Aridel packed what little he had with him and left the barracks that held Selection Tournament. Weirdly enough, those barracks were a place to call home. In Tyner Village he stayed at an Inn, but only for a day. Aridel stayed in these barracks for a much longer time, he learned a lot- not only about himself, but also about the world around him.
"I can take that bag for you." said an older man who bore the crest of the Voss Family, "I presume it goes to the Voss House inside the Palace?"
Aridel gave a slight nod to the question. He wondered how long the man had waited outside of the barracks for him, he was the very last to leave.
The man guided Aridel to a quaint carriage and seated himself in the driver's seat.
A singular horse easily pulled the weight of the carriage, Aridel recognized that it circulated mana to do so. To call the moment surreal was an injustice. The city landscape felt infinite, there were easily millions of people in Haldrin.
The carriage soon approached the palace which absolutely dwarfed the size of the other gigantic manors that Aridel passed by on the way. After Aridel and the driver were interviewed at the entrance, the carriage passed around the actual palace itself and went behind it, which resided a mini-city of manors.
The city was still easily bigger than Tyner Village, it housed at least 70 manors, and one of them was presumably the Voss House.
The carriage ride finally came to a halt at one of the smaller Manors, "Welcome to the Voss House," said the man, opening Aridel's door for him.
"Thanks," Aridel said, keeping it quick, he was ready to get to meet Sir Brennan Voss behind closed doors again.
"Sir Voss wants you to meet him in the training grounds in the backyard." said the man, his last words before going back to the carriage to grab Aridel's bag and get him situated.
Following his master's orders, Aridel started to walk through the house and finally get situated.
The moment he crossed the threshold, Aridel's breath caught. The Voss House was nothing short of a palace in its own right. High vaulted ceilings soared above him, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes of great victories and serene landscapes. Crystal chandeliers hung like captured starlight, casting dancing prismatic reflections across marble floors so polished they seemed to reflect another world beneath them.
Every wall was draped in rich fabrics of deep crimson and gold, the colors of House Voss. Tapestries woven with such delicacy that they appeared almost alive hung between marble columns that rose like stone sentinels. Paintings of ancestors and heroes lined the hallways, some of them bearing the face of Brennan Voss in younger years, still fierce and commanding.
The furniture he passed was hewn from woods so dark and lustrous they appeared black, inlaid with ivory and precious metals in geometric patterns that spoke of both power and sophistication. Every detail whispered of wealth accumulated across generations, yet it was wealth worn with purpose rather than excess. For a family that collapsed years ago, Brennan had done a lot of rebuilding.
Aridel found himself momentarily lost in the splendor of it all, his fingers brushing across the edge of a polished bannister as he made his way deeper into the house. The architecture itself seemed designed to inspire awe, doorways tall enough to seem like gateways to another realm, and windows that opened onto gardens so meticulously maintained they looked like paintings.
The sound of footsteps drew his attention. Light, graceful steps, approaching from one of the adjoining corridors.
She appeared as though she had been conjured from the elegance of the house itself. Lady Claire Voss was a woman of remarkable beauty, her features fine and delicate, with eyes the color of spring water that seemed to hold warmth and kindness in equal measure. Her dark hair was arranged in an elegant updo, threaded with silver pins shaped like vines. She wore a gown of soft lavender, and Aridel noticed almost immediately that the fabric was cut slightly fuller around her midsection.
"You must be Aridel," she said, her voice as warm as afternoon sunlight. There was no formal distance in her greeting, no haughtiness that might be expected from a lady of her station. Instead, she approached him with a genuine smile, extending her hand in greeting. "Welcome to our home."
Aridel took her hand, uncertain of the proper etiquette, but finding that Claire's warmth made the moment feel natural rather than awkward. "My lady, thank you for—"
"Claire," she interrupted gently, her smile widening. "We don't stand on such formality here. Brennan has told me much about you. About the Selection Tournament, about your performance. He was very impressed." She studied him for a moment, and Aridel felt seen in a way that was neither intimidating nor intrusive. "Oddly enough, he speaks of you like a father might speak of a son."
Aridel felt something catch in his chest at the comparison—a son. He had no frame of reference for what that truly meant, but he understood the weight of it anyway.
Claire's hand moved to rest gently against her abdomen, and she caught him noticing the gesture. Her expression softened further. "We're expecting our first child," she said, her voice carrying an unmistakable note of joy. "Three months along now. Brennan desperately hopes for a son—someone to carry on the Voss legacy. Though," she added with a knowing smile, "I think he might surprise himself if our little one is a daughter."
