Chapter 2: The Misty Valley
Part 7 – Support of the Valley
The morning mist clung to the valley like a silken shawl, curling over the plains and threading through the tallest trees of the forest. I stepped out of my chamber, the air crisp against my skin, and for a heartbeat, I considered retreating back inside. Onii's stormy eyes from the previous day haunted me, their judgment sharp and unyielding. My hands itched with helplessness; my limbs still felt weak as though the wind itself had beaten them.
But then, I saw them—the workers.
They were gathered near the stables, brushing down the Wind Chasing Horses, whispering to them as if the creatures were their closest companions. Yet the moment their eyes found mine, the fear I had expected was absent. Instead, there were nods, smiles, gestures of respect. Even the youngest apprentices bowed slightly, a shared look passing among them: a silent promise that they believed in me.
"Good morning, my lady!" a stablehand called, a grin spreading across his face. "We heard about yesterday. Don't let a storm frighten you. We'll show you how to weather the next one."
Another worker, a woman with strong, calloused hands, stepped forward. "You may not have tamed him, but you faced him. That alone takes courage few have. We'll stand with you, teach you, push you until your hands are as steady as your heart."
Their words, simple as they were, pressed against the bruises of my pride. I had spent so long doubting my strength, fearing the weight of my own inadequacy, that this… this support felt alien, yet vital.
I nodded slowly. "I… thank you. I don't know if I deserve it."
A boy no older than twelve laughed softly. "Deserve? You're Lailac Von Kaizah. Deserve has nothing to do with it. We'll make sure that when you stand again, even Onii won't think twice."
The thought of him, the storm incarnate, tightened something in my chest, a mixture of fear and longing. But there was also warmth—a tiny ember of possibility.
Before I could respond, Linn approached, her steps measured. "My lady, Lord Haines has already sent for trainers. Experts in combat, survival, and cultivation basics. You will not remain vulnerable while your bloodline sleeps."
My eyes widened. "Trainers?"
"Yes," she said, with a hint of relief in her voice. "He believes in preparation. Even if your flame remains dormant, you must learn to protect yourself. These trainers have tutored warriors, strategists, and those born with rare talent. For the next two years, they will push you beyond comfort, beyond fear, until the weakest part of you becomes your foundation."
A strange thrill rippled through me. Two years. That was a long time. Enough to grow, to learn, to test the limits of my body and mind. The spark Onii had stirred would not be ignored, not anymore.
I inhaled deeply, letting the valley's scent fill my lungs. Mist and grass, the tang of water from the Troubled Black Waters, the faint warmth of the rising sun mingled together in a symphony of life and power. I clenched my fists, slowly, deliberately.
"Then we begin," I said.
Linn's lips curved in a small, approving smile. "We do. And you are not alone."
---
The first trainer to arrive was a tall man with a wiry frame and eyes that burned with sharp intelligence. His hair was streaked with silver despite his youth, and a faint aura of qi radiated from him in measured pulses.
"I am Master Hoshin," he introduced, bowing slightly. "I've trained warriors who have fought against beasts beyond reckoning. Today, you will begin with the foundations: reflex, balance, and control over your own energy."
I nodded, trying to stand straighter than I felt.
The second trainer, a woman with the elegance of a dancer but the sharpness of a blade, stepped forward. "And I am Mistress Kaelith. My expertise is strategy, timing, and using the environment itself as a weapon. You will learn to turn the world to your advantage before you can command your inner power."
Their gazes were steady, unyielding, but not unkind. I felt a mixture of dread and exhilaration.
---
The workers, sensing the training, offered their support in their own ways. Some brought additional spirit herbs to strengthen endurance. Others adjusted practice areas to simulate forests, plains, and even riverbanks to mimic the unpredictable terrain of the valley. I overheard whispers of encouragement as I sparred, fell, and rose again.
"You're holding back!" a stablehand shouted one morning. "Your guard is too cautious. If you hesitate in the field, a predator like Onii wouldn't even blink before it overwhelms you!"
"I… I know," I said, my voice raw, sweat stinging my eyes.
"You don't know yet!" another worker called, tossing a practice blade to me. "But we'll make you remember every strike until your body reacts before your mind thinks!"
And they did.
Every day, I woke before dawn. The valley was still shrouded in mist, the plains sparkling faintly as the first light touched them. By the time I reached the training grounds, the workers had prepared the fields, the forests, even the rocky slopes for climbing and agility exercises. The trainers waited, arms crossed, evaluating every step, every movement, every misstep.
The first weeks were merciless. My muscles screamed, my limbs shook, and the taste of blood and earth became a constant companion. Each time I fell, the workers' voices rose: encouragement, guidance, sometimes harsh reprimand—but always with belief that I could rise.
"You survived yesterday," one of the stablehands reminded me after a particularly grueling session. "Onii tested you, but he didn't break you. Remember that. Every strike, every step, every drop of sweat brings you closer to standing beside him, not trembling before him."
It was difficult, exhausting, and humbling. And yet, beneath the ache, a strange clarity began to bloom. For the first time, failure felt like a step, not a chain. I could fall. I could be rejected. But each fall carried a lesson, and each lesson carried a spark of preparation for the day I could face Onii again.
The two-year training plan Father had devised was rigorous. Morning drills in combat forms, afternoon practice with weapons, evening meditation to strengthen mind and spirit, nights spent studying beasts and terrain. The trainers pushed me to the brink, often past it, forcing reactions I never thought my body capable of producing. The workers watched, ready to assist, correct, or cheer, always reminding me I was not alone.
And slowly… slowly, I began to feel something awaken within me. Not the Flame Sage bloodline—not yet—but something else. Discipline. Reflex. Confidence. A sense of presence I had never known. I could hold a weapon steady. I could read the subtle shifts of wind across the plains. I could anticipate movement before it came.
One night, as the valley lay bathed in silver moonlight, I stood alone on the edge of the plains, looking toward the forest where Onii roamed. My arms ached from hours of sparring. My muscles burned. Sweat trickled down my temple. And yet… my heart was steady.
I raised a hand, as I had done before, imagining the stormy stallion before me. My fingers trembled slightly, but my gaze did not waver.
"Wait for me," I whispered again, more certain than before. "I will not fail. I will be ready when the time comes."
The wind rustled the spirit grass, curling around my ankles as if acknowledging my resolve. The Misty Valley, with its endless plains, forests, and mysteries, stretched before me. I no longer felt small. Not completely.
The two years of training would be brutal. I would be pushed to the limits of my body, my mind, and my courage. But I was not alone. The valley, the workers, the trainers, even the whispers of Onii's wind—somehow, all of it had become part of my fight.
And one day, I would face the Platinum Star realm storm again.
But this time… I would stand ready.