Kinetrius woke late the next morning in the Companions' barracks. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, and beyond the stone walls the city was already alive with bustle and noise. His body, however, had no interest in the day. Every injury from the night before throbbed angrily, half-healed wounds flaring as if they'd been torn open again. For a long moment, he lay still, staring at the ceiling beams, letting his thoughts circle like vultures.
The man wearing his father's face.
Falwon.
Was it truly him? Or just a puppet draped in his likeness? Could he still be saved—dragged back from whatever darkness had taken him? Or was that hope nothing but another cruel trick?
With a frustrated sigh, Kinetrius pushed himself upright. He was weary of chasing questions that only bled into more. Moving stiffly, he dressed in the clothes that had been left neatly folded at his bedside. Clean. Pressed. Someone had taken the trouble to wash them.
When he looked up, a broad figure filled the doorway. Farkas stood there, a bundle of fresh clothes in his arms.
"Washed 'em last night while you all slept," Farkas said, his deep voice carrying no embellishment. "Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," Kinetrius answered, managing a faint smile. "I appreciate it, really."
"Glad to hear it. You're probably looking for your friends. I think Eradros is down the hall talking with Gavhelus. Aela's upstairs. She said to come find her when you finally got up."
Farkas lingered, face as blank and steady as stone. He wasn't a man of flourish or easy charm, but Kinetrius found comfort in that simplicity.
"Well, I'll leave you to it then," Farkas said at last. "Gonna finish making my rounds."
"Right… and thanks again."
Kinetrius watched him go, then stepped out into the corridor. The air smelled faintly of hearthfire and oil, echoing with the murmur of voices. Before he'd gone far, he recognized the sound of an argument—mild, but sharp around the edges.
"…No, no, mate, you've got it all wrong," Gavhelus was saying. "I'm not sayin' throw the kid in front of a dragon and hope he survives. He's going to need real training with that voice of his."
"So why don't you come with us?" Eradros's reply was clipped, almost impatient.
"Aw, nah, I couldn't leave me Aela behind. What if she needs me? And besides—you should know by now, I don't give a skeever's arse about humanity and all that. I just like the kid."
"Look," Eradros pressed, "normally I wouldn't bother asking anyone for anything. But the lad fancies himself a conjurer. Who better a teacher than you?"
Gavhelus gave a low chuckle. "Oh, I don't know about that, mate. Y'know conjuration and dead family members don't mix all that pretty."
"Trust me," Eradros muttered, "he's definitely not allowed to practice necromancy. Just the summoning part."
Kinetrius slowed in the hall, listening, until a voice from above cut through the debate.
"Kinetrius," Aela called from the top of the stairs.
"Young master," Aela called from the top of the stairs. "Come. I wish to discuss something with you."
Kinetrius glanced once more at Eradros and Gavhelus—still lost in their debate—before turning toward her. He hadn't realized Eradros had already been thinking so far ahead. For his own part, he hadn't considered much beyond facing the cultists. What were they supposed to do next? The thought of leaving everything on Eradros's shoulders left a bitter taste. He had to be better than this.
He followed Aela into the main hall. She was waiting at the back door, the one that led to the training grounds.
"This way," she said, holding it open.
Kinetrius quickened his pace, eager to see what this was about. Outside, the yard stretched wide, with training dummies lined along the wall and targets clustered near the corners. An open patch of ground sat between them, the dirt packed firm from years of sparring. He stepped out from under the shade into the bright sunlight.
Aela stood in front of him, arms folded.
"We watched your fight last night," she said evenly.
Kinetrius flushed. "Now that's embarrassing… nearly got killed twice."
"Embarrassed for what? You were injured to begin with, and yet you perfected the bound sword spell with only one word from an instructor. I won't make excuses for life-or-death situations, but all in all—it was valiant, to say the least."
"If… if you say so," he muttered.
"When you fight," Aela continued, her sharp eyes narrowing, "you throw yourself into a spin right before striking. Why?"
Kinetrius hesitated, then shrugged slightly. "It's… kind of a move I used against my father when we trained. He was stronger than me, and bigger. Spinning gave me more momentum in a short burst. It was the only way I could hit hard enough to keep up."
