As they left the laboratory, the head butler bowed and departed to ready the training hall.
Kaelus rested a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "Go change into a training suit, Valrion. Meet me in the hall when you're ready."
Valrion nodded quickly and hurried off.
---
Twenty minutes later, he pushed open the tall doors to the training room. Inside, the clang of steel and the bark of commands echoed as guards drilled in formation. Essence-forged weapons struck against shields, their rhythm steady and sharp.
Kaelus stood near the weight racks, his broad frame outlined by torchlight. When his eyes found his son, his voice carried across the chamber.
"Over here."
Valrion jogged over, still taking in the sight of soldiers sparring and constructs whirring at the edges of the hall.
"What are we going to do?" he asked, trying to mask his nerves with curiosity.
Kaelus's expression was unreadable.
"The same thing I've done with every heir. I'll train you myself until you're fifteen. After that, the instructors take over."
He walked to a rack and picked up a weight plate, setting it into Valrion's small hands. The boy nearly dropped it, his arms trembling under the sudden load.
"Why is this so heavy?"
Kaelus's mouth curved in the faintest hint of a smile.
"That's light. Barely two tons — forged from skysteel. From birth, your body is already twenty times stronger, faster, tougher, and sharper than the human athletes of old Terra. Don't forget that."
As Valrion struggled to set the plate down without letting it crash, Kaelus began loading heavier plates onto a bar. His movements were practiced, unhurried.
"We'll start simple," he said. "First is running. I want to know how long you can last, and how fast."
He gestured toward the far end.
"Go to track one."
The five tracks curved along the hall's edge. Four were filled with blurs of motion — veterans pounding through endless laps. Track five was slower, recruits gritting their teeth, their forms still rough.
Track one stood empty, a sign carved above it: Heirs Only.
Valrion stepped onto the smooth stone. His father appeared beside him, hands clasped behind his back.
"First lap is for speed," Kaelus said. "After that, you run until you drop. The suit will track everything. Move."
The lines of Valrion's training suit lit faintly as essence conduits awakened, humming at his command. His pulse quickened. He drew a breath, bent his knees—then launched forward.
The track blurred beneath him. Wind tore at his face, and for a heartbeat he thought he might stumble, but his legs carried him faster, faster still.
Kaelus paced just behind, watching the readout on his wrist-screen. Numbers flickered: 514.6 mph. Seconds later: 516.8. After a few minutes, the digits steadied: 517.2.
Kaelus's lips curved in approval.
"Slightly above the heir average. Good."
Valrion gritted his teeth and ran on. Minutes stretched into hours. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, his chest heaved, his vision blurred—but he refused to stop.
Finally, six hours and a handful of minutes later, his body gave in. He staggered, collapsed to his knees, and vomited onto the stone, his face flushed, his lungs aflame.
Kaelus stood over him, arms folded. For the first time that day, a faint smirk tugged at his mouth.
"Good job. Your endurance is above average too — five and a half hours is the mark. You've beaten it. That's how an Aurelith runs: to the edge."
Valrion wiped his mouth, trembling. His father's hand came down heavy on his shoulder.
"Ten minutes. Then the weights."
Valrion sat on the stone floor, gulping water as sweat dripped down his chin. Around him the hall thundered with the sound of sparring — steel striking steel, shields colliding, soldiers barking orders as they drilled. His heart raced as he watched, excitement flickering in his chest. For a moment he imagined himself among them, weapon in hand. He forced the thought down and rose, steadying his breath.
At the weight racks, Kaelus was already setting plates onto the bar. One bore an engraving: 5 tons.
His father glanced at him.
"We'll test your lifts. Bench, squat, shoulder press, and deadlift. Get to the bench."
Valrion lay back, wrapping his hands around the bar. The steel was cold against his palms. He lowered the weight, then pushed. The bar rose cleanly, his arms steady.
He frowned. This feels light.
Kaelus thought the same. Without a word, he added more plates. Again, Valrion lifted, his arms shaking only slightly. The process repeated with each test, Kaelus adjusting the load.
By the end, the suits system's measurements glowed across the display screen: 35,000 pounds on each major lift.
Valrion collapsed back onto the bench, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face.
"What's next?"
Kaelus allowed the faintest smile.
"Sparring constructs. Reaction, reflex, adaptability."
---
Valrion followed him toward the waiting machines. The first construct stepped forward, its bronze-plated limbs whirring to life. It struck suddenly.
Valrion's eyes widened. He had no idea how to punch or kick, but instinct drove him to move. He ducked, twisted, and dodged. The construct pressed harder, each attack sharper than the last.
At level three, a blow slipped past and knocked him sprawling. He rolled, scrambled to his feet, and narrowed his eyes. He began to notice the rhythm — the flow of the construct's strikes. His body moved before his mind could catch up, slipping between attacks. Then, seeing a brief opening, he lashed out with a clumsy punch.
The blow landed. The construct staggered.
Kaelus's gaze flicked to the display. Level 5. His jaw tightened, surprise breaking through his calm.
"Level five is for fighters who've trained decades… and you found it by instinct."
The bot ramped up to level six. This time, Valrion couldn't keep pace. Blows hammered into him, driving him to the ground. He lay bruised and aching, but a grin split his face.
Kaelus looked down at him, half-shocked, half-proud. Then he raised his voice.
"Serathis."
The head butler approached, bowing slightly. Though clad in livery, his posture carried the weight of a soldier. His eyes met Kaelus's, steady and sharp.
Kaelus rested a hand on Valrion's shoulder.
"This will be your combat instructor. That punch could have shattered your arm. He taught me once. Now he'll teach you."
Serathis's voice was calm, iron beneath velvet. "I don't polish boys into warriors, young master. I break them down. If you can endure that, you'll come out stronger."
Valrion wiped the blood from his lip, still smiling.