Dawn's light filtered through the broken rooftiles of the ruined village as Allen and James emerged from the shed where they had huddled the night before. Around them lay the echoes of the Black Knight's wrath—charred beams, shattered shields, and silent beginnings of new fortifications. Their friends had scattered at first light, each on a journey to find their own masters. Now, it was their turn.
Allen flexed his ribs, still tender from last night's blow. James wiped the sleep from his eyes, fingers lingering on the faint scar where the Knight's arrow had struck. They stood together in heavy silence.
"We swore not to lose again," Allen murmured. "Then we find someone who can teach us to win."
James nodded, voice firm despite his weariness. "We leave for Karalon at first light."
Across the square, Henry, Jack, and Robert gathered, their injuries bandaged but spirits unbroken. Each embraced the brothers in turn, offering clenched fists or weary smiles.
"Find a master worthy," Henry said, arm in a sling. "We'll meet again when we're eighteen, unbeatable."
Their promise hung in the air, a bond forged in blood and defeat.
Parting at the Crossroads
Under a gray sky, Allen and James set off down the main road, the morning chill biting through their cloaks. The village gates creaked as they passed, familiar faces turning to watch them go. Each step was slow, deliberate, weighted by pain and possibility.
They carried only essentials: water, jerked meat, James's bow, Allen's scythe, and a handful of healing salves. Beyond the village lay the world's first test.
Road to Karalon
The brothers' journey to Karalon stretched over a hundred miles of winding roads, each mile etched into their weary bones. Their first night on the road, they camped beneath an oak older than the village itself. In its gnarled roots, James discovered a faded carving of two figures standing side by side—an omen of brotherhood that bolstered their resolve.
At dawn, they pressed on through whispering wheat fields. A farmer tending his crops offered them crusts of bread and hushed warnings of highwaymen who preyed on lone travelers. That evening, under amber skies, they spied a ragged band of cutthroats emerging from the cornrows. Allen's scythe gleamed as he stepped forward, eyes blazing; James nocked an arrow, hand steady. But instead of bloodshed, they found themselves negotiating for safe passage: Allen's promise to spare them if they stole only from the rich, James's oath that none would be harmed. The cutthroats melted back into the fields, leaving a single coin pouch as tribute.
Further north, the forest of Graypine closed in around them. The air turned thick with moss and mist, and the path vanished beneath tangled roots. At midday, they stumbled upon an injured stag, its leg caught in a hunter's snare. Against James's protest—grim reminders of their own broken limbs—Allen knelt, whispering calming words as he cut the trap. The stag limped away gratefully, and James felt a rare spark of hope.
By the fifth dawn, chests light with healing herbs gathered along the way, they crested a rise to behold Karalon's silver towers. Yet exhaustion claimed them both—James's arrow shoulder ached, and Allen's ribs flared with every breath. As they approached the high stone walls, Allen tucked his scythe into its sheath and squared his shoulders. "One more trial," he said, placing a steady hand on James's back.
At the gate, a pair of green-robed sentries peered down. Their eyes softened at the sight of the brothers' battered forms and hopeful gaze.
"Purpose?" one asked, spear held respectfully.
James met his eyes. "We seek Seraphina's Field. We wish to train under her guidance."
The guard exchanged a silent nod with his partner, then stepped aside. "The road grows harder beyond this point. May your resolve match your wounds."
With that, the gates creaked open, inviting them into Karalon's heart.
Author's Note:
Narrator (grinning): You know, you two just waltz in and suddenly poof—Seraphina's your master.
Allen (elbows James): Hey! Don't act like you didn't sneak a peek at that parchment under the table.
James (shoves Allen jokingly): Stop blaming me—I only suggested we read it when you were asleep.
Narrator: Right, right. A tattered scrap in the council room…
Allen: It had her name scribbled like some bedtime story. I thought it was a joke—until highwaysmen started calling her "the silent rose."
James: You mean the same bandits who ran the moment they heard her name?
Allen (smirks): Exactly. So yeah, we followed breadcrumbs. Tavern gossip, old maps, rumors on dusty winds.
Narrator: A faint promise of hope, huh?
James: More like an itch we couldn't scratch until we met her.
Allen: And here we are. Ready…
Narrator: …to learn from the best-kept secret in Karalon.
Allen (snorts): Oh, come on. It wasn't exactly secret, but more like... unspoken.