"That's… creative, I suppose." Her tone was flat, but not unkind. "Your wounds—how are they feeling?"
"They're a bit sore. But I don't think I reopened them. They're fine."
Without another word, Aela tossed a sword at his feet. The blade struck the dirt with a dull clang.
Kinetrius blinked, looking from the weapon back to her.
"Pick it up," she said. "It's my understanding you'll have to become much stronger than you are now. I wish to aid you in this task, however little it may be. Before you leave on your journey, I shall leave you with a lesson."
Nerves tightened in his chest. Slowly, he bent to take the weapon, gripping the hilt as though it might bite. He raised his gaze to her, waiting.
"Your spins are a good way to build momentum," Aela said, stepping lightly across the dirt. "But without proper footwork and timing, they'll just get you stabbed faster. Come!"
Kinetrius lowered his stance. "Okay… no holding back?"
"I wouldn't dream of it."
He charged.
Sword raised, he threw his body into a vertical spin, all the speed and strength he could summon packed into the strike. But before his blade could fall, Aela pivoted smoothly and raised her leg, kicking him square in the chest.
The impact sent him flying backward across the yard. He tumbled through the dirt, gasping, then scrambled back to his feet.
"Fierce approach," Aela said, "but you're too obvious. If you want to power your swings that way, you must weave them into your movements—not telegraph them before the blow. When the cultist struck at you, you blocked, and you used his own momentum to power your counter. It was brilliant, actually."
"I was hardly in my right mind when that happened," Kinetrius admitted. "It was sort of… instinct, I guess."
"Instinct and strategy are one and the same in battle," Aela said, lifting her blade into guard. "The goal is to make it second nature. Ready yourself. Here I come!"
Kinetrius dusted himself off, tightened his grip on the sword, and readied himself again.
This time, Aela struck first.
She moved like lightning, closing the distance in seconds, her blade arcing in a powerful swing. Kinetrius braced, caught the strike on his weapon, and let the force whip him into a spin for a counter. His blade sliced back at her, fast and heavy—
—but Aela simply leaned her head aside, letting the steel pass harmlessly by.
His swing carried wide, leaving him off-balance, one leg dangling in the air. With a quick swipe of her foot, she swept his support out from under him. He toppled backward, landing hard in the dirt.
"Good," Aela said, her tone cool but approving. "You're starting to understand what I mean by timing. But your footwork is still lacking. What good is your offense if you cannot master your steps?"
Kinetrius growled under his breath, climbing to his feet once more.
They clashed again. And again. Each time he ended face-first or flat-backed in the dirt. Each time, Aela would step back and bark—
"Again!"
Kinetrius rose once more, chest heaving, sweat and dust clinging to his skin. Frustration boiled inside him. Every failure chipped away at his confidence. Was she making a warrior of him—or only proving her lessons wasted?
"It's quite simple, young master," Aela said firmly. "Your feet are the precursor to every movement you make. You must have that in check before you can hope to best your opponent with a blade. You must not only watch their movements, but be aware of your own at all times. Again!"
Teeth clenched, Kinetrius charged. This time he opened with a short, quick spin. Blocked. He pressed with another. Blocked again. On the third spin, he ducked low, sweeping for her legs—
—but the space before him was empty.
He looked up just in time to see Aela vaulting over him, blade poised for a crushing counter. He rolled sideways across the dirt, barely evading the strike as it carved into the ground where he'd been.
She landed in a smooth crouch and came forward at once, sword flashing toward his midsection.
Kinetrius leapt over the swing, twisting midair. He spun once. Twice. Then brought his blade crashing down with all his weight behind it.
Aela caught it—but the force drove her back two steps.
She steadied, lowered her weapon, and smiled—a satisfied grin that softened her usual severity.
"Precisely."
"But… I didn't land a hit," Kinetrius said, panting.
"And you wouldn't have," Aela replied matter-of-factly. "Not against me, anyway. But I think you're starting to understand what I mean by being unpredictable."
He exhaled hard. "If you say so. It all felt like an uphill battle, though."
Aela chuckled. "Consider it growing pains, child. You will continue to struggle when learning new things. But never let it deter you. I'm sure you will make a fine swordsman soon enough."