She took his arm in a maternal gesture. "Come now. Brennan is waiting for you in the training grounds. But when you're finished, I want you to join us for a proper meal. You look far too thin—do they not feed you adequately in those barracks?" Without waiting for an answer, she began guiding him through the house, her hand warm on his arm.
"Thank you, Lady—thank you, Claire," Aridel said, feeling awkward but also oddly comforted by her attentiveness.
"That's better," she said, leading him toward the rear of the manor. "Now, Brennan is probably already warming up with Ser David. That man is relentless, Brennan has been training with him all morning, I'm sure." She guided him through a set of glass doors that opened onto the sprawling grounds beyond.
The training grounds behind the Voss House were nothing like the practice fields Aridel had trained in during the Selection Tournament. While those had been functional and utilitarian, these grounds were an extension of the manor's grandeur, yet designed with pure martial intent.
The earth was packed hard and dark, nearly black from countless hours of training. The ground was perfectly level, save for specific zones that had been reinforced with mana-infused stone, creating battlegrounds within the battleground. Along the perimeter, observation platforms had been constructed from marble, offering clear sightlines for those who wished to watch. Training dummies carved from mana-hardened wood lined one section, some scarred and splintered from years of sword strikes, others relatively untouched and waiting.
In the center of the main arena, two figures clashed with a violence that made the very air hum.
Brennan Voss moved like he was conducting a symphony of destruction. His blade sang through the air, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next, no wasted motion, no hesitation. His opponent was a man Aridel had never seen before—tall, broad-shouldered, with the confident bearing of a seasoned warrior.
The stranger was a Knight of the Second Order, Aridel recognized the distinctive white band on his bicep that denoted the rank. And yet, even as a Second Order knight, he was being overwhelmed.
Looking at Brennan's opponent more carefully, Aridel caught sight of a crest beneath the Second Order Insignia: a silver circle with crossed swords. It was the mark of House Kaleth, a noble house of Caldrithia. A few days ago, Aridel brought it upon himself to memorize every crest in Caldrithia, his Genius Mind made it extremely easy.
The Knight moved with impressive speed and skill, his blade a blur of steel as he defended against Brennan's assault. Yet with every exchange, he gave ground. Brennan wasn't simply faster or stronger—he fought with an intelligence that seemed to predict every move, adjusting his attacks a fraction of a second before his opponent could respond.
Finally, Brennan executed a deceptive feint that left the Knight exposed. Rather than deliver what would have been a killing blow, Brennan checked his momentum and stepped back, breathing heavily but not gasping for air.
"Well fought, Ser David," Brennan said, offering his hand to help the Knight to his feet. "Your form has improved since last month."
So that Knight was David. David of House Kaleth, bearing the mark of a 1st Silver Circle, one step below Brennan. Despite his considerable skill, he had been dominated in that exchange, it was mind-blowing. For someone, who to a peasant seemed omnipotent, to be outclassed in every imaginable manner in a duel against Brennan said something about the significance of circle.
David took Brennan's hand, pulling himself up with a wry smile. "Improved enough to still be defeated in three minutes, it seems." He was not bitter, only observational. There was respect in his voice. "Sir Voss, your speed has increased again. I could barely track your feints toward the end."
Brennan waved a hand dismissively, but his expression showed pleasure at the compliment. His eye then caught movement at the edge of the training grounds. Aridel stood near the glass doors, waiting to be acknowledged.
A smile broke across Brennan's face, genuine and warm. He sheathed his sword and began walking toward Aridel, David following at a more measured pace.
"Aridel!" Brennan's voice boomed across the grounds, filled with unmistakable pride. "You've made it to the Voss House. Come here, let me look at you properly."
Aridel approached, and Brennan clasped his shoulder with a firm grip, his dark eyes studying him for a long moment.
Eventually, Brennan clapped him on the shoulder once more. "Watch. I want you to see something." He turned back toward the arena where David was preparing himself again. "David, again!"
The Knight nodded and assumed his ready stance.
What followed was a masterclass in swordplay that would have been impossible to describe adequately without witnessing it. Brennan had held back in the first exchange—Aridel realized this immediately. Now, with Aridel watching, he unleashed the true depths of his skill. With Aridel's genius, something like this was priceless.
The transformation was stunning. Brennan didn't simply fight faster; he fought with mathematical precision, each movement perfectly calculated. He would feint with his blade while moving his body in contradictory directions, creating openings that seemed to appear and vanish in the same instant. When he channeled mana through his blade, the weapon would glow with a soft blue light, and the speed of his strikes would increase exponentially.
