling wavered at the last moment."
Kaelen's ears burned. "I'm still… adjusting. My father never got the chance to teach me everything."
"There's time yet," Gainan replied gently, his gaze flicking to the half-forged sword. "Though I suspect your Soul Focus is not yet at its true potential. Work on synergy. Rather than forcing the blade to produce flame, try letting the flame guide the blade."
Kaelen nodded, turning the advice over in his mind. Let the flame guide the blade…
Next, it was Alyssia's turn. Gainan escorted her to a section of the chamber where stone pillars jutted from the floor in various shapes and heights. She held her short staff—wooden, carved with creeping vine-like patterns that matched the runes on her bracer.
"Your Earth Affinity is strong," Gainan observed, "but it also seems… layered. I sense another presence in your Flow."
Alyssia swallowed. "My Summon Pact." The words came out hushed, loaded with regret. "It's inherited. I never forged it myself."
Gainan frowned, gesturing for her to demonstrate her standard Earth manipulation. She planted her feet, inhaled, and visualized the Flow coursing through her limbs. The moment she exhaled, the ground around one of the stone pillars rumbled, then vines of hardened earth twisted upward to encase it. The pillar cracked under the pressure, toppling onto its side.
"Impressive control," Gainan acknowledged, then his gaze sharpened. "But I can sense a second Flow signature inside you, something that flares unpredictably."
Alyssia grimaced. "That's the Summon's essence. Sometimes it tries to override my own will. I can keep it at bay if I don't push too hard, but in a real fight—" She left the sentence hanging, memories of the monstrous vines she'd unleashed on that Summon beast near Karradin's Pass haunting her.
Gainan nodded thoughtfully. "We can work on stabilizing your Earth Affinity. As for that Summon within… well, you may need specialized knowledge to either bond with it properly or remove it. The Academy's library might have references to cases like yours, though inherited Summons are rare." He gave her a measured look. "Until you decide your path, proceed carefully. The line between synergy and self-destruction can be thin."
Alyssia released a long breath. "Thank you."
After the initial demonstrations, Gainan led them to a series of more nuanced exercises. He explained that while Talent in an element can boost one's initial capacity and learning curve, Training refines efficiency—how much can be done with a given amount of Astral Flow.
To illustrate this, he had Kaelen repeatedly ignite small flames on his fingertips without his sword, focusing on shaping them into stable spheres. While Kaelen had a strong natural spark thanks to his Fire Affinity, he found it surprisingly difficult to maintain the shape without letting the flames sputter out.
Meanwhile, Alyssia practiced raising and lowering small mounds of earth in rapid succession. She discovered that if she tried to do it too fast, her Summon flared up, pushing extra Astral Flow into her technique and causing large, uncontrolled bursts of rock to spike from the floor. She had to slow down, breathing steadily, focusing on shaping the earth with precision rather than raw power.
Every so often, Gainan stopped them, offering corrections or a quiet word of encouragement. "Kaelen, breathe through the tension in your shoulders." "Alyssia, ground your stance; you're drawing too much from your Summon." Though the training was rigorous, each small success lit a spark of confidence in them both.
After hours inside, Gainan dismissed them to the courtyard to practice with other trainees. The midday sun beat down on the open yard, where a handful of Academy students sparred or ran drills.
Alyssia found a corner near the perimeter to practice earth-shaping in peace. Kaelen, however, was promptly challenged by a wiry young man brandishing a short sword that crackled with Lightning Affinity. The man introduced himself as Ferran, a local from Fenmarch who prided himself on speed and precision.
"Master Gainan says you're a Fire wielder from Harborough," Ferran said with a half-smile. "Care to test your steel?"
Kaelen, still sweaty and tired, considered declining—but he caught a glimpse of Alyssia watching from afar. No running from a challenge, he decided, stepping forward with a resolute nod. "Alright."
They squared off. Ferran's eyes glimmered with excitement as Astral Flow crackled around his blade. Kaelen steadied his half-forged sword, trying to recall Gainan's advice. Let the flame guide the blade.
