Ganoth's training grounds covered a lot of ground, extending out under the high walls of the fortress in a field about to go into battle. There were wooden dummies, smashed by thousands of blows, lining up in immaculate order. Blades clashing in the distance, young men learning under the watchful gaze of battle-grizzled veterans. But beyond the grounds' edge, removed from the aimless fury of the recruits, two moved in wild passion—uncontrolled, but burning.
Prince Lionel, youngest child of King Vaedros, sprang forward with his practice sword, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. His opponent—Azur, the prince who had been an orphan of Lino—bobbed and weaved on swift, economical feet, his black eyes fixed intently on Lionel's every motion. They were mere boys, hardly out of childhood, yet they battled with the desperation of those who understood that they had something to prove.
Lionel struck again, wielding his sword in a wide circle. Azur dodged at the last moment, turning and sending a leg flying out from under Lionel. The prince thudded onto the trodden ground, grunting, glaring up at Azur, who stood over him with a smile.
"You always swing too wide," Azur said, offering a hand.
Lionel clutched it unwillingly, pulling himself to his feet. "You always duck too much," he snapped. "Warriors don't run away."
Azur shrugged. "Warriors don't take hits."
Lionel had opened his mouth to complain before closing it as a shadow fell across them.
General Korvan watched them wordlessly, folded arms scored with scars, piercing eyes set with something unreadable. They had been too focused on their fencing to notice him approaching. In his wake, soldiers trained assiduously, their bodies slender and lethal.
For a moment, the general said nothing, simply looking at the two boys before him. Azur—lean, quick, already standing like a fighter. And Lionel—stubborn, strong, full of untrained energy but not disciplined.
Finally, he spoke.
"You fight like children," he said to them abruptly.
Lionel scowled. "We are children.".
Korvan snorted. "A weak excuse." He approached, his thick boots kicking up dirt. "You are the son of the greatest king in all history, Lionel. And you, Azur… you are the son of fallen kings. Both of you have names that demand strength. And I see only wild, wild swinging and clumsy dodging."
Azur scowled. "We're training to become stronger."
Korvan observed him. "Strength is not just swinging a sword until your arms give out. It is discipline. Strategy. The will to stay upright when others drop."
His gaze turned to Lionel. "And control. A warrior who cannot master his strength is no warrior at all—just a beast."
Lionel clenched his fists, shooting the general a hostile stare but saying nothing.
Korvan moved away from them, his voice dropping lower. "Do you think your father conquered half the world by stumbling around in the dark?" He turned to look at them, his eyes narrowing. "No. He was forged strong because he was tempered in blood and trials. Because he understood what it was to wield power."
The two boys were silent, their breathing still heavy from their training.
And then Korvan advanced. "If you truly desire to be powerful, you will train. Not as feral children playing at war."
Azur and Lionel exchanged a look. Azur broke the silence. "You mean… you'll train us?"
Korvan's grin was cruel. "If your father agrees."
Lionel straightened. "He will."
Korvan simply nodded. "Then we begin at dawn tomorrow. Be ready."
As he turned and strode off, the two boys remained silent. They had spent months training in secret, trying to push themselves hard enough to prove they could do it. But this. this was something else.
Forged in Discipline
The first light of morning had barely touched the horizon when Azur and Lionel arrived at the training grounds. The air was crisp, with the distant ring of steel as the fortress stirred to life. Soldiers were already at work, drilling under the watchful eyes of veteran knights, but their training was nothing compared to what was in store for the two boys.
General Korvan stood in the center of the grounds, arms folded, his presence as formidable as the fortress walls themselves. He had trained many soldiers, shaped them into tools that shaped the fate of Ganoth. But this. this was different. The boy he was training this time was the prince of Ganoth. And the other. an orphaned heir of a fallen kingdom.
They were not just any soldiers. They would be legends, or they wouldn't be anything.
Korvan looked them over. "You're late."
"We're early," Lionel said, pushing aside the last of sleep.
Korvan strode forward, his scarred face expressionless. "A warrior is never early. He is always ready." He gestured to the empty field. "Now, show me what you can do."
The boys exchanged a glance before entering the training circle. Lionel went first, stance wide-legged and unyielding, his wooden training sword grasped in raw confidence. Azur mimicked him, lighter, quicker in movement, grip loose—ready to adapt.
Korvan didn't even bother to yell a start.
Lionel took the initiative, his sword glinting as he swung at Azur's shoulder. Azur dodged and rolled to one side, coming up fast and striking at Lionel's ribs. The prince spun around in time, blocking the blade with his own and sending Azur stumbling backward with sheer brute strength.
The thudding of wood on wood filled the morning stillness.
