The great hall of the Vaelith estate was colder than Eryndor expected. The stone pillars rose high into the ceiling, carved with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. At the far end, the council sat—six figures draped in dark robes, each bearing the Vaelith crest. Their faces were calm, but their eyes weighed on him like steel.
Lord Vaelith stood beside them, arms crossed. He said nothing, simply watching.
Eryndor walked to the center of the hall, every step deliberate. His breathing was steady, his body relaxed but sharp, like a blade hidden in silk.
Lady Seraphine, the silver-haired councilwoman, spoke first. "Eryndor Vaelith. The heir who returns from the brink. We will not waste time with pleasantries. Show us your worth."
The words echoed through the hall.
Eryndor gave a small nod. "As you wish."
The first test was simple—or so it seemed. Two armored warriors, Vaelith retainers, stepped forward. Their blades gleamed faintly with enchantments.
"Defeat them without drawing blood," Seraphine said.
Eryndor smirked. Control, not brute force. A test of discipline.
When the first warrior lunged, Eryndor shifted his weight, sliding just out of reach. His hand struck the man's wrist with a sharp snap, disarming him cleanly. He pivoted, sweeping the man's legs, sending him crashing to the floor.
The second warrior pressed harder, his blade moving fast. Eryndor's breathing steadied, each inhale fueling his movements. He let the faint hum of magic guide his steps, adding speed where his body alone could not. In three motions, he had the second man disarmed, pinned, and immobile.
Silence filled the hall. Then, a few murmurs.
"Impressive control," one councilman muttered.
But Seraphine wasn't finished. She raised a hand, and a faint circle of light shimmered above the floor. Energy pulsed outward, like ripples across water.
"The second trial," she said. "Magic. Show us if the currents favor you."
Eryndor looked at the circle, his pulse steady. He had practiced in secret—just flickers, sparks, the barest whispers of what this body could do. But now, with all eyes on him, there was no room for hesitation.
He inhaled slowly, focusing on the rhythm his grandfather had taught him—breath to steady the mind, mind to steady the body. He extended a hand.
The air stirred. Light flickered at his fingertips, faint at first, then stronger. A small orb shimmered into being, pulsing gently like a heartbeat. It wasn't flashy, but it was stable—controlled.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Seraphine's lips curved faintly. "You have potential. Raw, but undeniable."
Eryndor closed his hand, snuffing out the orb. His gaze flicked to the council, calm and unshaken. "Potential is only the beginning. I'll make it more than that."
His father's eyes lingered on him, unreadable, before turning away.
The trials ended shortly after, but as Eryndor left the hall, he caught a whisper from one of the councilmen.
"He's not the same boy as before… something's changed."
Eryndor allowed himself the faintest smile as he walked back into the light of the estate. They're right. I'm not the same. And they'll learn soon enough just how different I am.