Ferran lunged first, lightning sparks dancing across his steel. Kaelen met the attack, parrying with a subtle twist that deflected the blade off his sword's dull edge. A jolt of electric current rippled through Kaelen's arms, and he fought not to flinch. He channeled a burst of Fire Flow in response, coaxing flames along his weapon.
The onlookers murmured in appreciation as the two clashed in a flurry of sparks and embers. Ferran's strikes were quick, but Kaelen's emerging skill with Fire let him shape defensive bursts of heat that forced Ferran to keep distance. Still, it was clear Kaelen's technique was raw, lacking the polished footwork or seamless Flow transitions that came with experience.
After an exchange of half a dozen blows, Ferran feinted left and darted right, aiming a lightning-infused slash at Kaelen's flank. Kaelen barely managed to block, and the resulting discharge sent him stumbling backward. A small ring of scorch marks now marred the courtyard ground where stray flames had licked across the stone.
Ferran held his stance, breathing hard. "You're good," he panted. "But you're holding back. Why?"
Kaelen's shoulders tensed. He was aware that if he poured in too much Fire Flow, he could lose control again—just like at the council skirmish, where innocents had been hurt. "I'm… working on my precision," he said lamely.
Ferran just nodded, not pressing the point. "Another round?" he asked, but Gainan's voice carried across the yard just then, summoning Kaelen and Alyssia back inside.
In one of the Academy's quieter hallways, Gainan led Kaelen and Alyssia to a small lounge area where they could rest. A simple bench under a narrow window gave them a view of Fenmarch's bustling streets.
"You've done well today," Gainan said, offering each a canteen of cool water. "But the real measure of your ability will come under pressure—in an actual battle or urgent mission."
Alyssia nodded grimly, her throat tight at the mention of battle. "We've already seen a glimpse of what's out there."
At this, Gainan excused himself to attend to other students, leaving the two alone. Kaelen sipped from his canteen, noticing how Alyssia stared vacantly at the window, lost in thought.
She broke the silence with a shaky exhale. "I never told you everything about my Summon."
Kaelen set aside his canteen. "You said it was inherited."
"Yes." She touched the bracer on her forearm. "Three generations ago, my grandmother forged a Summon Pact with an ancient Earth spirit to protect our farmland from raiders. It saved countless lives, but the spirit demanded a bond that spanned bloodlines. When my mother passed, the Summon's bond transferred to me—even though I never wanted it." She swallowed, eyes distant. "And now, if I can't control it, the spirit might fully manifest in me or… devour my sense of self."
Kaelen's chest tightened. "I'm sorry. That's… a heavy burden." He thought back to his own father's death, to how the warlord's Summons had torn Harborough apart. Summons could be a blessing or a curse, depending on who wielded them. "We'll find a way to help. Maybe Master Gainan knows a ritual to break inherited pacts, or—"
Alyssia managed a faint smile. "I appreciate it, Kaelen. But I know that sometimes, even well-intentioned Summons can become monstrous. I've already seen glimpses. If the warlord gains control of more Summon gates, we could face horrors beyond imagination."
A memory flashed of the monstrous hound-like Summon they had fought together, and Kaelen felt an uneasy shiver. He reached out, lightly touching her shoulder. "We'll figure it out."
She nodded, placing her hand over his for a brief moment of shared warmth. "Thank you."
Their moment of closeness was broken by a firm rap on the door. A young Academy attendant poked his head in, holding a rolled parchment. "Pardon the interruption. This arrived for you two."
Kaelen accepted the parchment, noting the unbroken seal on plain wax. Opening it, he read aloud:
To Kaelen Rehn and Alyssia Verdante,
You are hereby summoned to attend a covert council meeting at dusk in the Tower Archives, West Wing. Matters concerning the masked warlord will be discussed. Present this letter to the guards. Burn after reading.
—Signed on behalf of the City Council
Alyssia arched an eyebrow. "Covert council meeting? But we're not city officials or anything close to that."
Kaelen's mind flashed back to the messenger's dire news the previous evening—reports of the warlord's vanguard. "Maybe they've heard about what we saw in Harborough or the temple." He glanced around, lowering his voice. "We did get a glimpse of that Summon gate, and the warlord's lieutenant tried to seize the runes. The city might want more information."