Azur attacked once again, simulating a left before striking from the right. Lionel just parried in time, but his return was wild, a mad overhead cut leaving him open. Azur sidestepped, sending him off balance with a perfectly placed kick to the knee. Lionel crashed down, cursing.
Korvan watched silently as Lionel strained to get up, his jaws clenched. Azur grinned. "You still expose yourself."
Lionel scowled. "You parry too much."
Korvan stepped forward, his voice slicing. "Enough. Again."
They clashed again. And again. And again. Each time, Lionel's strength encountered Azur's speed. Each time, Lionel overreached, and Azur dodged. But each time, Lionel adjusted a fraction, learning, driving Azur into tighter spaces. And Azur, however quick he was, was starting to fatigue.
Korvan's sharp eyes devoured every detail.
Finally, after a grueling exchange, the general held up a hand. "Stop."
The boys stepped away, panting, sweat pouring off their browlines. Lionel's arms quivered with exertion, Azur's respiration came in small, laborious gasps, but they didn't lose the other one for a second.
Korvan advanced further, his own face unreadable. "Each of you possesses ability. Ability alone will not make you great.".
He indicated toward Lionel. "You apply too much brute power. You strike like a crazed beast, pouring all your energy into every blow. Power is of no value if it is wasted."
Lionel scowled but said nothing.
Then Korvan spoke to Azur. "And you—you dart, you dodge, you wait for your target to make a mistake. That is the art of prey, not predator."
Azur's smile faded a little.
Korvan crossed his arms. "Your training will not be a game, anymore. You will not simply swing swords at each other and hope to get better." His voice turned harsher. "You will break. And then you will be remade."
The boys swallowed, tensing instinctively.
Korvan's eyes darkened. "You think you know strength? You do not. But by the time I am finished with you…" His lips curled into something almost cruel.
"You will."
And thus it began.
They drilled for weeks—hitting, blocking, falling, rising. Again: and again: and again. Until hurt became a lesson and exhaustion was their teacher. The strong fortress of Ganoth stood watchfully aside as the destiny of war was inscribed into two young men who would have their moment to shape the world.
This was the beginning of something much larger.
The next day
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon when the training had completed. Lionel and Azur, sweat-soaked, muscles shaking from the brutal drills, could barely stand. But they would not reveal weakness—not to each other, and certainly not to General Korvan.
As they regained their breath, the soft shuffle of footsteps approached.
"Lionel, Azur," a gentle voice said.
They saw to locate Lionel's older sister, Celica, at the edge of the training grounds. She was a vision of subdued elegance, her silver-blonde hair cascading like silk down her back, her pale blue eyes tranquil as still water. She was enveloped in a midnight blue gown that flowed like the night, the fabric glimmering in the torches as she approached.
"It is time for dinner," she said softly.
Lionel groaned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Finally." He glanced at Azur, smirking. "Hope they'll have enough that I can eat an entire feast."
Azur snorted. "Not if I get to it first."
Celica breathed a soft, nearly amused sigh before she turned back to the castle. "Come on. Father doesn't like to be waited on."
Neither of them needed that reminder.
They followed Celica as she guided them through the fortress's large stone halls, their footsteps echoing off the gleaming floors. The aroma of roasting meat and spiced vegetables filled the halls, and their stomachs growled in protest.
The atmosphere in the dining hall was thick with unspoken tensions when they arrived.
At the far end of the long, ornately carved table, King Vaedros sat. His presence alone filled the vast room. A large man, his battle-worn armor exchanged for a black and gold robe, his red eyes sharp beneath the chandelier's light. His fingers tapped idly against the wood as he waited.
Beside him stood Queen Elyndra, calm and stately. She never openly spoke against her husband, but there was always something distant in her eyes, as though her mind wandered far from these castle walls.
Then there was Lionel's older brother, Darius.
Vaedros's eldest son was everything a prince ought to be—strong, disciplined, and loyal. But unlike his father, his strength was subtle, inward. He sat straight-backed in his chair, his dark eyes flicking to Lionel and Azur as they entered, though he said nothing.
Lionel slipped into his chair with a nonchalance that was in direct opposition to the strain in the air. Azur moved in after him, taking great care not to catch the king's eye. Celica took her place beside Darius, her presence a soothing balm over the tempest that always simmered in these meals.
Servants moved quickly, filling goblets with deep red wine and placing silver platters of roasted lamb, seasoned potatoes, and fresh bread before them. The clinking of plates was the only sound for a moment.
Until Vaedros spoke.
"You're late."
His voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.
Lionel, already tearing into a piece of bread, barely lifted his gaze. "We were training."
Vaedros's eyes narrowed. "Korvan is training you for combat. No need to lose discipline in the meantime."
