The first rays of dawn pierced the darkness, not with a gentle touch, but with the sharp, cold light of a new, unyielding reality. Elias stood in the open field of Blackwood Keep that was serving as their training yard. The air was crisp and bitingly cold, carrying the earthy scent of dew-dampened stone and the distant fragrance of pine from the surrounding forests. The yard, usually a place of playful skirmishes and friendly sparring between the house guards, was now empty save for him and his father. Elias himself hadn't been here in a long while as he and Aina's training mostly took place in the garden.
Lord Alaric stood before him, his arms folded across his chest, his posture as immovable and solid as the keep's foundation. The light of the rising sun cast his figure in a long, imposing silhouette, making the lines of his face seem harsher, his expression sterner than Elias had ever seen. His father's usual booming laugh and warm, paternal gaze were gone, replaced by a pair of stern, unflinching eyes that seemed to analyze Elias, measuring him, judging him. A cold wave of anxiety washed over Elias. His father, standing a mere ten feet away, was more intimidating than anything he had ever encountered. Not even being with Aina could compare. The sheer weight of his expectation felt suffocating. Elias had tried to relax, but his shoulders were tense, his hands balled into tight fists at his side. He was a small, fragile boy, and he had never felt more so than at this moment.
Lord Alaric, as if sensing the storm of nerves brewing in his son, broke the silence. A slow, warm smile spread across his face, instantly melting the stern expression he had been wearing.
"Don't be so tense, son," he said, his voice returning to its usual deep, resonant rumble. "The training has not even started yet. I am merely assessing my new student."
Elias let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He forced a smile of his own, a weak, shaky thing, and said, "Sure."
He tried to relax his shoulders, but the knots in his muscles refused to loosen. What was he to expect? A brutal, physical regimen? He had no idea.
The mystery was almost as terrifying as the prospect of the pain itself. Just as his mind began to race with a hundred different scenarios, a new figure stepped into the training yard.
It was Aina. Her blonde hair was well combed appearing as a waterfall of platinum falling below her shoulders and she still wore her maid outfit, her movements as fluid and graceful as a dancer's.
'Doesn't she have anything else to wear aside that?' Elias wondered.
She walked towards them, her face a carefully constructed mask of cold impassivity. She didn't spare a glance for Elias, her eyes fixed on Lord Alaric. Elias's anxiety gave way to a new feeling: confusion.
"Why are you here, Ai-big sis?" Elias asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"Are you also going to have a Rite of Passage?"
Aina's gaze finally dropped to him, and her eyes, were as cold and sharp as the winter morning itself. A faint scowl touched her lips. "Don't be so dense, Elias," she snapped, her voice crisp and biting.
"The House of Mellou does not do things that way. We are, from birth, the best, and we do not need to prove ourselves to anyone with something as trivial as a Rite Of Passage. Furthermore, even if we did, I am a girl and therefore exempt from such trials." The condescending tone was a new addition to her persona, and it stung more than any of the interactions they'd previously had. He preferred her to have only one character not two.
She then turned her attention to Lord Alaric, and with a graceful movement, she bowed, her body a perfect line of respect and deference.
"Lord Alaric," she said, her voice now formal and respectful.
"I wish to join you in the training of my brother."
Elias's jaw dropped.
Her brother? That was what she called him and yet was acting so cold towards him.
Brother.
He looked at his father, expecting him to laugh or outright refuse. But Alaric simply stood there, a faint, proud smile playing on his lips.
"As his instructor, I need to know what he is being taught in order to properly adjust his Flow training," Aina continued, her explanation a logical, flawless stream of reasoning.
"Beyond that, I myself have no formal survival or combat training. My knowledge of the world is limited to what I've read in books. I need to prepare for my own advancement, and this, I believe, is the best way for me to do so."
She straightened up, her shoulders held high, her eyes a beacon of unwavering determination. She bowed again, a silent, powerful plea.
"I ask you to take me as your student as well."
The yard was silent again, the only sound the gentle rustle of the wind. Elias watched his father, a man who had just a moment ago been a terrifying figure of authority, his expression now soft and full of paternal pride. Alaric reached out, not to Aina's hand, but to her head, and with a gentle, loving motion, he patted her, ruffling her perfectly braided hair.
"How many times have I told you to call me uncle? Anyway, I understand what you are saying, Aina. Aside training Elias you want to better yourself. That's good,that's the mark of a true teacher,always wanting to impart knowledge and walkways wanting to learn in order to do so effectively." he said, his voice a low, fond rumble. He smiled warmly at Elias.
"And of course, it's a wise decision on your part. A warrior is not just a master of their blade, but a master of their mind, and to know what you lack is the first step to becoming whole."
He straightened up, his gaze sweeping over both children, a fire of pride and determination burning in his eyes.
"Very well then," he said, his voice resonating with a new kind of power.
"It is time for us to begin." He walked over to a nearby rack and took out two training swords, simple steel blades with dulled edges, and handed one to Aina and the other to Elias.
"I will start by teaching you swordsmanship. It is the foundation of all combat, and without it, all the Flow in the world will do you no good." Alaric took his own sword from the rack, a magnificent, gleaming blade that hummed with a subtle power.
"But first,a brief exposition."