"Kin!"
They both turned. Eradros strode across the yard, cloak trailing, bow slung across his back.
"There you are," he said. "Getting a quick lesson in, I see."
"Just finishing, actually," Aela replied. "Getting him acquainted with the ground rules of combat."
Eradros's sharp eyes swept over the boy—smeared with dirt from head to toe.
"Well," he said dryly, "he's got the ground part right, it seems."
Kinetrius blinked. "Was that… a joke?"
"I believe it was, lad."
"You've been so serious lately, I didn't think you were capable."
"Ouch, kiddo," Eradros said, hand over his chest as if struck. "What's that all about? Are you upset with me or something?"
Kinetrius flinched, realizing the sting of his own words. He turned quickly, guilt written all over his face.
"I didn't mean it like that. It's just…"
"Out with it, lad," Eradros pressed.
"I just don't want this entire problem to rest solely on you," Kinetrius said at last, his voice tight. "I can feel how stressed all of this is making you. All you've done since we met is pull my ass out of every fire that's come my way. I want you to know that I will be more useful in the future. I won't… just be a burden passed from my father to you."
Eradros's expression softened. He stepped closer and lowered himself until he was kneeling before the boy.
"I see," he murmured. "Has that been weighing on you all this time?"
Kinetrius grew quiet, his gaze dropping to the floorboards. He wouldn't meet Eradros's eyes.
"…Forget I said anything," he muttered, forcing himself upright. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up and gather my things."
Before Eradros could answer, he strode away, disappearing down the hall toward the barracks.
Eradros stayed where he was, frowning. "He's so touchy today. Did I miss something between now and last night?"
"Let him be, for the time being," Aela said. She stood with arms folded, watching the boy's retreat. "He simply wishes to be greater than he is now. Not unlike most boys his age. He will be fine."
Eradros exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Are all teenage boys this emotionally unstable?"
"Depends on how much trauma they got," another voice chimed in.
Both turned to see Gavhelus strolling into the hall with yet another oversized turkey leg in hand.
"I take it he didn't like the plan about goin' to see the geezers, huh?" Gavhelus asked, tearing off a bite.
"I never got the chance to tell him," Eradros admitted.
Aela tilted her head. "Is that your plan, then? To visit the Greybeards?"
"Not so much a plan," Eradros said grimly, "as it is our only option. Do you think I'm pushing him too hard? He's barely recovered from his first encounter with a dragon, and here I am preparing him to fight the damned thing."
"Neither you nor the boy asked for these circumstances," Aela said firmly. "Don't beat yourself up about it."
Eradros gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "I never knew the famed Aela the Huntress was as skilled in giving life advice as she is with a blade. But thank you—I think I needed to hear that." He paused, then added, "I suppose once the lad has his things, we'll be off. Will you still not accompany us, Gavhelus?"
"I already told you, mate," Gavhelus said with a shrug. "Can't without talkin' to me Aela first."
"No talk needed," Aela interrupted, dropping a very heavy travel bag onto the nearby table with a thud.
Gavhelus froze, staring at it. "Love, you can't be serious. I couldn't leave you behind."
"You're going with them," she said simply. "End of story."
She walked up to him then, reaching her hand up to caress his rigid face.
"I know you don't see it like I do now. But it's for the best."
Gavhelus lowered the turkey leg, staring at her. "…You must really want to help the kid, huh?"
"I want you to help yourself by helping him," Aela said softly. "You'll probably never say it aloud, but I know there's a part of you that longs to be redeemed. Here's your chance, love."
Gavhelus huffed, defeated. "Well, I can't rightly say no now that you've given that speech, can I?"
"I'm already proud of you," Aela said with a faint smile. "I'm sure you'll do great things. Well… I have business to attend to. Tell the young master I won't be able to send him off, but I wish him the best. And remind him—I still want to hear those stories he promised."
"Will do," Eradros said. He hesitated. "Oh—and Aela…"
"Yes?"
"Thanks for everything you've done for him. I've honestly felt in over my head since he's been with me, but you've helped him in ways I didn't know he needed."
