The forest smelled different when you carried a weapon.
Elias realized that as he clutched the wooden staff Kael had given him, his palms slick with sweat. The trees pressed close on all sides, their branches thick overhead, muting the late-afternoon light. Normally, the forest was a place of quiet—birdsong, the hum of insects, the chatter of leaves.
Not today.
Today, the air felt tight, waiting.
Kael walked ahead, his cloak dark against the green. His steps were steady, unhurried, even though he carried no visible weapon. Elias had seen the man's sword before, gleaming steel sharpened with the same care Kael gave to everything. But now it was sheathed across his back, untouched, as though Kael had no need for it.
"Keep your grip firm," Kael said without turning. "But not stiff. A staff that is too rigid breaks."
Elias swallowed hard and adjusted his hands. The staff felt heavy despite months of practice. His heart pounded in his ears.
"Are we… really going to fight them?" he asked.
Kael's voice was calm. "You will."
Elias nearly tripped over a root. "M-me?"
Kael finally turned his head, eyes sharp. "Strength cannot grow in the safety of practice alone. You are ready to test yourself."
Elias wanted to argue, to say he wasn't ready, that his stomach hurt and his hands shook. But something in Kael's gaze—steady, unwavering—kept him silent.
They found the men in a clearing.
Three of them, dressed in patched armor, rough swords at their belts. Bandits, Elias thought—he'd heard Kael call them that before. But now, seeing them in the flesh, dirty and grinning, they looked like monsters.
One of them spotted Kael and spat in the dirt. "Well, look what we have here. A lone traveler and his boy. Easy pickings."
Elias's stomach lurched.
Kael's voice cut through the air, quiet but sharp. "He is not a boy. He is a fighter. Face him, if you dare."
Elias's eyes went wide. "Kael—!"
But Kael's hand rested briefly on his shoulder, firm as stone. "Do not fear. Remember your stance. Remember what I taught you."
And then, just like that, Kael stepped back, folding his arms as though this were a lesson by the fire instead of life and death.
The bandits laughed. One, a thick-necked man with a jagged scar across his cheek, drew his sword and pointed it at Elias. "Fine then, let's see what the pup can do."
Elias's throat was dry. His legs shook as he raised the staff.
The man charged.
The clash was nothing like sparring. The man's sword gleamed as it cut the air, heavy and fast. Elias swung wildly, the staff colliding with the blade with a jarring crack that rattled his bones.
The force nearly tore the weapon from his hands. He stumbled, barely ducking the next swing. The world blurred into steel and panic.
"Breathe, Elias!" Kael's voice rang steady from the edge of the clearing. "Do not let fear blind you!"
Elias gasped, trying to steady himself. He remembered the stance. Feet apart, knees bent. He raised the staff again, braced for the next strike.
The bandit lunged. Elias thrust forward, the staff jabbing into the man's chest. For a heartbeat, hope flared—he'd landed a hit!
But the man only snarled and slammed the flat of his blade against the staff, wrenching it aside. Elias cried out, stumbling back as the edge of the sword nicked his arm.
Pain seared through him.
He fell to the ground, the staff slipping from his grasp.
The bandit loomed above him, laughing. "This is your fighter, old man? He's nothing."
The sword rose.
"Enough."
Kael's voice cut like a blade itself.
Before Elias could blink, Kael was there. His hand moved faster than Elias's eyes could follow. Steel flashed.
The bandit's laughter choked into silence. He staggered, clutching his chest, and fell into the dirt.
The clearing went still. The other two bandits froze, their bravado crumbling in an instant. Kael's gaze turned to them, sharp as winter. "Leave."
They did. Scrambling like rats, crashing through the undergrowth until their noise faded into nothing.
Kael stood over the fallen man for a long moment, then wiped his blade clean and sheathed it again. Only then did he turn to Elias.
The boy sat in the dirt, clutching his bleeding arm, his chest heaving. His face burned with shame.
"I—I failed," he stammered. His throat tightened, hot tears blurring his vision. "I couldn't—he was too strong—I couldn't do it—"
Kael crouched in front of him, steady eyes locking onto his.
"You stood," Kael said firmly. "You did not run. You struck, even when you were afraid. That is not failure. That is the first step."
Elias shook his head, choking. "But you had to save me."
Kael's hand gripped his shoulder, steady, grounding. "And one day, you will not need saving. But today was not that day. Today was for learning."
Elias swallowed, his tears hot against his cheeks.
Kael's voice softened. "Strength is not born in victory, Elias. It is born in defeat. What matters is that you rise again, stronger than before."
The boy blinked up at him, the words sinking past the shame and pain. Slowly, he nodded.
Kael gave the faintest curve of a smile. "Good. Then we begin again tomorrow."
Back at camp, Kael cleaned and bound the cut on Elias's arm. His hands were steady, precise.
"It will scar," he said quietly. "Remember it well. Scars are not marks of shame, but reminders of battles endured."
Elias traced the bandage with his fingers, his chest still tight. "…I wanted to make you proud."
Kael's gaze met his. For the first time, there was warmth there—not cold steel, not distant firelight, but something almost fatherly.
"You already have," Kael said.
The words settled into Elias's heart like an anchor. Heavy, yes—but also unshakable.
He promised himself then, in the quiet of the firelight, that he would never fail again.
That he would become strong, no matter the cost.
And Kael, the man who had saved him, who had believed in him when no one else could, would be the one to make it so.