Lionel snorted, gulping. "And I had thought gaining strength was discipline."
There was silence around the table. Darius gazed at his younger brother, his jaw clenched, but said nothing.
Azur focused on his meal, attempting to avoid being seen. He had learned early that being a ghost at these moments was best.
Vaedros sipped his wine slowly, his eyes on his son. "Strength without respect is no more than recklessness."
Darius spoke up, his voice measured. "Recklessness in training can result in lives lost in battle, Lionel. You would do well to listen to Father."
Lionel snorted but had nothing to say.
Celica, feeling tension build, intervened softly. "The kitchen prepared a special honeyed cake tonight. It's your favorite, Lionel."
Her voice was gentle, an attempt to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters.
Lionel's expression eased a little at the mention of dessert, but Vaedros barely registered it. The king's focus turned to Azur instead.
"And you?" he asked once more. "How did you do in training today?"
Azur hesitated for barely a fraction of a second before answering. "General Korvan is. relentless."
A spark of something—amusement, perhaps—flitted over Vaedros's face. "Good." He drank his wine again. "A blade is only as powerful as the forge that tempers it."
Azur nodded again, dropping his eyes.
The rest of the meal passed in tense discussion, Lionel and Vaedros exchanging words like blows, Darius watching like a silent judge, and Celica working to keep the peace. Azur spoke little, but he observed everything.
By the time they left the hall, bellies full and brains loaded, the seriousness of what they were being shaped into loomed like a cloud over their heads.
The practice grounds were still, save for the keening wind and the distant crackle of torches placed about the walls. The night sky gaped above, a blanket of dark indigo, stars only dimly perceptible through the thick clouds rolling in.
General Korvan stood in the center of the clearing, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression stoic. The flickering firelight illuminated his battle-weathered face, but his eyes—those intense, calculating eyes—never left the two men before him.
Azur and Lionel stood opposite each other, breathing steadily, muscles flexed.
This will not be your usual sparring," Korvan said, his voice as hard as iron. "Tonight, you will fight as if your lives depend on it. No quarter." His gaze swept over them, hard and anticipatory. "If you hold back, if you falter, you will fall. And when you're fighting a real war, to fall is to die."
Lionel shrugged, grinning, his greatsword on his back. "Sounds like fun.".
Azur didn't utter a word, only gripping the hilts of his twin katanas. He could already feel the storm stirring within him, the energy running through his veins like a caged beast.
Korvan raised his hand.
"Begin."
Lionel moved first.
The ground beneath him grew dark in an instant, shadows twisting and elongating in ways not natural. His greatsword bit through the air in a flash, its sheer heft and speed forcing Azur to jump backward. The air tore with the force of the strike, a shockwave blasting dust into the air and sending loose rocks tumbling.
Azur's eyes burned.
Lightning ran down his arms, arcing from finger to finger, then bursting outward. He sprang forward, his movements a whirlwind, his blades a storm of silver as they clashed with Lionel's greatsword. Sparks flew, metal screaming against metal.
Lionel grinned, bulldozing forward with brute strength, driving Azur back step by step. But Azur was faster. He whirled, dispersing into a vortex of wind, reappearing in a burst of flashing lightning behind Lionel.
His katana descended toward Lionel's back—
A wall of black mist erupted, shadows taking form as an impenetrable wall. Golden energy in Lionel's left hand flared, and Azur had no chance to retreat before a whip of fire lashed out at him.
Azur dodged barely, rolling clear as the ground where he'd been standing exploded and smoked.
"Not bad," Lionel allowed, whirling to face him. His golden aura rippled chaotically, his energy trembling for the briefest of moments.
Azur's eyes narrowed. That happened sometimes. It was as if the light and dark within Lionel wrestled with each other, refusing to give way. And when they fought, his magic became unstable.
But Azur didn't hesitate.
He dived forward once more, his storm spirit bursting to life. A gust of wind sent him flying forward with impossible velocity, and when he struck, thunder boomed overhead. Lightning scorched down his blades, meeting Lionel's sword in a searing flash of energy.
The force of it sent both of them stumbling backward, but Azur was the first to recover.
He raised a hand.
The wind shrieked.
A vortex burst forth in an instant, spiraling with arcing tentacles of electricity. The tornado twisted in rage, pulling in air, dust, and debris, its sheer force shaking the ground beneath them.
Lionel planted his feet, his golden light burning bright. The shadows at his feet shifted, lashing outwards like living snakes, while the flame in his hand flickered and spat, hungering to consume.
And then—
The shadows in Lionel's aura writhed in agony, fighting against his control. The gold blazed, burning too brightly, fighting the darkness. His features twisted in a snarl of rage, and for an instant—he faltered.
Azur struck.