But what truly captured Aridel's attention was the way Brennan moved mana through his body. It wasn't like the stale circle techniques Aridel had observed in other warriors. The mana flowed like a living thing, concentrating in his arms when he needed power, dispersing through his legs for mobility, gathering around his blade for striking force. There was a rhythm to it, a pattern that seemed almost musical.
And then Aridel saw it—the very thing his genius mind had been searching for. The way Brennan distributed his mana wasn't dependent on a single source point. His power was coming from multiple places simultaneously, a coordinated symphony of technique that allowed him to attack and defend with seemingly impossible versatility. It still utilized circles, perhaps inefficiently, but used it in a way that wasn't seen with the squires he faced at the tournament, barring Kael Montrose, of course.
The duel lasted five minutes this time. David fought valiantly, even landing a few strikes that Brennan allowed to connect rather than completely evade. But the end result was inevitable. Brennan disarmed him with a series of strikes that came so quickly they seemed like a single motion, sending David's sword flying across the arena.
Brennan lowered his blade, breathing heavily but with the satisfaction of a master craftsman admiring his work.
"Again?" David asked, retrieving his sword and brushing dirt from his clothes.
"No, I think that's enough for today," Brennan replied. He looked at Aridel. "Come. David will join us for the evening meal. We have much to discuss regarding Caldrithian politics, and I value his perspective."
The dining hall of the Voss House was as magnificent as every other room Aridel had passed through. A long oak table was laden with enough food to feed twenty people, yet only four places were set: for Brennan, Claire, Aridel, and Ser David.
As servants brought course after course—roasted pheasant, vegetables glazed in honey, fresh bread still warm from the ovens, wines of varying colors—the conversation turned serious.
"The succession remains unclear," David was saying, his tone thoughtful. "King Beron hasn't named an heir, and the three remaining princes circle one another like hawks. First Prince Darius still has the strongest support among the northern lords, but Fourth Prince Cassius grows more popular with the merchant guilds. As for Third Prince Anthon…" David shook his head. "He has the Temple's backing, and they are not a force to dismiss."
Brennan listened carefully, chewing his food methodically. "And the Eastern Territories? I've heard whispers of instability near the Montrose border."
"The Montrose Duke grows bold," David confirmed. "Some say he has been negotiating with the foreigners. If conflict breaks out in the succession, House Montrose might use the chaos to press their claims. Especially with Kael and Castor Montrose, it's only a matter of time until the King dies and Caldrithia is in chaos."
The implications were sobering. The Kingdom of Caldrithia, for all its magnificence, was not as stable as it appeared. The Selection Tournament, Aridel understood now, was not merely for the training of knights. It was a way of gathering the kingdom's finest warriors, binding them through oath and loyalty, preparing them for the conflicts that might come.
Brennan's eyes shifted to Aridel for just a moment, a subtle acknowledgment that these were matters the young squire would need to understand.
After the meal, David departed, and Brennan led Aridel through the manor toward what appeared to be a private study. The walls here were lined with books, and a large map of Caldrithia occupied one entire wall, marked with annotations in Brennan's own hand.
"We should begin your formal training earlier than I initially planned," Brennan said without preamble. He gestured for Aridel to sit. "Your performance in the Selection Tournament was exceptional, but it showed only the surface of what you might become. I want to push deeper, faster."
"I'm ready, Sir Voss," Aridel said.
Brennan inclined his head. "I believe you are. To do that effectively, I need to examine your core directly. May I?"
Aridel understood what this meant. Opening one's core to inspection was an act of tremendous vulnerability and trust. The core was the seat of a warrior's power, the nexus of their mana and technique. To allow someone inside that space uninvited could be dangerous.
"Yes, Sir Voss," Aridel said, and he meant it.
Brennan leaned forward, his eyes closing as he extended his consciousness into Aridel's core. The sensation was strange, not painful, but deeply intimate. Aridel could feel the master's attention settling over his mana structure, examining every detail.
The moment seemed to stretch. Aridel counted his own heartbeats, waiting. Then, suddenly, Brennan's eyes snapped open, and he yanked his consciousness back. His expression was one of absolute shock.
For a long moment, he said nothing. He simply stared at Aridel, his mouth slightly open, his dark eyes wide with an emotion Aridel couldn't quite name.
"What?" Aridel asked quietly. "Is something wrong?"
Brennan held up a hand, silencing him. His mind was clearly reeling, processing something that had shaken the foundations of his understanding.
'By the gods,' Brennan's thoughts churned in the silence of his own mind. 'I've never… in all my years training swordsmen, examining cores, honing techniques… I've never seen anything like this. The boy isn't using circles, he's abandoned the fundamental structure of mana cultivation. Instead, he's created what appear to be singular points of concentrated power, isolated reservoirs that function independently yet harmonize with one another.'