James (grinning): Yes, the guard's aunt once trained with her. Word got around, but they kept it low-key.
Narrator: Right, so not a headline, but whispered among those who needed to know.
Allen: Exactly. A secret worth keeping from the masses, not from the right ears.
James: And now, here we are—seriously underprepared, but determined.
Arrival at the Isolated Training Field
Beyond Karalon's bustling streets lay the secluded valley, ringed by gentle hills and draped in early morning mist. The training field was modest: a wide, cleaved stone platform surrounded by unmown grass and half-buried obelisks. Allen and James stepped onto the worn stones, every muscle alert.
Seraphina stood at its center, the steel-rose staff glowing faintly. She beckoned.
"Welcome, Allen West. Welcome, James West. Today, you begin anew," she said, voice clear and resonant even in the hush.
Allen (nervous): Uh…where exactly do we start?
Seraphina (smiling faintly): With understanding. A blade without purpose is merely metal. A weapon without mercy is merely destruction. Today, we forge purpose."
She swept her staff in a slow arc, and the field's stones shifted, revealing concentric circles carved with ancient runes.
"These rings represent kingdoms: Karalon, Aurendell, Tharys, and beyond. Each morning, you will stand in a different ring and learn its story—its people, its conflicts, its heart. Only when you know what you protect can you fight with conviction."
James glanced at Allen, raising an eyebrow. "Talking history during war?"
Seraphina's gaze softened. "A warrior's strength begins with knowing why he wields a weapon."
First Week: Learning Karalon's Heart
Each sunrise, Allen and James trained at dawn. The first ring—etched with a lion rampant—held Karalon's legacy. Seraphina recounted its founding queen's sacrifice, its golden age, and the betrayal that cost the Northern Marches.
Between lessons, they practiced fluid weapon drills: Allen's scythe carving majestic arcs, James's arrows loosed with precision measured by Seraphina's calm critique.
Allen (panting): Does every kingdom have so much drama?
James (wiping sweat): If they didn't, why would we fight for them?
Seraphina watched from the sidelines, nodding in approval. By week's end, Allen felt bonded to Karalon's soil, understanding its people's hope and grief.
Second Week: Aurendell's Honor
The next ring bore a horned stag—Aurendell's emblem. Legend held this northern realm as the seat of chivalry. Seraphina spoke of marshalled armies, code-bound knights, and the delicate balance of justice.
Training shifted: sparring sessions in full armor, James learning to nock arrows through slits, Allen adapting his scythe swings to ring armor with controlled force.
Seraphina: Honor tempers wrath. You must learn restraint.
Under heavy steel, their wounds—once raw—hardened into minor aches. Each struck blow felt measured, each defense learned.
Third Week: Tharys's Shadows
The stag gave way to a coiled serpent—Tharys, the Realm of Shadows. Its people mastered subterfuge and cunning diplomacy, its soil shaped by silent wars.
Here, Seraphina taught stealth: soft footfall on grass, silent arrow releases, deception drills where Allen feinted invisibly and James lost himself in shadowy cloisters.
James (smiling in the dim light): You're getting good at hiding.
Allen (quietly): You've taught me well.
They emerged from those sessions with new skills: Allen's scythe could now swing in near-silence, James's arrows flew unseen until impact.
Final Days: Forging Tomorrow's Legacy
As the circle neared completion, Seraphina guided them through honor lessons: tending the earth where each kingdom's fallen lay, offering silent prayers, and vowing their swords to just causes.
On the final dawn, the rings faded, the field restored to simple stone. Blood and sweat-streaked, Allen and James stood before Seraphina—no longer ragged survivors but disciplined warriors.
Seraphina: You have learned why you fight. Next, you will learn how to face realms unseen—and someday, gods themselves. But for now, rest. Your next lesson begins at dusk.
Allen (smiles wryly): Already? I was hoping for a day off.
James (laughs): Your masters don't do vacation.
Seraphina (amused): The night sky holds teachers unseen. Sleep well, boys. Tomorrow, the unseen realms open.
As Seraphina departed like a shadow, the brothers exchanged determined glances.
"One promise," Allen said softly. "Never lose again."
James nodded. "Never."
Under Karalon's first stars, they lay down on the cool stone—wounded yet whole, ready for the trials still to come.
[End of Chapter 4]