Alyssia frowned. "But why not just call us openly? It says 'covert.' This could mean some council members fear spies."
Kaelen felt a chill. Spies in Fenmarch? It wasn't impossible. The masked warlord's minions had infiltrated Harborough's defenses with shocking ease. "We should be careful," he murmured.
Alyssia took the parchment, scanning it before doing as instructed—she held it over a small candle until it curled into black ash. "We'd better prepare. Dusk is only a few hours away."
That evening, the sun dipped low behind Fenmarch's stout walls, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold. Kaelen and Alyssia made their way to the Tower Archives in the city's West Wing, an imposing structure of gray stone with narrow windows that glowed faintly from lamplight within. A handful of city guards patrolled the entrance. The pair approached cautiously.
One guard eyed them. "State your business. The archives are closed to the public at this hour."
Kaelen discreetly showed the letter's remnants—just the seal's impression that hadn't yet burned—and the guard exchanged a glance with his companion. After a moment, they waved Kaelen and Alyssia inside. "Up the stairs, third door on the left. Don't wander."
They climbed a spiral staircase that felt claustrophobic, the torchlight along the walls flickering ominously. At the designated door, they found two more guards. One opened the door without a word. Inside was a circular room lined with shelves of old scrolls and tomes—an extension of Fenmarch's library, but arranged more like a war room. A heavy wooden table occupied the center, surrounded by several figures in hushed conversation.
Among the assembled were:
Master Gainan, arms folded, posture tense.A stern-faced woman with angular features wearing the insignia of the city council.A bespectacled scribe flipping through documents.Captain Iyana, from the resistance faction, looking half out of place yet determined.
Iyana caught sight of Kaelen and Alyssia, giving a curt nod. "Glad you came," she said, her voice low. "We pushed the council to include you two after hearing about your experiences—Harborough's fall, and the temple incident."
The stern-faced councilwoman cleared her throat. "Yes, well, let's begin. We've received multiple reports that the masked warlord's smaller forces are setting farmland ablaze within a day's ride from Fenmarch. Our scouts confirm sightings of twisted Summons, likely experiments for a larger assault. The city watch is prepared to defend, but we have limited resources." She glowered at Iyana. "We can't dispatch our entire garrison on rumor alone."
Kaelen's heart pounded. He stepped forward. "It's not just rumor. In Harborough, a single warlord with a Manifested Soul Focus tore down our walls. And from what we've learned, he's searching for temple runes—like the ones Alyssia and I found—that could grant him even greater power."
Alyssia nodded, describing the Summon gate in the Earth temple, the runic inscriptions referencing an Ascended Form, and how the masked warlord's lieutenant had nearly stolen them. "If he locates more gates—or finds the means to open them at will—he could unleash Summons far worse than the ones we've encountered."
Master Gainan chimed in, voice somber. "With each day, more refugees pour in, all with tales of devastation. The warlord's ambition knows no bounds. He's not content just to harass farmlands; he's testing our defenses, biding his time."
The councilwoman scowled, drumming her fingers on the wooden table. "We cannot risk losing Fenmarch's standing army on a reckless chase, but we also can't sit idle while entire villages burn." She glanced at Iyana. "Your resistance group volunteered to scout the northern farmland, correct?"
Captain Iyana stepped forward. "Yes. We have a small, mobile unit prepared. If we find definitive evidence of the warlord's main force approaching, we'll relay that intel instantly—though I suspect by the time we confirm it, the threat may already be upon us."
A pregnant silence. Kaelen exchanged a look with Alyssia, reading the same urgency in her eyes.
Gainan broke the hush. "We have another matter. Kaelen and Alyssia discovered references to a possible path to ascend one's Soul Focus—a stage beyond Manifest. If the warlord obtains such power first, Fenmarch and every other fortress in this region would be doomed. We need more intelligence—quickly."
The councilwoman blinked. "Ascended Soul Focus? That's myth."
"I thought so too," Gainan admitted, "but there is enough overlap in recovered texts to suggest it's real—and our enemy clearly believes in it."
