The Talisaar Academy was unlike anything Kaelen had ever seen. Its towering spires reached high into the sky, and the courtyard was vast, filled with statues of legendary warriors and mages, all immortalized in stone. The ground beneath his feet was solid, crafted from smooth stone that had seen centuries of training. It was here that Kaelen hoped to forge his destiny.
Elara guided him through the bustling academy gates, past rows of trainees who were either sparring, meditating, or practicing various forms of magic. Kaelen couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it all. Here, in this city of legends, he was just a nameless boy from a broken village. But as he walked alongside Elara, he felt something stir in him—a strange sense of belonging.
"This is the Training Hall, where the real warriors are made," Elara said, her eyes glancing around at the busy courtyard. "Everyone here has their own reasons for being here, but it's the same for all of us: we want to become strong enough to protect those we care about."
Kaelen nodded, understanding the weight of her words. He had the same reason, after all. But even as he walked alongside her, he couldn't shake the feeling that there were eyes on him—judging him. He was a newcomer, an outsider. They had to be wondering what he was doing here.
Elara led him to a small training area at the far end of the courtyard. The space was quieter here, the only sounds the occasional clash of steel and the rhythmic thudding of feet striking the ground. A dozen or so students, a mixture of swordsmen, archers, and mages, practiced their skills. A few glanced up when Kaelen entered, but most remained focused on their tasks.
"This will be your first test," Elara said, turning to face him. "I want to see what you can do."
Kaelen's heart pounded in his chest. He was nervous, but he knew that if he was going to make it here, he needed to prove himself. He needed to show that he had the determination to learn, to grow, and to be worthy of training among these warriors.
Elara walked over to a weapon rack and pulled out a wooden practice sword. "Grab one," she said, tossing him a second sword. "Let's see how well you can defend yourself."
Kaelen caught the sword with a slight fumble, but he quickly regained his composure. He had fought with a rusted pitchfork back in his village, but this was different—this was a real weapon, and these were real warriors.
"Ready?" Elara asked, raising her own sword in preparation.
Kaelen nodded, lifting the wooden blade in front of him in an awkward stance. He knew he was no expert—he wasn't even a novice. But there was one thing he could do: he could fight, and he could learn.
Elara moved first. She was quick, her sword cutting through the air in a blur. Kaelen barely managed to block the first strike, the impact vibrating through his arms. He stepped back, trying to regain his balance as she pressed forward, striking again and again with a speed that left him reeling.
He barely parried in time, the wooden sword scraping against hers, but the force behind her strikes was overwhelming. Elara's movements were precise, calculated, as though she had done this a thousand times. Kaelen was struggling to keep up, his arms growing tired, his grip slipping. He could feel himself starting to falter.
But then something clicked inside him—something deep, buried beneath all the pain and loss. It was as though a flame had sparked in his chest, and suddenly, he saw through the haze of panic. He was no longer fighting with fear. He was fighting with purpose.
Elara struck again, this time faster than before. Kaelen blocked, but this time, he didn't stumble. He shifted his weight and countered with a strike of his own, his sword slashing through the air. Elara sidestepped, grinning slightly, impressed by his sudden improvement.
"Not bad," she said, nodding approvingly. "But you still have a lot to learn. Keep your focus. Don't let your fear dictate your movements."
Kaelen nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He wasn't done yet. He had come this far. He wasn't going to give up now.
The rest of the training session went on for hours, with Kaelen practicing the basics of swordsmanship under Elara's watchful eye. She wasn't an easy instructor, but Kaelen appreciated her no-nonsense approach. Every time he made a mistake, she corrected him with patience, and every time he showed improvement, she praised him—though she kept it brief. It wasn't about coddling; it was about building strength.
By the end of the day, Kaelen was exhausted, his body aching from the strain of the rigorous training. But there was a feeling of satisfaction in his chest, a quiet pride in knowing that he was one step closer to the strength he sought.
As he and Elara made their way to the academy's barracks, Kaelen couldn't help but notice how much Talisaar was changing him. It wasn't just about the physical training—it was about something deeper. This place, the people here, the discipline—it was all pushing him to become more than he had ever been. And that, he realized, was the first step on his path to becoming a hero.
Later that evening, as Kaelen lay in his cot in the barracks, the sounds of the academy drifting through the stone walls, he closed his eyes. He thought about the village of Vernis, about the faces of his family, about the promise he made to them.
But even as his mind wandered back to the past, he couldn't shake the feeling that something greater was at play. He had felt it today, during his fight with Elara. That spark inside him—it was more than just a desire for revenge. It was a calling. Something telling him that his destiny wasn't just to seek vengeance. It was to protect, to change the world, and to stop the forces of darkness that sought to destroy it.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Kaelen knew that. But as he lay there, the fire of determination burning in his chest, he made himself a promise. He would not fail again. He would rise above his pain, above his fear, and become the hero that Vaeloriax needed.
And no matter what darkness lay ahead, Kaelen would stand against it, with sword in hand and the strength of his will.