'And the efficiency of it… the efficiency is beyond anything I've ever witnessed. Traditional circles require careful balance, must be reinforced constantly, and their power distribution is limited by their geometric constraints. But that sub-core is a pure repository of mana, connected by threads of technique so delicate and precise they're almost invisible.'
'How is he doing this? How has a boy from a backwater village intuited a technique that doesn't exist in any of the primary cultivation schools? The sheer brilliance required to even conceive of such a structure, let alone implement it without training… This isn't just talent. This is genius of a kind the Kingdom hasn't seen in generations.'
'And his total mana power—I can sense it clearly now. He's equivalent to approximately a mid-Bronze Third Circle warrior. For someone of his age, who has only recently awakened to cultivation, it's an absurdity. But with that technique, with his sub-core functioning in perfect harmony…'
'He could be something great, he could help me revive my family's legacy!'
When Brennan finally spoke, his voice was quiet but infused with awe. "How… how long did it take you to develop this technique?"
"I don't know exactly," Aridel said. "I realized I circles were simply inefficient, so I started experimenting during my time in the barracks. It took maybe six hours of constant iteration before it felt… right."
"Six hours," Brennan repeated, as though the words were from another language. "Six hours, and you've created something that should have taken years of study and guidance to even conceptualize." He stood abruptly and began pacing, his mind clearly working through implications. "This is extraordinary. Truly extraordinary."
"Is it wrong?" Aridel asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
"Wrong?" Brennan laughed, a sound of genuine marvel. "No, no. It's the opposite of wrong. It's… inspired." He turned back to face Aridel. "This technique of yours—these sub-cores. They need names. A proper framework. Calling them sub-cores is insufferably mundane."
Brennan settled into his chair again, his eyes gleaming with the fervor of a scholar who had just discovered something miraculous. "What would you call them? This creation of yours—surely you've thought about what to name it?"
Aridel shook his head. "I never thought… I suppose I don't know enough to name my own technique, Sir Voss. It should be you who names it. You're my master."
Brennan considered this, and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. It was the privilege of a master to name a student's cultivated technique—to acknowledge and legitimize what they had created. For Aridel to defer this honor spoke well of his respect and humility.
"Very well," Brennan said slowly, the decision taking weight in his mind as he spoke. "These individual points of power you've theorized… they remind me of stars. Singular, bright points of light in the vast darkness of space, each one distinct and distant, yet interconnected by the fabric of the cosmos itself. I will call them stars."
He paused, letting the word settle, then continued, "And the technique itself—the way they orbit and harmonize, creating a complete system of power—I will call the technique Constellate. You're essentially making a constellation of stars, bound together by your will and technique. In the future, you may create many such stars, building your own personal constellation of power."
Aridel felt something shift within him at the naming. It was as though Brennan's words had given form and legitimacy to what had been instinctive creation. Constellate. The name resonated with something deep in his chest.
"But you should name your first star yourself," Brennan continued. "The first of your constellation deserves a proper designation. What will you call it?"
Aridel thought for a moment, considering the nature of this power source, this creation that was uniquely his own. It was the foundation of everything he would become, the kernel from which all future power would grow.
"I can't name it yet, maybe later, for now I'll call it One."
Brennan settled back into his chair. "Your mana capacity, as it stands, is equivalent to approximately a mid-Bronze Third Circle warrior. That's extraordinary for your age and training. But with the Constellate technique, with the elegance of your approach to mana cultivation, you have potential that far exceeds what raw power alone would suggest."
He leaned forward, his dark eyes intense. "We have much work to do, Aridel. The world is changing, and Caldrithia faces challenges that will demand warriors of exceptional capability. The Selection Tournament was merely the beginning—a testing ground to identify potential. But now, here in this house, we begin the true work of forging a warrior."
"I understand, Sir Voss," Aridel said.
He was becoming something that Caldrithia would need, whether the Kingdom knew it yet or not.
As Brennan dismissed him to his quarters, Aridel found himself thinking of the words Claire had spoken: "He speaks of you like a father might speak of a son."
Perhaps, he thought, in this grand manor filled with light and purpose, he had finally found something he didn't even know he was searching for. Not just a place to belong, but people who believed in him.
The night was deep when Aridel finally settled into the luxurious bed of his assigned chamber—a room far more opulent than anything he had ever occupied. As sleep drew near, he could still feel the resonance of his first star, One, humming quietly at the center of his being.
Tomorrow, his true journey would begin. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, he rested with the contentment of someone who finally understood their purpose.