"Speak no more of it," she replied. "You can repay me later with tales of your victory against the dragons."
With that, Aela turned and left, her steps confident as she passed out the front door.
Gavhelus stared after her, pouting as though sulking at being forced onto the journey.
Not long after, Kinetrius returned, freshly washed and dressed. His expression, however, was still dark—gloomy, and clearly weighed down by thoughts he couldn't shake
"So… where to now?" Kinetrius asked quietly.
"To the very top of the Throat of the World," Eradros replied. "A place known as High Hrothgar. We're going to meet with the Greybeards."
"Right… well, let's be on our way then."
Kinetrius stepped out first, his shoulders heavy, his air depressed. Eradros and Gavhelus exchanged a glance—concern flickering between them—before following him out into the streets.
As they passed through the city gates, a familiar voice called after them.
"You guys leaving without me?"
Eradros turned, half exasperated, to see Minevi approaching with a bag slung over her shoulder.
"And just where do you think you're going?" he asked.
"After I made my report to my commanding officer, they deemed it necessary for me to accompany you lot," Minevi replied with a faint smirk.
"Oh? No tedious military duty calling for your attention?" Eradros said, a brow arched.
"There's literally nothing more important than saving mankind from the threat of dragons," she said evenly. Then her tone softened. "But… it's only if you'll have me."
"It's up to you. I don't really ca—"
Gavhelus bumped his shoulder hard, cutting him off. Eradros shot him a glare, then caught the expression on his face. He sighed, realizing his mistake.
"I mean… it would be great to have you with us, Minevi. I'm sure Kin would love it as well."
"Great. I'm glad you said yes. If not, I would've had to tail you like a stalker."
"Seriously?" Eradros asked flatly.
"My orders are to keep an eye on the Dragonborn situation," Minevi said, deadpan, "and to aid in any way I can to prevent it from becoming more of a problem than it already is. I figured it would be easier to just travel with you."
"Well, that sure is convenient," Gavhelus muttered. "Ah, well—the more the merrier, I say."
They began loading their gear onto the carriage. Kinetrius had already packed his things and was seated inside, a tome open in his hands. His expression was still clouded, his gloom heavy as smoke.
Eradros noticed. He walked around to the side, leaning in.
"Kin," he said firmly. "I want you to look at everyone here."
Kinetrius lowered his book and turned. Outside the carriage he saw them—Eradros, Minevi, and Gavhelus—waiting, watching.
"Everyone here is here for you," Eradros said. "Not your father. I'll admit—I felt burdened when he first asked me to take you in. But what we're attempting is bigger than any of us. That burden ended the day I pulled you from the dragon's claws. I saw the full scope of the problem then. I'm sure you'll become more useful. You bloody well better—or Skyrim is in trouble."
For a moment, their eyes met. Then, unexpectedly, they both smiled. The words had landed.
"Now," Eradros added with a faint grin, "if you want to be more useful, you can start by quitting all this sulking you've been doing lately. That would be a great help."
"I wasn't sulking. I just…"
"You want to be better," Eradros cut in. "We all do. In more ways than you can imagine. I'll never know what it's like to be in your shoes. But the important thing is that you keep on wearin' 'em. Understood?"
Kinetrius hesitated, then nodded, his face brightening. "Yeah. I hear you."
"Then that's that. Our next stop is a small town at the foot of the mountain called Ivarstead. From there we'll have to climb the Seven Thousand Steps."
"That sounds extremely exhausting."
"Then I suggest you rest up. And a bit of forewarning—we'll be passing through Helgen on the way. I don't want you freaking out once we're there."
"I should be fine," Kinetrius said, though his tone was cautious. "I hope."
Eradros and Minevi climbed onto the driver's bench at the front while Gavhelus swung up into the carriage beside Kinetrius. The boy reopened his book as the wheels began to creak forward.
The gates opened, and there—standing at the blacksmith's forge—was Aela. She raised a hand, waving them off.
Kinetrius leaned out the window, waving back with a spark of excitement. She had become something of a hero to him, even more so now that she'd trained him herself.
Now, they were on their way—to find answers about his powers, and to uncover what it truly meant to be Dragonborn.
Chapter End—