Iyana let out a slow exhale. "If he's harnessing Summon gates to approach this 'Ascended' level, our only hope might be to match that power or sabotage him before he completes the ritual."
The councilwoman's eyes shifted toward Kaelen and Alyssia. "You two might know the warlord's methods best. Will you aid Iyana's scouts? We'll keep a small covert team, minimal risk. But your first objective is intel gathering—no heroics."
Kaelen felt a surge of resolve. Finally, a chance to do something instead of cowering. "We'll do it," he said firmly.
Alyssia hesitated—she still feared losing control of her Summon—but steeled herself. "Count me in."
Satisfied murmurs rippled around the table. The stern councilwoman scribbled a quick note, handing it to Iyana. "Authority for your scouting mission. Move out as soon as you can. Return with proof we can't ignore."
Captain Iyana nodded. "We'll depart at first light. Kaelen, Alyssia—meet me at the west gate."
Gainan placed a reassuring hand on their shoulders. "Train hard tonight. Remember what we worked on. And be wary. The warlord may have spies or traps waiting."
As Kaelen and Alyssia left the Tower Archives, tension weighed heavily on their minds. The streets had grown quieter, most of Fenmarch's residents having retired to their homes or bunkhouses. A lone lamplighter moved along the cobblestones, igniting lanterns that cast wavery circles of light in the deepening night.
Alyssia sighed, rubbing her temples. "Yet another mission. We haven't fully mastered our current powers, and now we're heading right into the warlord's territory."
Kaelen offered a small, determined smile. "We might not be ready for a full confrontation, but gathering intel could save the city. Besides, we'll have Iyana's squad. They seem competent."
She nodded, a hint of a wry grin touching her lips. "Guess we can't wait for the perfect moment."
They turned a corner into a narrower street flanked by abandoned market stalls. Suddenly, Alyssia halted, eyes narrowing. "Did you see that?"
Kaelen tensed. "See what?"
She pointed toward a dark recess by a shuttered shop. The flicker of a shadow had vanished almost as soon as it appeared. Kaelen drew his half-forged sword, embers stirring on the blade's surface. Together, they edged closer.
"Hello?" Alyssia called, softly. No answer came.
They pressed forward, footsteps echoing. A stray cat darted out, knocking over a tin pail with a clang. Kaelen's heart lurched, but it was only the cat, skittering away in fright. Just nerves, he told himself. Yet a prickling sensation lingered on the back of his neck, as if someone—or something—had been watching.
Eventually, they found nothing but empty shadows. Alyssia let out a shaky exhale. "I could've sworn there was… a presence."
Kaelen stared at the gloom, a phantom dread gnawing his gut. The warlord's minions have infiltrated places before. "Let's be on our guard. We need rest before tomorrow."
Alyssia agreed, and they walked on, the hush of the city pressing in around them.
Back at the bunkhouse, Kaelen and Alyssia quietly gathered their gear—preparing rations, double-checking their weapons. The other refugees had already turned in for the night, so they worked by the faint glow of a single lantern. A tension filled the air, a sense of stepping over the threshold into even greater danger. Yet there was also a glimmer of hope: if they succeeded in this scouting mission, perhaps they could save lives and keep the warlord from gaining more ground.
As Kaelen finished strapping on his sword belt, he noticed Alyssia standing by the small window, gazing at the moonlit sky. "Are you ready?" he asked softly.
She glanced at him, eyes reflecting both trepidation and resolve. "Ready as I'll ever be."
He nodded, stepping closer. "We'll watch each other's backs. Whatever happens."
A soft breath of a smile curved her lips. Then she reached out, and he took her hand—just for a moment, a silent promise of trust and unity.
A distant horn blared from Fenmarch's ramparts, a single ominous note echoing in the night. Kaelen and Alyssia stiffened, hearts pounding. Could the warlord's vanguard have arrived sooner than expected? Outside, faint cries of alarm rose in the streets. Their mission, it seemed, might begin sooner than dawn—and the next few hours would determine the fate of more than just Fenmarch's farmland.