A brief moment of steel and air. His katana plunged deep into Lionel's chestplate, cutting through the metal effortlessly, sending him crashing to the ground.
A pause of silence.
Lionel coughed, trying to sit up, but Azur was already standing over him, one sword against his neck.
The battle was done.
But, before the dust could even settle—
A wave of energy swept over them like an avalanche.
The storm died in a flash. The shadows drew back into nothingness. The fires went out.
A man stood at the edge of the arena.
King Vaedros.
His red eyes burned with unspoken order, his presence suffocating, a secret weight bearing down on everything around them.
Azur stepped back, lowering his blades. Lionel exhaled slowly, his muscles tensing.
Vaedros stepped forward slowly, his armored boots echoing off the stone. His eyes came to rest first on Lionel.
"You lost control."
Lionel's fists tightened, and he said nothing.
Then the king's eyes shifted to Azur.
"You won," he said simply. But there was no praise in his voice.
Azur met his gaze, anticipating.
Vaedros was silent for a long time before he turned to General Korvan. "Resume their training," he ordered. Then, without another word, he turned and left, the weight of him lingering long after he was gone.
The silence stretched out.
Azur exhaled, letting his grip ease on his katanas. Lionel picked up his greatsword, shaking his head. "You got lucky."
Azur smiled. "Sure."
General Korvan crossed his arms. "Tomorrow, we do it again."
Neither of them complained.
For they both knew—the real battles had yet to come.
The Next Stage of Training
Azur and Lionel were tougher now.
It was weeks since their last bloody sparring match, and every day was spent training under the unforgiving gaze of General Korvan. Their bodies bore the marks of their efforts—bruises that were never given the opportunity to heal, cuts that stung even after the healers had done their work, and exhaustion that seeped into their bones.
Yet neither of them yielded.
Lionel's control over his golden light and darkness was improving, though there were still moments when the two struggled savagely within him, threatening to get out of control. Azur was more precise with his abilities over storms, having learned to wield lightning with devastating accuracy and direct the winds to stretch his speed to more than mortal abilities.
Today, however, something was wrong.
When they arrived at the training grounds, General Korvan wasn't alone. Three figures stood beside him, each one radiating a distinct energy that set them apart.
Korvan's sharp eyes met theirs as they approached. "You've both trained well, but war isn't won by strength alone. It is won by learning from others, by fighting alongside those who will sharpen your weaknesses." He gestured toward the three newcomers.
Your new training partners are these."
The first was a girl, her body athletic and lean. Her eyes were intelligent and sharp, absorbing every detail of the surroundings. Her stance was poised, like a bird ready to take flight at a moment's notice.
"This is Serai of the Skyborn Clan," Korvan introduced. "Her spirit is the Dove. She's faster than anyone you'll ever meet, with eyes so keen she can see an arrow coming before it's even been loosed. But speed won't help you if your mind is slow—fortunately for her, she's also one of the sharpest strategists her clan has ever produced."
Serai smirked slightly, crossing her arms. "Don't slow me down, and we'll get along just fine."
Azur and Lionel exchanged glances.
Korvan moved to the second figure—a girl built with solid muscle, her arms crossed in a stance of quiet confidence. Her dark eyes burned with an intense fire, and even standing still, she radiated an aura of untamed strength.
This is Kaela of the Ironfang Clan," Korvan presented. "Her spirit is the Tiger. Strong, impenetrable, and ruthless in battle. She does not break, and she does not stop."
Kaela grinned, cracking her knuckles. "Let us see if you two are worth the legends they whisper about you.".
Finally, Korvan came to the last warrior—a boy slightly taller than the rest, his shoulders broad, his muscles like stone. He was at ease, perhaps even bored, as if he did not particularly care about introductions.
This is Garran of the Stonefist Clan," Korvan continued. "His spirit is the Gorilla. He possesses strength greater than any of you, capable of crushing stone in his bare hands. He is not swift, nor is he the most tactical, but he does not need to be. When he strikes, his enemies fall."
Garran simply shrugged. "Just tell me who to hit.
Korvan stepped back, his gaze scouring the five of them. "From this day forward, you train together. You will learn from each other. You will fight each other. And by the end of this, you will no longer be novice warriors."
His eyes strengthened.
"You will be weapons."
A wind swept across the training grounds, rustling their hair and sending dust swirling around their legs. Anticipation was palpable in the air.
Azur grinned, gripping the hilts of his katanas.
Lionel snarled, his hand on the pommel of his greatsword.
Serai shifted her stance, her piercing eyes already analyzing them.
Kaela cracked her knuckles in eagerness.
Garran just shrugged his shoulders, ready for whatever would occur.
Their next stage of journey had begun.